You Were Made for This

You Were Made for This

by Michelle Sacks

Hardcover

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780316475402
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Publication date: 06/19/2018
Pages: 352
Sales rank: 181,071
Product dimensions: 5.90(w) x 9.30(h) x 1.40(d)

About the Author

Michelle Sacks' first short story collection Stone Baby was published by Northwestern University Press in 2017. Her earlier writing has been published in African Pens and New Contrast, and by Akashic Books. Born in South Africa, Michelle holds a master's degree in literature and film from the University of Cape Town.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Merry

If you saw us you'd probably hate us. We look like the cast of an insurance commercial: shiny, happy us. The perfect little family, living the perfect little life.

Wasn't that another perfect day? is what we always say at the end of days like these. A confirmation. A promise. A warding-off of any days that might be anything less. But most are perfect here in Sweden, many more than I can count.

It's so beautiful, especially now in the middle of the summer, all dappled, dancing light and gentle sun. The little red wooden house we live in is out of a children's picture book — nestled in the forest, snug as a bug, with the trees all around and the garden lush and blooming, an abundance of life — vegetable patches thick with leaves, bushes heavy with sun-ripened summer berries, the smell of blooms everywhere, heady and sweet, drawing in the bees with their charms. The summer evenings are endless and still, the sky bright well past eleven, and the vast lake pale and calm like the very faintest shade of blue on a color wheel. And stillness — everywhere just the sound of the birds and the rustling of the leaves on the branches.

Our lives here involve no traffic, no pollution, no upstairs neighbors blaring music or downstairs neighbors screeching out their misery; no litter on the sidewalk or rotting Manhattan trash or sweaty L-train commutes to work, no crowds, no tourists; no daily encounters with rats or roaches or perverts or street preachers. No. Nothing but this, an impossible life of lightness and dreams. Sam and the baby and me, on our island of three.

Like most mornings after I put the baby down for his nap, I went into the kitchen to bake. Today, a pie from the blueberries we'd picked in the forest this past weekend. I made the dough myself and rolled it out, pricked it with a fork, baked it blind to crisp it. The sun was already streaming in through the big open windows, rays of light casting themselves across the floors of our bright glass house. The ripened berries I cooked low and slow, excising out the juices over the heat with maple syrup and a stick of cinnamon, careful not to let it all burn and spoil. Sam in his studio smelled the butter and the sugar and the sweetness of the fruit; he came out to the kitchen to see what I'd made. He looked at me and grinned, just as pleased as punch.

See, he said, don't I always tell you. You were made for this.

The pie was good; we ate it still warm with mugs of coffee as we sat out in the garden under the early-afternoon sun. The baby tasted a spoonful of the innards and dribbled it all out again, like a miniature office worker who'd just chewed his blue pen. Sam laughed and scooped it back up into the spoon.

Isn't this kid the best? he said. He lifted him and jiggled him about, so the baby laughed and squealed and spit up some more. I observed them together. The boys. My boys. Father and son. I smiled, and felt the warmth of the sun against my skin.

Down the dirt road that connects the houses on the reserve, one of the neighbors has a paddock full of prize-winning horses nursing their young. The spring foals wobble about on spindly, unsteady legs; the mares nudge them up with their muzzles, coaxing their offspring gently into the world. They are good at mothering. Patient and instinctive. Fierce with love for their young, as nature demands.

Sam and I walked the baby over to watch them in the field. Horse, Sam said, and he pointed and neighed, and the baby was in hysterics. I reached out a hand to a chestnut brown mare who had approached the fence, felt the quiver of life and taut muscle under my fingers. She was beautiful. Strong and certain. Her black eyes were fierce.

Careful, Sam warned. New mothers can be dangerous.

We left the horses and made our way slowly back to the house. Our home for a little under a year. It's around forty-five minutes outside of Stockholm, on a nature reserve bordering Sigtuna, the oldest town in Sweden. The reserve covers a fairly large stretch of land, mostly fields and forest nestled around the lake, with the odd house dotted in between the pines. Many of the homes have been in a single family for generations, the same red wooden cabin extended or repaired over the years as necessary; the walls within witness to the constant comings and goings of the newly born and the newly departed.

