An unflinching examination of motherhood and the dark side of domesticity set against a suburban backdrop that's anything but blissful. This twisty tale invites readers to a slow motion unravelling that culminates in a devastating finale.

Who was I? What had I become?
Breathe, I commanded. You're doing this for your family.

When Laurel and Rob West move into their new home in New Jersey, it seems too good to be true. But Laurel can't shake off her old feelings of anxiety. The neighbour who pays far too much attention to the Wests' two young children . . . Rob watching her every miss step . . . and there's something people aren't telling her about this house . . .

I promised myself I wouldn't go to that neighborhood again. Not that street. Not so soon. But I couldn't help it. They made it too easy.

Corey Sutton is trying to outrun her past. Recently divorced and reeling from a devastating loss, she moves into her widowed mother's retirement condo in Florida. Everyone says she just needs some time to recover and rebuild . . . but is Corey beyond saving? She wants answers. And there's very little she won't do to get them.

Though Laurel and Corey have never met, the women have something in common, and if they're not careful, it may just destroy them both . .

Excerpt

April

Laurel

Rob’s words spilled into my ear, so urgent I could almost feel the giddy rush of his breath through the phone.

‘They accepted the offer. We got the house!’

‘You’re joking!’ I sat up. Mid-morning sun warmed my face. I’d been resting on the couch, pillows behind my back and beneath my knees – the same way I’d spent the past two weeks. Like a nocturnal ballerina, the baby pirouetted inside me most nights, leaving me exhausted for much of the day. But the excitement in my husband’s voice – this news – jolted me awake. ‘We got it?’

My mother-in-law, Susan, looked at me, eyebrows arched. I gave her a thumbs-up. She mimed clapping and wiped her forehead in mock relief. It would’ve been impossible for her not to eavesdrop in our tiny apartment as she and three-year-old Jasper worked on a floor puzzle a few feet from me. Their heads bent toward one another as the scene – a rabbit farmer in overalls surrounded by chicks – clicked into place.

Rob had spotted the white Cape Cod-style house on Cold Creek Lane less than twenty-four hours earlier during his routine scrolling. He sent me the link and arranged an early-morning showing with the listing agent.

After a quick tour, he’d FaceTimed me from the empty bedroom that would be Jasper’s.

‘It’s perfect, Laur!’ His voice echoed off the ivory walls. ‘Let’s make an offer. What do you say?’

I’d said fine, go for it. I never thought we’d hear within hours. I expected to wait days and then lose out to a couple with more money. And, honestly, I was fine with that. The closer it got to my due date, the less appealing moving seemed.

Rob and I began house-hunting in the fall after the first-trimester morning sickness subsided enough that I could ride in the car without turning nauseous. We’d ventured to sweet suburban towns west of the city and found four homes we’d loved, only to get outbid every time. It was so discouraging, we’d stopped looking to avoid ruining the holidays. When we started again in February, inventory had been low with only a handful in our price range, we’d had to expand our search.

‘If everything goes smoothly, we could be in by June,’ Rob said.

After getting our hopes up only to be disappointed so many times, this seemed too easy, too good to be true.

I heard the tick-tock of the blinker and pictured him in the car on his way to work. I was quiet a beat too long. My husband, well attuned to my shifting moods, asked, ‘Laur? Laur, are you there?’

‘I’m here.’

‘I thought you’d be more excited. What’s wrong? You and my mom getting along?’

Susan had been staying with us on and off for the past ten days, making sure I followed my doctor’s bed rest orders – not easy with a toddler. She kept Jasper entertained, bundling him up every afternoon and whisking him off to the park, spoiling him with cocoa and mini cupcakes before making dinner each night. She returned to my father-in-law, Dennis, on the weekends and boomeranged back to us on Monday mornings. Some people would say I hit the mother-in-law jackpot, but with another person in it, our apartment took on the cramped feel of a crowded elevator.

‘No, no. I mean, yes, I’m fine. We’re all fine.’ I nodded, as if Rob could see me through the phone. ‘I am excited. It’s just, well . . .’ I pulled at a loose thread in the blanket covering my legs and burrowed my feet between sofa cushions. I turned my head away from Susan.

I could already hear how childish I’d sound before the words passed my lips. ‘It’s our first house. I wish I’d been there with you.’ I tried to keep my tone warm, not whiny. ‘I’d like to walk through the rooms at least once before we buy it. You know, actually see the place we’re going to be paying off for the next thirty years.’

