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Chapter One
Grace
Two weeks earlier
Maybe I killed my husband.But I never would’ve hurt the children.That’s how I know Charles isn’t dead.It doesn’t matter what any of them say.I know this to be true, the way you just know a thing deep down in your soul.I feel them in my bones, all three of them.They are very much alive, and they are out there looking for me.
It’s not like anyone, not even the police—especiallynot the police—can prove otherwise.They don’t have bodies.They have no evidence against me, no proof that my family isactuallydead.So there was a little blood in my kitchen?What does that prove?Nothing.It proves nothing.
And they say I’m the crazy one.
Maybe I should have fought harder when they brought me here.But I didn’t fight.Not even a bit.I sort of shuffled through the front doors like this was a hotel and I was here for a short overnight stay.Little did I know…
At the time, I was hopeful.No—I wascertain,and certain is a very dangerous thing to be, far more dangerous than a killer.
I was certain this was all a terrible misunderstanding.I don’t know if it was my naivete or simply a protective mechanism, but either way, this is how it was.Of course, now I wish it were different, but you can’t really go and change the past.Trust me, I’ve tried.
When I first arrived—when they brought me here—a woman in white hospital scrubs greeted me.She asked a lot of questions.
“What’s your name?”
“My name?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”She looked down at me with shrewd eyes and a stern expression.“Don’t be difficult.”
My mouth was bone dry, and my tongue felt like a thousand pound lead weight.Sayinganythingwas difficult.I tried to tell her this.I didn’t want her to misunderstand my intentions.Actually, that was the last thing I wanted, because that’s how this all began.It was just a simple misunderstanding.Nothing extraordinary, even.
She shook her head and with a scoff said, “Your name, Miss?”
“Grace.”
“Surname?”
“Solomon,” I stammered.“Grace Solomon.”
“And I suppose you know why you’re here?”
“Not really,” I said, which was the truth.
“You’ve had a break, Mrs.Solomon.”
“So they say.”I thought I’d muttered it to myself or at the very least under my breath, but obviously I was wrong, because she heard me.
The woman pursed her lips in a way that made me know better than to say more.After she jotted something down on her clipboard, something I couldn’t see, she shook her head, like this was the last thing she wanted to be doing.
“Extreme psychosis,” she noted, drawing the words out.
She couldn’t possibly be referring to me, so I tried not to take anything personally.I assumed she must have a really heavy case load.
I watched as she chicken-scratched the words on paper, pressing harder than she needed to.“Delusional.”
I wouldn’t call it that, exactly.Even if my husband sometimes did.
Sure, I was having a bad day, and sure, Charles was late getting home and dinner had long gone cold on the table.Yes, I had received another letter from Toby’s teacher, and yes, Eleanor had gotten into my red nail polish and used it to paint the new linoleum.
Of course, I knew Charles wasn’t going to be happy about it.We’d just had the new flooring installed, and he wasn’t happy with my choice.He’d been on a trip and was therefore unreachable, not that I really considered it.A decision had to be made, so I made it.Passive aggressive, perhaps.Smart?Maybe not.What was I thinking, choosing white?
Why weren’t you watching her,he’d ask using his exasperated tone, the one he’d taken to reserving just for me.And even though I would explain why, he still wouldn’t get it.How could he?Charles has never stayed home with two children under two.
