The Wife – Part Two: For Better, For Worse. ML Roberts
c267441d-2cba-5582-a7e2-2b496dd83ce0">
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
HarperImpulse
an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017
Copyright © ML Roberts 2017
Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com
Cover design by Ellie Game © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
ML Roberts asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © September 2017 ISBN: 9780008259877
Version: 2017-09-26
For my husband. His constant support has been everything.
Table of Contents
I start to pull the door towards me, a slight breeze blowing in from outside as it slowly opens, and then I hear it – that sound, a scream that barely has time to resonate before it’s quickly stopped, and it takes a second before I realise it was me, I was the one screaming; the one who was silenced by a hand being clamped heavily over my mouth.
It was me who was screaming…
Michael blamed himself for not protecting me. He blamed himself for everything, but it wasn’t his fault.
It wasn’t.
Not really.
I pull my knees to my chest and hug them tightly as I sit in the corner of the room that should have been our baby’s nursery. The light, bright yellow walls are almost taunting me, smiling down at me, reminding me of what this room should have been.
The people Michael and I should have been.
Parents.
Fourteen Months Earlier
I can’t feel anything but fear. It’s all-consuming. As I’m slammed back against the glass door I want to cry out in pain, but I can’t; that hand is still clamped firmly over my mouth.
I close my eyes, squeeze them shut, try to pretend this is a dream. I’m going to wake up any second now because this isn’t happening. And then the hand is roughly removed, and I let out a gasp, double over, clasp my stomach. I need to protect my baby.
A smell of a strong floral perfume fills my nostrils and I look up, my head seemingly taking an eternity to raise itself – it feels like everything is happening in slow motion right now.
‘You’re prettier than I thought you’d be.’
Her words both confuse and terrify me, and I back up against the door, my hand still splayed out over my stomach. I don’t know what to do.
‘How did you get in here?’
Her eyes glance over my shoulder at the door behind me. ‘You made it too easy.’
I frown, look behind me. I remember Michael took the rubbish out a couple of hours ago… We always check every door is locked before