My Husband's House

MY HUSBAND'S HOUSE A GRIPPING AND ABSOLUTELY ADDICTIVE PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER WITH A HEART-POUNDING TWIST SHERYL BROWNE BOOKS BY SHERYL BROWNE My Husband’s House Her First Child Do I Really Know You? The Invite The Liar’s Child My Husband’s Girlfriend Trust Me The New Girlfriend The Perfect Sister The Marriage Trap The Second Wife The Affair The Babysitter AVAILABLE IN AUDIO Her First Child (Available in the UK and the US) Do I Really Know You? (Available in the UK and the US) The Invite (Available in the UK and the US) The Liar’s Child (Available in the UK and the US) My Husband's Girlfriend (Available in the UK and the US) Trust Me (Available in the UK and the US) The New Girlfriend (Available in the UK and the US) The Perfect Sister (Available in the UK and the US) The Marriage Trap (Available in the UK and the US) The Second Wife (Available in the UK and the US) The Affair (Available in the UK and the US) The Babysitter (Available in the UK and the US) CONTENTS Prologue Evening News Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Epilogue The Affair Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Hear More from Sheryl Books by Sheryl Browne A Letter from Sheryl Her First Child Do I Really Know You? The Invite The Liar’s Child My Husband’s Girlfriend Trust Me The New Girlfriend The Perfect Sister The Marriage Trap The Second Wife The Babysitter Acknowledgements * To book bloggers and readers for their fabulous support and faith in me. Thank you. One lie is enough to question all truths. Unknown PROLOGUE Tugging the flimsy jacket I’d grabbed as I raced from the house more tightly around me, I try to ignore the hushed whispers of the clique of mothers from the school my children attend. I’d once been invited into their circle. Now, standing outside it, I feel it acutely, the loneliness of being alone. A woman I’d thought was my friend is with them. In my peripheral vision I catch her glancing furtively towards me. I keep my gaze fixed forward, concentrating on the activity beyond the police cordon, and try to block out the speculation of those drawn by flashing blue lights and morbid curiosity. ‘Any idea what they’re looking for?’ another woman who lives just a few doors away from me asks fearfully. ‘Body, I reckon,’ a neighbour from the opposite side of the road surmises with a short ‘tsk’. ‘Has to be, doesn’t it?’ He nods towards the police divers negotiating the curved wall of the dam to access the water where the reservoir is at its deepest. Other officers, dressed from top to toe in white suits, examine the brickwork, where blood spatters have been found. Under the harsh spotlights, the scene looks surreal, like something from a futuristic film set. Truth, though, I’ve come to realise, is far stranger than fiction. It hasn’t been announced officially, but I’ve heard the rumour rippling through the crowd. They’re searching for more than one body. My stomach twists painfully as I watch and wait for my nightmare to unfold. Two officers have been tasked with keeping the public and hungry journalists straining at the cordon at bay, I notice. I’m grateful for that much. Once this hit the headlines, the whole world will know my husband is a suspect, that he’s missing, probably running, and then there will be no escape from the hostility. I feel as if I have a physical thing pressing down on me. The smell, putrid, dank and earthy, fills my nostrils and I gulp back the nausea rising like bile in my throat. Rain, heavy and unrelenting, pitter-patters on the surface of the water in time with the rapid thud, thud, thud of my heart. It wasn’t my husband. I breathe in sharply. He snapped once, with provocation, but he’s not capable of these atrocities. He’s not! The flash from a journalist’s camera blinds me, and I want to run, go back to my house, bolt the doors and shut the world out, but I stay where I am, dry-eyed with shock, my emotions frozen solid inside me. Is my son capable of violence? Out of some desperate attempt to keep his world safe, might he have been the one who’d attacked a frail, defenceless woman? Fear crackles like ice through my veins as I try to stop my mind replaying the scenario that petrifies me. My daughter weeps on the landing, her hands balled into tight fists at her side, her eyes wide and horrified. ‘He’s drowning her. He’s drowning her!’ She gulps back huge, hiccupping sobs. My gaze shoots to the bathroom. My son doesn’t move as I push the door open, doesn’t acknowledge me. It’s as if he doesn’t even know I’m there. Kneeling at the side of the filled bath, my nine-year-old boy is intent on his task. My daughter’s Baby Born doll lies in the water, her long, soft hair fanned out around her face. She looks so lifelike my heart jars. My boy is holding her down. His hand around her neck, he’s holding her at the bottom of the bath. I seize his