Sam inherited the house from his grandfather's second wife, Ida, who was born and raised here. She had no children of her own, but always had a soft spot for Sam, who knew even as child how to charm her, how to compliment her on her rose garden or her spiced cookies or the gentle Swedish accent that made all her words sound like songs. When she died some years ago, Sam discovered she'd left him the house, with the stipulation that it could never be sold, only passed down.

We'd never visited before last year, never even thought much about the house or the country. Actually, our sole point of reference for all of Sweden was one of those little red Dala horses Ida brought back for us after one of her visits. It sat atop the spice rack in our Brooklyn apartment, next to the pepper grinder and the unopened jar of saffron strands I'd bargained for at a night market in Marrakech.

Of course, moving here was Sam's idea.

All the good ones are, he likes to joke.

He said it would be like a fairy tale. That we'd be happier than we've ever been.

He was right. He always is. Pointing us in the right direction; the compass that leads me away from the storms. How lucky I am to have him.

Later in the afternoon, the three of us took a long walk through the forest, the baby in the backpack carrier, hitched snugly to Sam. As we walked, we named the trees and birds we've learned to identify this past year — a spruce, a nest of finches, Fraxinus excelsior, a common ash. These are our newfound pleasures and hobbies, the things we busy ourselves with over here. We laugh at ourselves sometimes, imagining the people we once were.

In the little town of Sigtuna, we stopped for thick rye-crumbed herrings and potato salad at the café by the pier; listened to the sounds of the seagulls and the lapping water as they blended hypnotically with the low chatter of the well turned-out Swedes. The waitress tickled the baby's cheek and took our order in flawless English. Tack, we said. Tack.

Back home, I gave the baby his bath and rocked him gently to sleep in my arms. I breathed into his neck and traced a hand gently over his downy golden hair, which was slowly beginning to thicken. I touched a hand to his chest, felt the thud of his beating heart, steady and miraculous every time; doof doof, the echo of life. Sam and I, tired out from the walk and the fresh air, climbed in between the crisp sheets before it had turned dark outside. I curled into my husband's arms, gazed at his handsome face, the dark eyes, the sharp jaw, that chest of his that feels plated in armor. A solid man, a man who can carry the weight of you, and does.

I let out a contented sigh. Wasn't that another perfect day, I said.

Sam kissed my forehead and closed his eyes. I moved my arm to turn over onto my front.

No, he said, stay.

Yes, it's just as Sam said. A fairy-tale life in the woods.

CHAPTER 2

Sam

Today is our one-year anniversary of moving to Sweden. Hard to believe. A full year, a new country, a new home, a new child. A whole new life. A better one, that's for sure. To celebrate, I returned home from my meeting in Stockholm with a bunch of fresh spring flowers, a bottle of wine, and a knitted Viking hat for Conor that I picked up in one of the tourist stores in the old town.

Merry was in the kitchen, her long dark hair bundled on top of her head, her apron tied around her waist. She smiled when she saw me. I kissed her and she went to fetch a vase for the flowers.

Beautiful, she said.

As is my wife, I replied. I know she likes it when I call her that.

She put her arms around me and I breathed in her smell; perfume and something recently fried. Happy Swede-iversary, she said. Look, I made Swedish meatballs to celebrate.

Where's my boy? I asked, and went to find Conor. He was on the activity mat in the living room, lying on his back, trying to get at the frog that hangs suspended from the green plastic bar. This child. I can't get enough of him. Eight months and counting. He's growing by the day, a little evolution at the speed of light; always changing, always in motion.

How's my champ today, I said, lying down beside him. He smiled at me, the smile that turns my heart on its head: gummy and pink and pure love. I nuzzled my face into his belly, inhaled the smell of talcum powder and diaper cream.

I put the hat on his little head and lifted him up to show Merry. Two blond Viking braids hung down from the hat. Conor grabbed one and put it in his mouth.

Great, Merry laughed, now he's ready to lead an invasion.

She's so happy here. Light and happy. Unburdened. I love to see her like this. It's all I've ever wanted for her. For us.

I handed her the baby so I could go and wash up for dinner. She cradled him close, and I paused a minute to frame the scene.

Beautiful, I said again.

We sat down together around Ida's old oak table, Con in the high chair I built for him, Merry and I across from one another. She'd unpinned her hair, parted it to the side just as I like best. She was wearing a blue blouse that made her gray eyes appear almost translucent, as though they were portals to some other world, or altogether empty behind.