‘I know, but—’

‘Can we go this weekend?’ I interrupted. ‘I won’t get out of the car. We can drive by. I want to check out the street, the neighborhood. Is there a playground nearby?’

‘You know what the doctor said: full bed rest until thirty-seven weeks. The next time you leave the apartment, it’s to have the baby.’

I groaned, knowing he was right.

‘C’mon, Laurel. We’re almost there.’

Easy for him to say. It had been fifteen days and already I was stir crazy. How would I manage another three weeks? I blocked the thought before my anxiety spiked and my blood pressure soared.

‘Trust me, you’ll love this place,’ Rob continued. ‘I promise.’

‘What about the mortgage?’ I’d quit my job as a part-time pastry chef a few months earlier when I started cramping and spotting and my doctor told me to stay off my feet as much as possible. We’d mainly used my bite-sized salary to justify dinners out, concerts, and the small luxuries we couldn’t give up: Netflix, Spotify, our gym membership. Still, I wondered how we could afford this property.

‘We’re pre-approved!’ Rob scoffed, all confidence. ‘Unless you bought a Porsche and didn’t tell me, we’re good. I didn’t even have to dip into Jasper’s imaginary college fund. And the best part? I decided to drop the offer twenty grand and they still accepted it!’

When was the last time I’d heard my husband that happy? Why couldn’t I let him have it? Doubts and questions looped through my mind, vultures circling, as I fiddled with the fringes on the throw blanket.

‘They didn’t insist on the asking price? In this market? That’s crazy.’ I shifted. I hadn’t felt the baby move since our call began. Or maybe she had and I hadn’t noticed with all the excitement. I took a sip of orange juice from the glass Susan had placed on our scuffed-up coffee table and waited to feel the baby’s fluttery movements.

‘Nope. No other offers.’ Rob blew out a long exhale as if to say, ‘Lucky us!’

No other offers. Was something wrong with the house and my husband wasn’t telling me? Why did my mind always go to the darkest place? I knew why, of course. My mother had been murdered days before Christmas when I was twelve years old.

How much of my present unease was my past refusing to let me believe good things could happen? And how much was that ugly side of human nature that made us desire something more once someone else wanted it too? It reminded me of the way Jasper was only interested in the swings at the playground after all of them were occupied. Maybe we never outgrew it.

‘Does it have a bad smell?’ I hinted at my concerns. ‘Mold? Be honest!’ Pregnancy made me keenly aware of the slightest foul scent. I’d potty trained Jasper early so we could stop using that diaper pail that didn’t trap odors, despite the promising reviews.

Silence. Did we have a bad connection or was he hesitating?

‘Rob?’ The baby jabbed at my ribcage. I patted my stomach, relieved.

‘It’s perfect,’ Rob insisted. ‘Even nicer in person. Lots of windows. The floors were just refinished. The street’s wide, trees on both sides.’ He paused. ‘There’s a creek behind the house. We should probably put up a fence.’

‘You saw it for the first time an hour ago! We don’t even own it yet and already you’re making improvements!’ I teased.

‘Didn’t I tell you it would all work out?’ Rob laughed as a horn blared in the background. ‘I’m heading into the tunnel, I might lose you. We’ll celebrate tonight when I get . . .’

It was nice to hear him sound like himself again. Since the pregnancy had turned high-risk, he’d been on edge, anxious. While those were my default settings, my husband typically sailed through his days carefree. He’d led a charmed life, so different from mine. I’d been anticipating tragedy since the night two police officers had stood in my childhood kitchen towering over my father.

Rob expected every moment to shine. Why shouldn’t his good fortune continue, he reasoned. And, like a self-fulfilling prophecy, for a while, it did.

Sometimes now I wonder if Rob hadn’t found the house on Cold Creek Lane – if we’d never bought it – would his luck have held out forever?

And if it had, would it have been enough to protect us all?

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About the Author

Liz Alterman is the author of the memoir Sad Sacked, the young adult thriller He’ll Be Waiting, a finalist for the Dante Rossetti Young Adult Fiction award, and the domestic suspense novels The Perfect Neighborhood and The House on Cold Creek Lane. Her work has been published by The New York Times, The Washington Post, McSweeney's Internet Tendency, and numerous other outlets. She lives in New Jersey with her husband, three sons, and two cats, and spends most days microwaving the same cup of coffee and looking up synonyms. When she isn’t writing, she’s reading and attempting to visit with as many book clubs as time will allow. For more, visit lizalterman.com.