An extra (tiny) chapter today.

Ruth couldn't sleep. Her mind kept running around in circles, everything mixing together in a mess of emotions. Harry, Lucy, MI5… him. She switched the light on and saw it was half past one. She wasn't going to sleep now. She had buried her memories of seven years ago so deeply that when Harry had simply asked "Lucy's father?" it had brought those memories rushing back shockingly quickly. She thought it was in her past, and would stay there but the amount of time she was spending thinking about Lucy's father since Harry had left showed her how much that was a lie. She knew as surely as she knew her own name that Harry hadn't meant to bring this barrage of thoughts and memories back to her, but he had.

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. But it was difficult. Instead when she closed her eyes, she was eighteen again. Girls gossiping about her when she walked down the school corridors, her pregnant belly making her an outcast as final exams came around. The fact that everyone thought she was a slut and a liar. Yes, that hadn't been an enjoyable last few months of school. She'd felt like a leper.

Ruth got out of bed and looked for her old photo albums. She found the one she wanted and she impatiently flicked through it until she got to the photo she wanted. The Christmas just before. Before Peter and her had run off for a stupid drunk weekend in freezing January. The weekend that had changed everything in her life permanently. She looked at the photo of her teenage self standing around the Christmas tree with her mother, step father and step brother. They'd been happy and life had been so much simpler then. They were all smiling in the picture. It had been a good Christmas.

But then they'd run away for that stupid weekend which Ruth had spent years of her life trying to forget. It hadn't worked, even though as time went by she had managed to think of it less and less. She snapped the photo album shut and pulled her hair out of her face, eyes closed in concentration. No, she would not think of that. She could not focus on the conception of her beautiful and bright daughter. She refused to think about the night that Peter had raped her.

This was actually the idea for this fic, but I am really nervous about it, as I've left it a while before the reveal. What do you think?