I showed up at the hospital to surprise my husband during his shift. But the second one of his coworkers saw me, all the color left his face. Then his eyes filled with tears. “He hasn’t said a word to you, has he?” Ben and I had been married eleven years, and for every one of those years, I had shared him with the hospital. He was a remarkably gifted surgeon.

I ran two red lights as I raced along the tree-lined streets of the hillside neighborhood.

Walsh’s property was a sprawling stone mansion surrounded by tall wrought-iron gates and carefully trimmed hedges.

Brian’s sedan sat crookedly by the curb near the driveway, and my heart slammed against my ribs as I jammed my car into park.

Brian stood on the wide front porch, while Gregory Walsh filled the open doorway with a crystal glass of bourbon in his hand.

Half hidden in the shadows of the entry hall stood Walsh’s wife, Evelyn, watching the standoff with an expression I couldn’t read.