It was just after midday when Caroline managed to escape work and bolted to her car. Her mind was consumed with the events of the previous evening, rage at John still surging through her system in a chaotic cyclone and she'd struggled to keep out of the gale force winds of its periphery. The deadweight of cement in her stomach remained but the relief of getting through her official obligations was evident in the slight shaking of her fingers on the steering wheel as she passed through the school gates. She had just enough time to hit the linen section of Marks & Sparks on her way to the GP, and then she headed for home.

Crashing through the front door with arms full of sheets and towels, she took the lot into the laundry and dumped everything onto the floor. She satisfyingly ripped open the packaging and put the first set of sheets into the washing machine before flying up the stairs and into their bedroom — her bedroom. She made a mental note to change that in her head in future. She quickly shucked out of her work clothes and put on a t-shirt and jeans to perform the impending exorcism.

Ready to tackle the Devil himself, she pelted down the stairs two at a time before turning into the kitchen. Radio cranked up high to drown out the racket in her head and she was set to go on a cleaning rampage. She opened all the windows as wide as she could to let in the fresh air and the sunlight. Standing in the middle of the house, hands protected by her marigold gloves, spray bottle of cleaner dangling from one finger and a fresh cloth from another, she decided where to begin disinfecting John from her house.

There was a suggestion of frenzy in her cleaning as the urge to sterilise everything that he might have touched was overwhelming. As she moved from room to room she knew it was obsessive, but the drive to rid herself of him was compulsive. Three days until she would have the results. Three fucking days until she knew if he had infected her. She stood in the lounge, rage and fear leaking out her pores. She could smell it in her sweat as she waited for her breathing to settle. She'd never been so humiliated, tossing up whether to admit to the GP that she didn't know her husband had been fucking around on her for five months, or let him assume that she'd been the one screwing around. The truth was the least horrible option and she had been clammy with rage and shame while she'd spread her legs for the speculum and the swabs.

She stood with fists clenched for a full minute, going over it again in her mind before she could start her exertions again. She shook her head as she scrubbed, trying to clear it all from her brain as she wiped furniture and door handles and everything else. She paid special attention to the chair he'd loved the most, cursing it and him as she did so. She looked around for a moment before moving the furniture in the lounge room. It was heavy work but it needed to change; she needed it to change. She knew she'd not sleep until the house was expunged of the scent of him: his betrayal carrying a stench all its own. Lying, cheating bastard.

The last part of the purge was dragging the remainder of John's clothes and shoes out of her bedroom and into the spare bedroom down the stairs. With every armful she carried she had to resist the urge to take it out the back and burn it. Clothes, shoes, toiletries. She didn't care. She could taste the soot in her mouth at the thought of setting it all alight and it sent a malevolent thrill through her. She could imagine how satisfying it would be, watching it all burn. Instead, with a clearer head and a cooling rage, she dumped each load into the cupboards and drawers in the spare room. She tidied the room, closed the cupboards, and shut the door. Resting her hand on the closed door, the feeling that this was more than a metaphorical doorway to her past travelled through her system. As she patted the solid wood, there was a sense that this was the end of an era.

Climbing the stairs more slowly as the frenzy started to ebb, she walked into her room and this time it felt like it was truly hers and hers alone. Eighteen years erased in a couple of frenetic hours. Eighteen years erased after five months of lying and cheating. She had a long shower, dressed again and lay in the middle of her freshly made bed, getting used to the idea of being free of him. She knew it would keep coming back to haunt her because all those years of habit wouldn't change overnight, no matter how much she wanted them to. She'd made a start, and that was what mattered.

Downstairs in the kitchen she heard movement.

"Caroline? Where are you, Caroline?"

Her mum. She sighed. There was no way to avoid the post-mortem discussion she was dreading and she decided it was best to have it when the boys weren't home. She sat on the edge of her bed, calling out, "Up here Mum! I'll be down in a minute." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She wasn't prepared to suffer through another discussion about her dad's antics on the way to discussing John.

She trudged down the stairs again and into the kitchen, where her mum had been kind enough to put the kettle on.

"I can see you've been busy. William came to see me last night and told me John was gone. He said something about John having it off with someone else." Celia really looked at her daughter as Caroline moved closer. "Are you okay love?"

"I'm fine Mum. Thank you for the biscuits." She moved into her mum's open arms but the hug was brief and ended when Caroline pulled away. "He's moved out. I told him to go." Caroline stepped around the other side of the counter, ostensibly to get the remaining biscuits Celia had baked, but part of the reason was to put some distance between her and her mother. She wasn't entirely sure what reaction she'd get now she'd admitted that she'd kicked him out. Her decision was so different to the one her mum had made all those years ago.

"Well thank heaven's for that." The moue on Celia's face told it's own story about her relationship with John. "I'm sorry it's happened to you too." She really was trying not to say 'I told you so' but the effort reduced her to temporary stillness.

"Thanks Mum. I'm sorry too."

The discussion moved on to the boys and their reactions, and then to practical arrangements now that John was presumably out of the picture for the foreseeable future. Caroline was pleasantly surprised how supportive her mum was and how, between the two of them, looking after Lawrence was going to be possible. It was then that Caroline realised that John had largely abandoned parenting quite some time ago, and that she was really raising the boys with her mum.

Celia had worked out John's uselessness a while ago, and while she was saddened that Caroline seemed so upset, getting rid of her son-in-law — the obnoxious wanker — was probably worth it. She offered any assistance Caroline might need, gave her one last hug and headed out the back door. As Celia walked around the corner to her bungalow, wanting a sherry to quietly celebrate, she muttered, "Good riddance to bad rubbish," under her breath.

Relieved the exchange with her mum was relatively painless — and more supportive than expected from the ever-judgmental matriarch — Caroline ambled through the house with her tea, shutting some of the windows as the cooler evening breeze chased the warmth from the afternoon air. The boys would be home soon after their respective choir and rugby practices. She'd cook them a lovely dinner, just for the three of them.

As she wandered through each of the rooms she realised that she and John were now separated. The word alone made her feel like a statistic. She hugged the warm mug, watching the brown liquid swirl from her movement. She stood up straight and looked out the open window into her back yard, seeing the late spring blooms a productive result of the hours she had spent in the garden. She watched the magnolias sway, their vivid pink flowers still blossoming with abundance. Although she wasn't ready to acknowledge it, for the first time in nearly twenty years, Caroline was functionally a single woman.