Sarah Kanowski

I loved them.

Big, solid, lovely hands.

And his hand would be sitting in the corner of a photograph or the corner of a...

At a restaurant table, for example, the corner of a sleeve of a shirt that I'd given him, for example.

So those sorts of signs in photographs, but also a lot of him.

And the most devastating of all of them, I think, was the weekend that I spent worrying about his dog that had been bitten by a snake.

He was at a series of resorts with this other woman.

He went from the Central Coast to the Hunter Valley with her.

And there were photographs of him that she'd taken sitting on a veranda at one of these resorts, reading the book I'd given him only weeks earlier for his birthday, Don Watson's The Bush.

In the pool, having breakfast.

Yes, yes.

I found pictures on this woman's Facebook feed of the dumplings from this particular restaurant.

So it was her, it wasn't his sister?

It was her, it wasn't his sister.

He'd taken her there.

I can't imagine I was at the time.

In a way, I don't think I was surprised.

How could I have been, like I'd been so worried for so long.

I don't think I was actually surprised, but that said, I must have, it was gobsmacking at the same time.

I don't think emotions always have easy words to describe them.