Prologue
Wet snow splat against the windshield as Vivienne Holland turned onto Mountain Laurel Lane, the tires of the Range Rover hissing over slush. Her shoulders ached clear down to the bone.
But she didn’t care. She’d haul a thousand more moving boxes, garment bags, and framed canvases if it would free her from her marriage.
Trying to outsmart a narcissist was the most terrifying thing she’d ever done—and also the most exhilarating. And the clash of those emotions had her twisted up inside.
Her phone trilled on the car speakers, and she smiled when she saw the caller. “Hey.”
“You done?” her sister asked.
“There’s just one more box left.” It hadn’t fit in her car, so she’d left it by the door. It was the most important thing she owned, so she had an irrational need to get to it.
But truly, it was okay.
He’s in another state.
She’d planned her escape carefully, sending her husband (almost ex!) to Aspen skiing with the kids over winter break. At the very last minute, she’d made the excuse that her mom had thrown out her back. Very typical of her mom, so no one had questioned it.
She’d waited till the plane was in the air to make her first move.
“You must be exhausted.” Her sister sounded worried.
And it wasn’t because of the trips she’d made to the new apartment and storage facility.
“Trust me, I’m fueled by terror.” She had to play it just right, get everything set up before she served him papers. If anything went wrong… If he got the upper hand…
Well, she didn’t know what would happen. But it wouldn’t be good.
“What if he finds out?” her sister asked the question that ran on repeat through Vivi’s mind every second of every day.
“I don’t think he can. You’re the only person that knows. Everything I’ve charged is on the credit card you took out for me, and my new bank account is paperless and goes to a secret email address.”
“No, I know. You’ve been very smart. I just wish I could help.”
Her sister was eight months pregnant with her fourth child. She neither had the time nor the resources to participate in Vivi’s Epic Escape. “You’ve helped me more than anyone else.” Mostly, by listening. She couldn’t tell a soul what she was doing.
And really, after this one last box, she’d have every piece of herself that mattered out of Wade’s reach. He could keep his ten thousand square foot house and all the expensive—uncomfortable—furniture and high-tech gizmos that made him feel powerful and rich.
All she wanted were her grandpa’s artwork, the family jewelry from her mom’s side, and her personal belongings. Everything else in that house was staged to impress guests.
As she slowed for the curve in the road, the Morrison’s golden retriever came barreling across the front lawn dragging its leash and leaving the front door open behind him.
Their teenage son sprinted barefoot into the snow wearing plaid boxers and a Yale sweatshirt, nearly wiping out on the icy walkway before grabbing the leash with both hands.
He grinned sheepishly at her, and she smiled as she drove by.
But her smile faded when she realized her neighbors, this life she lived, would vanish in less than a week.
“Well, I’ll come visit you as soon as I can,” her sister said. “Help you get settled in.”
They both knew that would never happen. Not with a baby coming and no childcare.
Besides, Vivi had rented a furnished apartment and had only brought over her clothes and toiletries.
Everything else was in storage. “That’s okay.
We’ll come to you. As soon as school’s out, I’ll bring the kids for a visit.
” Of course, that would have to be before summer school and the fancy enrichment camps her husband insisted on.
She continued down the street past homes trimmed in elegant white Christmas lights and fresh cedar garlands.
Inside, she imagined families decorating trees.
Laughter, teasing, holiday songs blaring out of speakers.
With her kids, she always had a pot of cocoa simmering on the stove, cookies baking, and bowls of frosting and sprinkles for them to decorate with.
She smiled when she thought of her youngest, Cara—her mini me—the only one her husband hadn’t stolen from her. Her baby loved all the crafts.
The pinch in her heart snapped her out of her reveries. She’d entered her marriage with such beautiful intentions, longing to give her future children the childhood she didn’t have.
But she’d married the wrong man.
“You were smart to pay so far in advance for that apartment,” her sister said. “He can’t touch it.”
“Yep.” Vivienne turned into her driveway.
“Six months is enough time to get on my feet.” With all the people she knew in town, she'd have no trouble getting a job.
Obviously, she'd never badmouth her husband, but she didn't need to, either.
Everyone had to know what he was like. The posturing, the grandstanding, the name-dropping, the stories that always ended with him as the hero, and the handshake that squeezed a little too hard—Yeah, everyone knew exactly who he was. And they'd root for her.
So what if she hadn't worked since college? She'd worked on every PTA board, led Girl and Boy Scout troops, coached, chaperoned, led fundraisers. She'd done more than enough to qualify for a job even without a proper resume.
Someone would hire her.
Warm amber light glowed from her wood and stone house. Every lantern lit. Every wreath perfectly centered.
In the beginning, she’d applied her own artistic flair to decorating, but Wade hated it. Said it looked like “white trash.” Between the silent treatment and violent destruction of her designs, she’d learned to just give into what he wanted.
Those weren’t her priorities. Her life was about her kids.
She hit the button to enter her garage, but it didn’t open. She tried again.
Huh. That’s weird.
Whatever. With a home, there was always something that needed fixing. She cut the engine. “All right, well, I’m here.”
“Are you taking the last box back to the apartment now or in the morning?” her sister asked.
“They don’t come home until Saturday, so there’s no rush.” But it held her journals. She’d scrawled her pain, rage, and fantasies all over those pages. “You know what? I think I will. I’ll sleep better knowing it’s safe.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. So, you’ve got a few more nights all to yourself. What’s the plan?”
Vivi smiled. “I’m going to order in”—something she never got to do because Wade demanded she make gourmet meals—“stream a sexy romance”—he’d stopped caring about her pleasure the night of their wedding—“and take a long, hot bubble bath.” Her boots made imprints in the sloppy snow, and she climbed the two steps to her front door.
“That sounds like a dream. I wish I could do that. Okay, I’ll let you go. Talk tomorrow.”
Vivi disconnected and dropped the phone in her bag. As she shoved the key into the lock, she peered through the window framing the oak door and felt relief when she saw her box. Silly, of course. But it would take a long time for her central nervous system to calm down.
She turned the key, but it didn’t budge. Jeez.
What’s going on?
Does nothing work today?
Maybe it was jammed. She tried it a few more times.
It didn’t make sense. Unless…
No.
He couldn’t have found out.
You’re being paranoid.
She pulled the key out and tried again. Come on.
But with every second that ticked past, her anxiety grew.
Because it was clear.
Her husband had changed the locks.
A cold fluid slid down her spine. The back of her neck went hot and prickly.
He knows.
Oh, my God. He found out.
No, he couldn’t have. There was no way.
She had to calm down. Think.
Dropping her purse on the welcome mat, she hurried around to the side of the house and punched in the code for the garage. Nothing. She peered into the dirty window but there were no cars.
So, he’s not here?
She tried the French doors and the first-floor windows. Nothing.
She hurried to the terrace and looked up at the second floor, calculating. If she could get into the garage, she could grab the ladder.
Oh, my God. She nearly doubled over.
He'd really done it. He'd locked her out of everything.
Okay, but the box was still by the door. She’d seen it through the glass. If he really had come home from the trip early, he still didn't know what was in it.
She had to get to those journals before he did.
But she had no way in.
Movement caught her eye, and she glanced up.
Her youngest stood in the window, watching her.
Oh, thank God. “Cara,” she called. “Come down and let me in.”
Her daughter didn’t move, her face expressionless.
Vivi gestured to the door. “Let me in, sweetie.” She smiled. “It’s cold out here.”
Cara stepped away from the window.
The curtain fell.
Leaving Vivi entirely alone.