I poured the wine; Merry dished up the food and wiped the rim of the plates where the sauce had spilled. She'd lit candles even though it would still be light out for hours, and set the flowers on the far end of the table.

To Sweden, I toasted.

Merry held up her wine and we clinked our glasses together.

So good, I said, eating a mouthful.

Remember when we met, I laughed, you could hardly make a slice of toast.

It can be hard sometimes to remember that Merry. So much has changed since then.

Another lifetime, Merry said.

Yeah, I agreed. And this one's a far better fit.

She was radiant, the evening light from outside streaming in, painting her edges in a soft golden glow.

She was trying to feed Conor, but he kept turning his head away.

What have you got for him?

Broccoli, carrot and chicken, she said.

Lucky guy. I smiled. Let me.

I took the blue plastic spoon from her.

Vrooom, vroooom. He opened his mouth wide and was done in no time.

See? I winked. He just wants you to work a little harder for it.

Later, after Con was asleep in his crib, Merry and I lay out on the lawn and finished the bottle of wine. I pulled her to me and kissed her deeply.

The stars above us blanketed the sky in light. The lavender in the garden floated its scent in the air, a little too overpowering. I could make out Merry's eyes, watching me, and within them, the edges of my reflection. I lifted her blouse and moved her down beneath me.

Sam, she protested.

Shhh, I said, we're in the middle of nowhere.

She relaxed under me and shuddered slightly as I pried her open and apart.

Besides, I reminded her, we're supposed to be trying for another baby.

Yes.

This is the life.

This is exactly how it's meant to be.

CHAPTER 3

Merry

Today my project was jam and baby food. There's a surplus of produce from the garden and the refrigerator is almost empty of the little pots of food I make for the baby's meals. Sam and I agreed that he should eat as much organic and homemade food as possible, so we grow most of the vegetables ourselves, and I cook it up and turn it all into puree to bottle and store. It's not that much more work, really. I suppose nothing is when it comes to your children.

When we arrived last year, everything was wild and overgrown, fifteen years of neglect, of unweeded lawn and trees beset with rot. We pulled down the rotted spruces, heaved out the gnarl-rooted bushes and the lawn overrun with chickweed and black grass. We bought books on horticulture and planted rows and rows of seedlings from the nursery. Sam custom-built bricked-in vegetable patches and cold frames for the winter to guard against the frost. There were plagues of snails and fungus, seedlings that refused to sprout, mis-planted produce that we tried and failed to grow in the wrong seasons. Slowly, eventually, we worked out the rhythms of planting and picking, the time it takes to nurture a cabbage, the optimal alkalinity of the soil. We are quite expert now, or at least I am. Like the kitchen, the garden is my domain.

There is no shortage of produce these days. Every morning, I am outside sowing the seeds, removing the weeds, harvesting the vegetables from out of the soil. The smell of earth sits heavy in the air; the smell of something wholesome and good. Back to basics, Sam says. He likes to pretend he can taste the difference; he'll take a bite of salad and rule it home-grown or market-bought. I usually lie if he guesses wrong. I hate for him to feel silly.

For the baby's food, I boil the vegetables in pots on the stove, one for carrots, one for broccoli, one for zucchini. I write labels for the jars, as though the baby might be able to read them and choose his own dinner. Sam likes to open the refrigerator and see them all lined up in a row, a little army of food soldiers ready to serve.

Who's been a busy little wife? he'll say.

Oh, that would be me, I'll reply, with a wink. Coy and cute.

I sure am a busy little wife. It is the role I was born for, according to Sam. He cannot get enough of me like this, wifely and domestic and maternal. Perhaps he is right, and I was built for it. I certainly seem to excel at it. A natural, you might say, if you didn't know how hard I work to pull it all off.

Never mind; it's worth it, isn't it. What more could I hope for. What more do I need? The love of a husband, the gift of a child. It is enough — it is everything.

Sometimes this new life makes me feel as though I am living as a quaint eighteenth-century settler wife. Growing things, baking bread, going to the weekly farmer's market to choose my box of greens, zucchini, kale, celery, whatever I can't grow in my own garden. Sam marvels at the offerings — the freshness of wild Norwegian salmon, the taste of real farm butter or eggs plucked right out from under a hen.

