Two hours later, after Owen whined his way into watching what he wanted, a sci-fi action movie filled with soulless CGI, rather than the uplifting romantic comedy I’d picked out on Netflix, the selfish bastard snored beside me in bed while I pulled out a book to read. Pretty Ugly Lies, a nifty psychological thriller about a psycho wife plotting to murder her no-good husband. Ha, maybe I’ll get some tips, I joked to myself. He’d reneged on my promised massage too. It didn’t matter, though. Tomorrow was another day, another chance. And then, for the first time in my life, I could stop the lies and deceit. But as it turns out with most people pleasers, that was just another lie—the worst kind. A lie to myself.

Chapter 4

Robin

NINE DAYS AGO

My husband was going to kill me if I didn’t get around to it first. Even if I did take my own life, I’d need to make sure it didn’t look like a suicide. Life insurance policies didn’t pay out for suicide. By tomorrow I would be front-page news on the Monroeville Times Express: HUSBAND MURDERS WIFE OVER $40,000 CREDIT CARD DEBT. Even if Grant didn’t kill me, he’d divorce me. I couldn’t let him find out, not until I figured out a way to pay it off.

Folding the paper credit card statement back into thirds, I tucked it into the envelope, ripped it in half, and tossed it in the garbage, shoving it under a slimy chicken foam tray for good measure. Eliminate the evidence, then deal with the debt. I had no idea how, and I wish I’d considered that sooner—particularly before a 21 percent interest rate hit. Why not enjoy it now when you can pay for it later? That had become my mantra in my quest to live uninhibited, and it was catching up with me. I’d lived in an organized, efficient box for so long. I had wanted out, I had wanted freedom, I had wanted to be like Lily. And now all I wanted was to return to my safe, square box.

Debt was a persistent stalker.

In the living room Grant’s cell phone silently buzzed against an antique oak end table. I often wondered why he kept it on silent, what he was hiding, but I never asked. He was the perfect spouse—reliable provider, adoring father, attentive husband. I had no reason to be suspicious of his vibrating phone or calls taken out on the back porch. But a wife couldn’t help but wonder. After all, I had my own secrets, so maybe he had his.

A moment later the vibration stopped and his deep voice rumbled throughout the first floor. I was hiding a mountain of debt; Grant was hiding his calls. I guess we all had our hidden skeletons. Though mine seemed to be piling up lately.