The Wrong Family
Chapters (46)
Praise
Praise for The Wrong Family
“The Wrong Family is your new obsession…. You’ve never read anything like this.”
—Colleen Hoover, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“It’s not just a stunning thriller—it’s a force of reflection, as full of empathy and truth as it is shocking twists and turns.”
—Megan Angelo, author of Followers
“Tarryn Fisher’s latest thriller is like riding a roller coaster in the dark… You won’t devour this book. It will devour you.”
—Tess Callahan, author of April and Oliver
“No one writes as authentically as Tarryn Fisher. She is truly a once in a generation writer and The Wrong Family proves that, yet again.”
—New York Times bestselling author Anna Todd
Praise for The Wives
“You’ll have whiplash until the very end. The Wives will leave the most sure-footed reader uneasy until the last word is read.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Colleen Hoover
“I couldn’t put it down… Nail-biting, heart-clenchingly good from the start, with characters that you both root and cringe for. I loved every word.”
—New York Times bestselling author Alessandra Torre
“Fans of Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl will revel in The Wives… Will keep readers on their toes until the final page.”
—USA TODAY
“A fantastic thriller…filled with twists and turns you won’t see coming.”
—PopSugar
“[An] engrossing psychological thriller… Suspense fans will be rewarded.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fisher is a writer to watch.”
—Kirkus Reviews
Booklist
Also available from Tarryn Fisher
and Graydon House
The Wives
Dedication
For Traci “Face” Finlay and Aunty Marlene
About the Author
Tarryn Fisher is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of nine novels. Born a sun hater, she currently makes her home in Seattle, Washington, with her children, husband and psychotic husky. She loves connecting with her readers on Instagram.
Part One
1
JUNO
Juno was hungry. But before she could eat, she had to make it to the fridge without cutting herself.
She eyed a safe-ish route through the largest shards of glass that led past the island. She wore only thin socks, and as she stepped gingerly from a black tile to a white, it felt like she was playing a human game of chess. She’d heard the fight, but now she was seeing it in white porcelain shards that lay like teeth across the floor. She couldn’t disturb them, and she definitely couldn’t cut herself. When she rounded the island, she saw a green wine bottle lying on its side, a U-shaped crack spilling wine in a river that flowed beneath the stove.