How did we ever survive in the States, he says.

You'd wonder, I reply.

We do this frequently, compare life before and after; new world and old. Sweden always wins. There is seldom much need for debate. Sweden is Sam's gift to me, to us. It is the answer to everything; it has been the cure for all that ailed us before. Paradise, he calls it, and waits for me to agree.

I always do. How could I not.

As well as jam and baby food, it was a bathroom and kitchen day, so after finishing with the food, I made my homemade cleaning paste, of vinegar and baking soda — the recipe courtesy of a blog Sam found for me. It's full of household tips, like how to make scented candles and the best ways to remove stubborn mold from the grouting. He subscribed me to the newsletter so I need never miss a single tip.

He's good like that. Proactive. I admire that quality in a person, the ability to decide and do, to set plans in motion. It has never been something I'm particularly good at. I often wonder what my life might look like if I was.

On my knees in the bathroom, I started with the bath. Scrubbing and shining the taps till I could see myself reflected back, distorted and inverted; pulling our week of collective shed hair out of the drain in a single swampy ball. The toilet next, finicky work, head in the bowl. What would my mother say if she could see me now? In the mirror, I looked at myself. Unkempt, that's what my mother would say. Or, more likely, hideous. Unwashed, no makeup, skin slicked in oil. A thin trickle of sweat pooling down my T-shirt. I sniffed under my armpits.

Then I smiled into the mirror, dazzling and wide. I opened my arms in a gesture of gracious welcome.

Welcome to our home, I said aloud. Welcome to our lives.

The woman in the mirror looked happy. Convincing.

There was a phone call earlier this morning from Frank. She woke the baby.

I'm coming to Sweden, she said.

What?

I'm coming to visit!

I've said it to her again and again in the year we've been here, at the end of every email and phone call. You must visit, it's wonderful; we'd love to have you.

And now she is coming. She will be here in a few weeks.

Your best friend, Sam said when I told him. That's great news.

Yes, isn't it, I said, smiling.

I'd emailed her just a few days ago. Another missive about my wonderful Swedish life, with photographs as proof. Something home-baked, a smiling child, a shirtless husband. She replied almost immediately, informing me of her new promotion, a sparkling new penthouse in Battersea. She attached a photograph of herself from a recent break to the Maldives. Frank in a pineapple-print bikini, sun-kissed and oiled, the lapping Indian Ocean in the background, a coconut cocktail in her hand.

I wonder what she'll make of all this. The picture of my life, when she sees it in the flesh.

(Continues…)



Excerpted from "You Were Made For This"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Michelle Sacks.
Excerpted by permission of Hachette Book Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Cover,
Disclaimer,
Book Title Page,
Copyright,
Dedication,
Epigraph,
1: Merry,
2: Sam,
3: Merry,
4: Sam,
5: Merry,
6: Sam,
7: Merry,
8: Sam,
9: Merry,
10: Sam,
11: Merry,
12: Merry,
13: Sam,
14: Merry,
15: Frank,
16: Sam,
17: Frank,
18: Merry,
19: Frank,
20: Frank,
21: Merry,
22: Frank,
23: Sam,
24: Merry,
25: Frank,
26: Merry,
27: Sam,
28: Sam,
29: Frank,
30: Merry,
31: Merry,
32: Frank,
33: Sam,
34: Frank,
35: Sam,
36: Frank,
37: Merry,
38: Sam,
39: Frank,
40: Merry,
41: Sam,
42: Merry,
43: Sam,
44: Frank,
45: Sam,
46: Merry,
47: Sam,
48: Merry,
49: Sam,
50: Merry,
51: Frank,
52: Merry,
53: Frank,
54: Merry,
55: Sam,
56: Frank,
57: Merry,
58: Sam,
59: Frank,
60: Sam,
61: Frank,
62: Merry,
63: Merry,
64: Frank,
65: Merry,
66: Frank,
67: Merry,
68: Frank,
69: Merry,
70: Frank,
71: Merry,
72: Sam,
73: Merry,
Acknowledgments,
About the Author,
Navigation,
Table of Contents,

What People are Saying About This

New York Times - Tim Johnston

“You Were Made For This is a thrilling literary fairytale from which you can’t escape, not even after you’ve found your way back to the light of day. The warning is right there in the novel's epigraph: ‘You must always go carefully into the dark Swedish woods.’ And then in you go, forgetting to leave bread crumbs behind you, until soon you are lost in Sacks’ fascinating domestic dreamscape, a dark and deceptive place where old wounds, secrets, and the seeds of violence are cooked up and jarred and stowed in plain sight, yet fill your heart with dread at every turn.”

