Chapter 1

It was Thanksgiving Day, and I'd just finished a double shift at the elementary school library, the extra cash tucked away, I thought, for our struggling household.

Mark, my husband, managed a local car dealership, he always said money was tight, so I did my part.

I was tired, but a little thrill went through me when I got home and saw the email confirmation on his laptop, left open on the kitchen counter.

"Table for three at 'The Grand Steer' 7:00 PM," it read, under Mark's name.

My heart swelled, he was finally doing something special for us, for me and our seven-year-old daughter, Emily.

A real Thanksgiving treat.

I'd been working so much, trying to save every penny, convinced we were barely making ends meet.

Mark often talked about the dealership's poor performance, the stress of it all.

This steakhouse, though, it was high-end, the kind of place we hadn't been to in years.

A wave of warmth washed over me, picturing Emily's excited face, Mark smiling across the table.

Maybe things were looking up.

I quickly changed, a hopeful flutter in my chest, imagining a rare, happy family evening.

Buster, my sweet rescue greyhound, nuzzled my hand as I rushed out, giving him a quick pat, promising him turkey scraps later.

He didn't follow me to the door like usual, just looked at me with those soulful eyes.

I should have noticed.

I hurried to The Grand Steer, a little breathless, a smile already on my face.

The maître d' greeted me, "Good evening, are you joining the Patterson party?"

"Yes, I am," I said, beaming.

He led me towards a semi-private alcove, and my smile froze.

There was Mark, and there was Emily, her laughter echoing a little too loudly.

But they weren't alone.

Sitting next to Mark, her hand resting possessively on his arm, was Jessica, his high school sweetheart.

And Jessica was visibly pregnant, her belly round under a tight silk dress.

They were all laughing, a perfect little family unit, and I was the outsider looking in.

The waiter pulled out a chair for me, but I couldn't move, my feet rooted to the plush carpet.

They hadn't even noticed me yet.

My ears started to ring, a cold dread seeping into my bones.

Mark was saying something to Jessica, his voice low and intimate, the voice he used to use with me.

Emily was beaming up at Jessica, completely enthralled.

Then I heard Jessica's light, airy laugh, and Mark's words, "Don't you worry about a thing, babe, especially not now. You need a stress-free environment for the baby."

My stomach churned.

Then, a phrase drifted clearly to me, Mark again, "...and Buster, well, I had him taken care of. He nipped at Jessica the other day, can't have that."

Jessica giggled, "Oh, Mark, you're too good to me."

My blood ran cold, a prickling sensation crawling up my spine.

"Taken care of?"

What did that mean?

Buster.

My gentle, loving Buster, who wouldn't hurt a fly.

Nipped Jessica?

It was a lie, it had to be.

He hadn't been at the door when I left, he'd just looked at me, so sad.

The pieces clicked together with horrifying speed.

Mark's constant complaints about Buster shedding, about the expense of his food.

Jessica's supposed "need for a stress-free environment."

My mind flashed to the local kill shelter, the one Mark had sneered at when I adopted Buster.

My soup spoon, which I hadn't even realized I'd picked up from an empty side table I was leaning against, clattered to the floor.