Part 1
My name is Andrea Townsend, I am twenty-seven years old, and right now my hands are shaking so violently I can barely keep my foot pressed against the accelerator of my battered Honda Civic. It is twenty past nine on a rain-slicked Tuesday night in Claremont County, Ohio, and my rearview mirror is completely filled with the glaring...
Part 1
My name is Andrea Townsend, and at twenty-seven, I thought nothing my family did could ever shock me again. I was dead wrong.
Right now, the mahogany door of attorney Harold Finch’s downtown office is rattling against its hinges, and my father looks like he is about to kill someone.
"Read that sentence again, Finch!" my father, Greg, roars, slamming...
Part 1
My name is Andrea Townsend, I’m twenty-seven years old, and right now, my father’s hands are shaking so violently he can barely hold his fountain pen. We are sitting in the wood-paneled executive conference room of attorney Harold Finch in downtown Milbrook, Ohio. The air conditioning is humming, but the tension in this room is suffocating enough to...
Part 2
For a horrifying five seconds, nobody breathed. The only sound in the backyard was the sizzling of hot dogs burning on the grill. General Vance didn't look at Beatrice. He didn’t look at the shocked family members. His unblinking eyes remained locked onto me, his jaw trembling slightly.
Without saying a single word, he turned around and walked straight...
PART 2
Eight minutes later, Thomas Whitaker came back through the side gate wearing his Army dress uniform.
Nobody laughed.
The retired major general carried the wooden box in both hands.
Margaret stood slowly.
“Tom?”
He walked past her.
Straight to me.
Then he stopped, came to attention, and saluted.
My chest tightened.
I returned it.
Around us, chairs scraped as relatives stood without understanding why.
Whitaker lowered his hand.
“I knew...
PART 2
I stayed in the bathroom and called 911.
The dispatcher kept me on the line until flashing blue lights washed across the frosted window.
“Officers are at the residence,” she said. “Do not come out until they identify themselves.”
A knock came three minutes later.
“Chesapeake Police. Emily Carter?”
I opened the door.
Two officers stood in the hallway. One was a woman about...
Part 1
My name is Madison Butler, a thirty-two-year-old clinical social worker, and at twenty-five weeks pregnant, I thought the worst thing that could happen today was ruining my ivory linen maternity dress. I was wrong.
"Do it harder, Sawyer! Swing like you actually want followers!" my older sister Rowan shrieked, shoving her phone inches from her fourteen-year-old adopted son's face.
Before...
Part 1
My name is Madison Butler. I am thirty-two, a licensed clinical social worker in Ohio, and twenty-five weeks pregnant with a boy I fought four years of fertility treatments to conceive.
Two hours ago, my sister ruined my life for an algorithmic dopamine hit.
We were standing on my mother Adelaide’s manicured suburban lawn for our gender reveal party. The...
Part 1
My name is Madison Butler. I am thirty-two, twenty-five weeks pregnant, and until ten minutes ago, I thought my biggest problem was the humiliation burning through my veins.
"Smash it, Sawyer! Make it go viral!" my sister Rowan sneered, thrusting a pink plastic bat into her fourteen-year-old adopted son’s hands.
Before I could speak, Sawyer swung. The heavy blow obliterated...
Part 1
My name is Maya Vance. I am twenty-eight years old, an architectural designer based in Chicago, and right now, a heavy iron bolt is sliding into place on the other side of my basement door.
Ten minutes ago, I was packing my duffel bag in my suburban home, ready to catch a midnight flight to escape the suffocating marriage...
