The Singapore Secret

Prologue

She is back there again, reliving the moment for what must be the hundredth time.

She stares, in wide-eyed terror, the scene unfolding before her as she knows it must; step by step, just as before.

She cries out, but her cries make no sound.

Each time she revisits it she is desperate for a different ending.

What could she have done to have made things turn out differently?

But the ending never changes. And the guilt never changes. It was her fault.

She opens her eyes as her body jolts her into heart-racing, sweat-soaked consciousness.

The balmy heat and the lingering scent of frangipani of her memories fade away.

Replacing them are darkness and the cool night air of the place she now calls home.

She breathes deeply, regaining her composure.

With shaking hands, she reaches for the glass of water on the bedside table.

Moonlight spills in around the edges of the curtains and she can make out the gently swaying branches of the old oak tree in the garden.

Before, it was the palm trees that swayed, but that was another time, another life.

Somewhere, out there in the night, an owl hoots.

It was just a dream, she reassures herself. Thank God, it was just a dream.

But still she cannot settle. She gets up and softly pads towards the door, avoiding the floorboard that creaks, and quietly opens it.

Along the landing she creeps, compelled by instinct to check that all is as it should be.

She pushes open another bedroom door and tiptoes towards the little bed.

She smiles, watching the contented, innocent face of the sleeping child.

Feeling relieved, she makes her way back to her own room and climbs into bed.

The steady breathing of the sleeping figure beside her reassures her that all is well.

Nothing has changed. Nobody knows. Nobody must ever know.

She has kept her promise and she knows that it was for the best. For now, her secret remains just so.