She pulled herself back from the brink of debasement and looked away from Susi. She studied her engagement ring.

“I packed a bag that time,” she said. “But then . . . well, the boys were still so little. And I was so tired.”

“On average, most victims will try to leave an abusive situation six or seven times before they finally leave permanently,” said Susi. She chewed on the end of her pen. “What about your boys? Has your husband ever—”

“No!” said Celeste. A sudden terror took hold of her. Dear God. She was crazy coming here. They might report her to the Department of Community Services. They might take the children away.

She thought of the family tree projects the boys had taken in to school today. The carefully drawn lines connecting each of them to their twin, to her and to Perry. Their happy glossy faces.

“Perry has never ever laid a finger on the boys. He is a wonderful father. If I ever thought that the boys were in danger, I would leave; I would never, ever put them at risk.” Her voice shook. “That’s one of the reasons I haven’t left, because he is so good with them. So patient! He’s more patient with them than me. He adores them!”

“How do you think—” began Susi, but Celeste interrupted her. She needed her to understand how Perry felt about his children.

“We had so much trouble getting pregnant, or not getting pregnant. Staying pregnant. I had four miscarriages in a row. It was terrible.”

It was like she and Perry had endured a two-year journey across stormy oceans and endless deserts. And then they’d reached the oasis. Twins! A natural pregnancy with twins! She’d seen the expression on the obstetrician’s face when she found the second heartbeat. Twins. A high-risk pregnancy for someone with a history of recurrent miscarriage. The obstetrician was thinking, No way. But they made it all the way to thirty-two weeks.

“The boys were preemies. So there was all that going back and forth to the hospital for late-night feeds. We couldn’t believe it when we finally got to bring them home. We just stood there in the nursery, staring at them, and then . . . well, then, those first few months were like a nightmare, really. They weren’t good sleepers. Perry took three months off. He was wonderful. We got through it together.”

“I see,” said Susi.

But Celeste could tell she didn’t see. She didn’t understand that she and Perry were bound together forever by their experiences and their love for their sons. Breaking away from him would be like tearing flesh.

“How do you think the abuse impacts your sons?”

Celeste wished she would stop using the word “abuse.”

“It doesn’t impact them in any way,” she said. “They have no idea. I mean, for the most part, we’re just a very happy, ordinary, loving family. We can go for weeks, months even, without anything out of the ordinary.”

Months was probably an exaggeration.

She was starting to feel claustrophobic in this tiny room. There wasn’t enough air. She ran a fingertip across her brow, and it came back damp. What had she expected from this? Why had she come? She knew there were no answers. No strategies. No tips and techniques, for God’s sake. Perry was Perry. There was no way out except to leave, and she would never leave while the children were little. She was going to leave when they were at university. She’d already decided that.

“What made you come here today, Mrs. White?” said Susi, as if she were reading her mind. “You said this has been going on since your children were babies. Has the violence been escalating recently?”

Celeste tried to remember why she’d made the appointment. It was the day of the athletics carnival.

It was something to do with the amused expression on Perry’s face that morning when Josh asked him about the mark on his neck. And then she’d gone home after the carnival and felt envious of her cleaners because they were laughing. So she’d given twenty-five thousand dollars to charity. “Feeling philanthropic were you, darling?” Perry had said wryly a few weeks later when the credit card bill came in, but he’d made no further comment.

“No, it hasn’t been escalating,” she said to Susi. “I’m not sure why I finally made an appointment. Perry and I went to marriage counseling once, but it didn’t . . . Well, nothing came of that. It’s hard because he travels a lot for work. He’ll be away again next week.”

“Do you miss him when he’s away?” said Susi. It seemed as though this wasn’t a question on her clipboard, it was just something that she wanted to know.

“Yes,” said Celeste. “And no.”

“It’s complicated,” said Susi.

“It’s complicated,” agreed Celeste. “But all marriages are complicated, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” said Susi. She smiled. “And no.” Her smile vanished. “Are you aware that a woman dies every week in Australia as a result of domestic violence, Mrs. White? Every week.”

“He’s not going to kill me,” said Celeste. “It’s not like that.”

“Is it safe for you to go home today?”

“Of course,” said Celeste. “I’m perfectly safe.”

Susi raised her eyebrows.

“Our relationship is like a seesaw,” explained Celeste. “First one person has the power, then the other. Each time Perry and I have a fight, especially if it gets physical, if I get hurt, then I get the power back. I’m on top.”

She warmed to her theme. It was shameful sharing these things with Susi, but it was also a wonderful relief to be telling someone, to be explaining how it all worked, to be saying these secrets out loud.

“The more he hurts me, the higher I go and the longer I get to stay there. Then the weeks go by, and I can feel it shifting. He stops feeling so guilty and sorry. The bruises—I bruise easily—well, the bruises fade. Little things I do start to annoy him. He gets a bit irritable. I try to placate him. I start walking on eggshells, but at the same time I’m angry that I have to walk on eggshells, so sometimes I stop tiptoeing. I stomp on the eggshells. I deliberately aggravate him because I’m so angry with him, and with myself, for having to be careful. And then it happens again.”

“So you’ve got the power right now,” said Susi. “Because he hurt you recently.”