The Other Mrs. Miller by Allison Dickson
English | 2019 | Mystery/Thriller | ePUB | 1.4 Mb
The Other Mrs. : Two women are watching each other.
Phoebe Miller isn’t sure when the rusty car started showing up in the cul-de-sac she calls home, or why its driver would be spying on her. What could be interesting about an unhappy housewife who drowns her sorrows in ice cream and wine and barely leaves her house?
Only one knows why.
When a new family moves in across the street—the exuberant Vicki, who just might become the gossipy best friend Phoebe’s always wanted, and her handsome college-bound son, Jake, who offers companionship of a different variety—Phoebe finds her dull routine infused with the excitement she’s been missing. But with her head turned she’s no longer focused on the woman in the car. And she really should be…
An addictive domestic thriller for fans of The Last Mrs. Parrish and The Couple Next Door, The Other Mrs. Miller serves up a delicious brew of dark secrets and stunning plot twists that will keep you captivated until the very last page.
“Her father’s falling ill made it easy for her to finally put on the brakes. Not that his palliative care had become her responsibility—he had a team of nurses around the clock—but she was able to at least claim emotional exhaustion, and Wyatt acquiesced. Running interference on the baby-making debacle ended up being one of the few kindnesses Daniel ever offered her, even if it was unintentional.
But she has sensed a transition point looming ever since she told Wyatt she was done trying for kids, and this must be it, the moment where they both acknowledge they’ve had a good run but it’s time to get off this merry-go-round altogether. Nearly fifteen years together, ten of them married, is a respectable achievement. Especially in her family.
She sighs. “Okay. How should we go about this?”
He looks a little relieved as he unclasps his briefcase. “I’m glad you’re feeling open-minded. I just have a few papers here.”
Wow. He already has papers? While she’s feeling cooperative, she can’t deny being a little irked over how far ahead he’s planned. Shouldn’t there be a talking phase first?
Her heart stops when she sees the stack of colorful pamphlets he pulls out and places on the table. These aren’t divorce papers, not this glossy array of sheets featuring smiling children against a backdrop of sunshine, rainbows, and words like “hope” and “chance”