Eliza pinched her long skirt to stop it from blowing upwards as she crossed the empty road. She walked towards the surgery in long strides, holding on to her skirt tightly as she walked. A flyaway leaf scratched against her leg and her heels clicked loudly.

The surgery wasn’t far, but Eliza still ducked her head into her thick scarf as she walked. And sure enough, as soon as she walked past the chemist, she passed a group of people she knew. She shouldn’t really feel ashamed, not really. Why would they care where she was going? They may just suppose I’m ill, she tried to tell herself although she only half believed it. Mingling with the smell of dusty autumn leaves was the smell of judgement, and every time she took a breath she smelt it and she felt it every time a breeze tried to reveal her shame.

She turned a corner and she spotted the surgery instantly. It was a shabby building tucked away next to a closed discount store. The doors were automatic and she could no longer hear her heels once she had set foot onto the blue carpeted floor. Her long strides took her to the reception desk in a heartbeat. She gave in her appointment slip and took a seat on one of the ugly green chairs. There were a few people already sat down and a few watched her uninterestedly as she smoothed her skirt and shuffled in her seat until she was comfortable.

She felt as though her mind wasn’t entirely her own, it felt very much like everyone in the room could see into it. They could hear her thoughts right now, even people who didn’t know her. They could see what she saw in her mind. Sweaty hands on her shoulders, sweaty hands trailing down her arms. Whispers of “it’s okay, this’ll stop your headaches” on her neck. They tickled, but not in the good way. Sweaty shaky hands tried to grip her skin. He was trying to be passionate. He’d taken off his shirt too quickly and it had ripped.

The shirt she had carefully made for him as a gift for seeing her daughter so quickly when she was ill on that bleak, bleak day. She had crafted that shirt spent goodness knows how many sleepless nights carefully hand stitching it to perfection. And there it lay ripped apart atop some papers. And then he’d thrust himself upon her and – she shut her eyes tightly. There were children in the waiting room. She didn’t –

She couldn’t remember what she’d felt, or if she’d felt anything at all. It was so unexpected for him to suddenly want her. He had been their family doctor ever since she’d married Norman and moved here.

She was sat with both her feet planted on the ground, eyeing the clock. The toy clock – obviously put there to amuse the children – read five past, not long now.

She didn’t find the doctor attractive, nor did she enjoy his company. He wasn’t amusing or witty or wild in the boyish vigour most men were. He was just an acquaintance. He wasn’t a good lover. He didn’t compare to Norman in any sense. There was nothing special about the doctor at all.

It made her cry with shame when she thought of what she let him do to her, again and again, week after week. Yet here she was again and she would return again and again, week after week.