Customer Reviews

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You Were Made for This 3.6 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 9 reviews.
Bookaholic_Cindy More than 1 year ago
For me, the book started off a bit slow. A family moves to an inherited house in Sweden to start a new life for them and their baby. It seemed like the perfect back to the earth, peaceful kind of life, gardening and living of the land. Then the author throws us some hints that had my mind going back and forth, over and over again. At this point, things got really dark, which made up for the slow start! There are some cringe worthy chapters. And we read and get the point of views of the characters but who can we trust? I have to say it was a tad depressing and sad at times. But one good psychological thriller, for sure. The ending line in the book gave me chills, made my hair stand on and, and I was like WTF!!!! No, no, no! * I was provided an ARC to read from the publisher and NetGalley. It was my decision to read and review this book.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I can't believe I spent $13.99 on this. First half of book was ok, but it was an actual STRUGGLE to trudge through until the end. And the end can only be described as BLAH. I wanted to LOVE this book, but it just fell extremely short!
readers_retreat More than 1 year ago
Although this is apparently a debut, I could've sworn i've heard the name Michelle Sacks in reading circles before this. Maybe it's just me, must be. One of the aspects that drew me to the book was the setting - the Swedish countryside, somewhere I would love to visit, sets the scene for this dark and disturbing read. Merry and her husband and young baby, are creating their dream life in Sweden, far from the events that clouded their lives whilst living in New York. Then Merry's childhood friend, Frances, comes to stay but Frances finds that she hardly recognises her friend. Soon cracks begin to appear in Merry's carefully constructed fairy tale. And Frances starts seeing things that may not be so apparent to others, treacherous things. And then a terrible tragedy unfolds. "You Were Made For This" is a difficult book to rate as there were both good and bad parts to it. It is slow to build, exploring the relationships between the three main characters - Sam, Merry and Frances - and is told from those three points-of-view. The synopsis really only gives you a slight glimpse of what might be involved in the novel, you are in for a shock! If you don't like disturbing, dark, and oppressive stories then I would advise you to avoid this one. I also found the writing style pretty hard going, it was sometimes hard to follow, something I don't usually have an issue with. The characters are incredibly unlikable, but I don't mind that if it adds to the narrative, as here. If you enjoy thrillers overflowing with lies, secrets, murder, abuse, and unhealthy relationships, you'll likely appreciate this. But be warned - this is far more chilling than the blurb indicates! Many thanks to HQ for an ARC. I was not required to post a review and all thoughts and opinions expressed are my own.
readers_retreat More than 1 year ago
Although this is apparently a debut, I could've sworn i've heard the name Michelle Sacks in reading circles before this. Maybe it's just me, must be. One of the aspects that drew me to the book was the setting - the Swedish countryside, somewhere I would love to visit, sets the scene for this dark and disturbing read. Merry and her husband and young baby, are creating their dream life in Sweden, far from the events that clouded their lives whilst living in New York. Then Merry's childhood friend, Frances, comes to stay but Frances finds that she hardly recognises her friend. Soon cracks begin to appear in Merry's carefully constructed fairy tale. And Frances starts seeing things that may not be so apparent to others, treacherous things. And then a terrible tragedy unfolds. "You Were Made For This" is a difficult book to rate as there were both good and bad parts to it. It is slow to build, exploring the relationships between the three main characters - Sam, Merry and Frances - and is told from those three points-of-view. The synopsis really only gives you a slight glimpse of what might be involved in the novel, you are in for a shock! If you don't like disturbing, dark, and oppressive stories then I would advise you to avoid this one. I also found the writing style pretty hard going, it was sometimes hard to follow, something I don't usually have an issue with. The characters are incredibly unlikable, but I don't mind that if it adds to the narrative, as here. If you enjoy thrillers overflowing with lies, secrets, murder, abuse, and unhealthy relationships, you'll likely appreciate this. But be warned - this is far more chilling than the blurb indicates! Many thanks to HQ for an ARC. I was not required to post a review and all thoughts and opinions expressed are my own.
CrazyCat_Alex More than 1 year ago
