She attended to the last details of her dress and went down to have breakfast with her father. She had seen Anders yesterday, so her body was still overwhelmed by a great weariness. She sat down at the breakfast table after kissing her father on the cheek and began listlessly cracking open the shell of a soft-boiled egg. Her exhaustion made the smell of the egg turn her stomach.

'What is it, my heart?' August asked in concern, gazing at her across the large table.

'Just a little tired,' she replied miserably. 'I didn't sleep well last night.'

'You poor thing,' he said in sympathy. 'See that you eat something, then you can go back to bed for a while. Perhaps we should take you to see Dr Fern. You've been rather out of sorts all winter.'

Agnes couldn't help smiling, though she had to hide the smile hastily behind her serviette. With a downcast look she answered her father, 'Yes, I have been a bit worn out. But it was probably mostly because of the winter darkness. Just wait, once spring comes I'll be more lively again.'

'Hmm, well, we shall see. But think about it. Perhaps the doctor should have a look at you all the same.'

'Yes, Father,' she said, forcing herself to take a bite of egg.

She shouldn't have done that. The instant she put the boiled egg-white in her mouth she felt her stomach turn over and something rose up in her throat. She jumped up from the table and with her hand to her mouth she dashed to the toilet they had on the ground floor. She had scarcely raised the lid before a cascade of yesterday's dinner mixed with gall splashed into the toilet bowl. She felt her eyes fill with tears. Her stomach turned inside out several more times. She waited a while, and when there didn't seem to be any more coming, she wiped her mouth in disgust and left the little room on shaky legs. Outside stood her father, looking worried.

'Dear heart, how are you?'

She just shook her head and swallowed to get rid of the repulsive taste of vomit in her mouth.

August put his arm round her shoulders, led her into the parlour, and sat her down on one of the sofas. He put his hand on her forehead.

'Agnes, you're in a cold sweat. No, I'm going to ring Dr Fern at once and ask him to come over and have a look at you.'

She managed only a feeble nod and then lay down on the sofa and shut her eyes. The room was spinning behind her closed eyelids.

It was like living in a shadow world with no connection to reality. Anna hadn't really had a choice, and yet she was consumed by doubt that she had done the right thing. She knew that nobody else would understand. After she'd finally succeeded in breaking away from Lucas, why had she gone back to him? Especially when he'd done what he had to Emma. The answer was that she went back because she thought it was the only chance for her and her children to survive. Lucas had always been dangerous, yet he kept himself restrained. Now it was as though something had snapped inside him, and his self-control had yielded to a brooding insanity. That was the only way she could describe it: insanity. That had always been part of him; she'd sensed. Indeed, perhaps it was that underlying current of potential danger that had attracted her to him in the first place. Now it had risen to the surface and she feared for her life.

The fact that she had left him and taken the kids wasn't the only reason that his madness had come to light. Several factors had combined to flip that little circuit-breaker inside him. Even his job, which had always been his biggest arena of success, had now betrayed him. A few failed business deals and his career was over. Just before Anna went back to him she had run into one of his colleagues, who had told her that Lucas was starting to act more and more irrationally on the job when things didn't go well. Me gave in to sudden outbursts of anger and aggressive attacks. Finally he had shoved an important client up against the wall and been fired on the spot. The client had pressed charges, so there would be an investigation as soon as the police had the time.

The reports of Lucas's mental condition had worried her, but it wasn't until she came home one day to a totally vandalized flat that she realized she no longer had a choice. He was going to harm her, or even worse, harm the kids, if she didn't humour him and come back. The only way to create a bit of security for Emma and Adrian was to stay as close to the enemy as possible.

Anna knew this, and yet it felt as though she were going from the frying pan into the fire. She was practically a prisoner in her own home, her jailer an aggressive and irrational Lucas. First, he forced her to quit her part-time job at Stockholm Auction House, a job she had loved and found deeply satisfying. He wouldn't allow her to leave the flat except to shop for food or take the kids to school. Meanwhile he hadn't been able to find another job, nor did he even try. He'd had to give up the big, elegant flat in Östermalm, and now they were squeezed into a little two-room flat outside the city. But as long as he didn't hit the children, she could put up with anything. She herself once again had bruises on her body, but in a way it felt like putting on an old, familiar dress. She had lived that way for so many years that her brief period of freedom now seemed unreal, a dream that just happened one time. Anna also did her best to hide what was going on from the children. She had managed to convince Lucas that they should keep going to day-care, and she tried to pretend that their daily life was the same as always. But she wasn't sure that she was fooling them. At least not Emma, who was now four years old. At first she'd been ecstatic that they were moving in with Pappa again, but Anna had begun to notice her daughter giving her puzzled looks.

Despite the fact that Anna kept trying to convince herself that she had made the right decision, she still realized that they couldn't live the rest of their lives this way. The more irrational Lucas got, the more frightened of him she became. She was sure that one day he would cross the line and actually kill her. The question was how she could make her escape. She had thought about ringing Erica and asking for help, but Lucas watched the telephone like a hawk. And there was something inside her that held her back. She had relied on Erica so many times before, and for once she felt that she had to tackle this problem herself, like an adult. Gradually she had worked out a plan. She needed to gather enough evidence against Lucas so that the abuse could no longer be denied. Then she and the children would be given safe haven and new identities. Sometimes she was overwhelmed by the desire to take the kids and simply flee to the nearest women's shelter, but she knew full well that without evidence against Lucas it would only be a temporary solution. Then they would be back in hell again.

So she had started to document everything she could. In one of the department stores on her way to the day-care centre, there was a photo booth. She would sneak in there and take pictures of her injuries. She wrote down the date and time when she received them and hid the notes and photos inside the frame of the wedding photo of her and Lucas. There was a symbolism in this that she appreciated. Soon she would have enough material to entrust her late and that of her children to the authorities. Until then she simply had to put up with Lucas. And see about surviving.

It was recess when Patrik and Ernst turned into the car park at the school. Crowds of children were outside playing in the biting wind, bundled up and seemingly unconcerned with the cold. But Patrik shivered and hurried to get inside.

Their daughter would be going to this school in a few years. It was a pleasant thought, and he could picture Maja scampering about here in the hall with blonde pigtails and a gap between her front teeth, just the way Erica looked in the picture taken when she was a kid. He hoped that Maja would be like her mother. Erica had been incredibly cute as a little girl. She still was, in his eyes.