Hard to rate this book. I couldn't connect with anyone and everything felt just horrible. The only thing that I liked about this book were the setting. Sweden made for a beautiful scenery and the description of the lakes and nature was really good.
JHSEsq More than 1 year ago
Merry, Sam, and baby Conor have relocated to a rustic cottage in Sweden, leaving behind their life in New York where Sam was a professor. Now Merry spends her days baking, gardening, and mothering little Conor while Sam is attempting to launch a new career as a filmmaker. They have made substantial renovations to the cottage that Sam inherited and appear to be living an idyllic life, even though their neighbors warn them that the long, cold Swedish winters are challenging. Merry's best friend, Frank, announces that she is finally coming for a visit! Merry is at once excited to see her and nervous, determined to ensure that everything is perfect when Frank arrives. Frank immediately becomes an integral part of the family -- Conor adores her and she begins transforming from the high-powered career woman with no domestic skills to a woman who envies the seemingly tranquil life that her friend has established. Merry is harboring dark thoughts and even darker actions that render some passages in You Were Meant for This difficult to read and disturbing. Merry is not as enamored with motherhood as she would have others believe and is upset when Conor seems to be happier with Frank than with her. She increasingly defers his care to Frank, claiming she is unwell and taking to her bed for days. Frank watches Merry and discovers her unspeakable secret. But Sam and Frank also have secrets and when tragedy strikes, they begin coming to light. The sinister truth stands in glaring contrast to the beautiful setting against which it plays out. Michelle Sacks manages to make three thoroughly unlikable characters utterly fascinating, revealing their motivations, machinations, and manipulations at expertly-timed intervals. Sacks explores the twisted, competitive obsession that binds Merry and Frank together. And she peels away the facade bit by bit, compelling the action forward right up to the jaw-dropping, deeply disturbing conclusion, at which point the meaning behind the book's title becomes abundantly clear. Thanks to NetGalley for an Advance Reader's Copy of the book.
Tasha Mahoney More than 1 year ago
I thought that this book was ok, but it didn't blow my mind. It had the darkness and suspense that I was hoping for but it lacked the pacing that I like and I didn't particularly like any of the characters. (Not an issue when the book has a plot that blows my mind but it is an issue when the plot is ok and not wow) I didn't hate this book, I thought it was ok so I give it 3.5 stars which means enjoyable enough, just not great. I will say that Michelle Sacks does show great future potential.
TheThirtyYearItch More than 1 year ago
Sam and Merry left the busy life of New York City and were living the dream raising their infant son, Conner, in Sweden. At least that’s what they were telling themselves and anyone else who would listen. But the long winters and slower-paced atmosphere, raising their own vegetables and making their own bread, jams, and baby foods might not be all it’s cracked up to be. When Merry’s oldest and best friend Frank sends word she’ll be coming for a visit and to meet Conner, Sam and Merry double-down on their version of the utopia they have been portraying. But Merry and Frank know each other too well, and the secrets—and rivalries—can’t stay hidden for long. The story is told from the first person alternating between Sam, Merry, and Frank. All three are deeply developed, establishing themselves and providing insight into the current events of the novel by sharing their pasts. The relationship between Merry and Frank—how they’ve influenced each other since early childhood and still do today—is central to the story, Sam, though wanting to be in control, is controlled by them both, and by the relationship with his mother, giving him a loathing for women that he just can’t seem to get over. How far will this rivalry between Merry and Frank go? Adultery? Murder? And who will come out on top? You just can’t predict what a lifetime of love and hate can do among friends.
SaraOxo More than 1 year ago
You Were Made For This by Michelle Sacks a thrilling four-star read. This was a difficult one to rate as the author did a great job of getting you to feel a connection with the characters in the way that she writes, you get sucked in and start to see yourself everyone’s darker sides, as we all know that no matter how idyllic life seems on the surface there are things bubbling under the surface that could ruin that life. This is such a good phycological thriller that it does suck you in and you become part of the story, seeing things unfold and clues dropped but will you figure it out before it’s too late? Be warned this is more emotional than you may expect from this type of book.