Page 41 of The Other Mother

For a second I cannot see because my eyes fill with tears, and then I laugh because it’s not exactly something to cry about.

I wipe my face and flip to the back the acknowledgments.

There is a space between two paragraphs where I wrote something for the women who handed me pieces of my life back.

It’s short but enough. It’s truth that fits onto the page without burning through it.

Later, after dinner, I take Eva outside to the backyard.

The rosemary I planted last month has taken.

The ghost plant from the desert surprised me and put out a new rosette by the edge of the bed.

The wind carries the smell of someone else’s grill and the pool water twinkles in the twilight.

My life is finally ordinary and I relish it.

I tell Eva about the coast. After this house sells, we will rent a small place with a patch of yard that stays green on its own.

We will walk in fog that lasts half the day and enjoy the clouds.

We will visit a bookstore that has a cat asleep in the window.

If I am lucky, a copy of my book with a name that is not mine will sit on that table.

I will buy it anyway. I will bring it home and put it on a shelf next to the copy in my kitchen and I will let that be a kind of peace.

When the sky darkens, we go back inside and check the lock on the slider and the deadbolt on the front door. Old habits bring with them their own gravity. I read to Eva and put her to bed. When she falls asleep, I listen for the soft beats of her breath. It is there, steady as a tide.

I take the velvet pouch from the diaper bag and carry it to my bedroom.

The sock drawer is no longer a hiding place.

I open the cedar box that holds the last things from my mother and nestle the pouch beside the packet of letters she wrote me when she knew she would not be able to speak them.

On top of the letters is a photo of her hands at work with the needle on the rosebud blanket.

I lay my fingers over her fingers and think of the way she would have loved both my girls.

Outside, a car door closes and a voice laughs and a dog barks and the world continues to spin with or without my permission.

I make tea and I sit at the table with the book and a pen and I circle three commas that are not wrong but are not right either.

I open my laptop, find the mistakes in the manuscript and write one last note to the copy editor to make the changes.

I sign the email with the pseudonym and add my real name in parenthesis at the end.

In the morning, we will go to the park and I will lift Eva into a swing and she will lean back with her mouth open in a laugh that shows all four of her teeth.

I will stand behind her and keep my hands close without touching.

When she’s older, I will talk to her about a woman who tried to save her and about a baby who never came home and about the way love holds shape even after the worst things.

The house settles. The wind shifts. I close my eyes and, for the first time in a long time, the dark feels like a room I get to leave on my own when the morning comes.

I pick up a new journal and open it to the first page. I don’t know what I want to write about next, but I know it’s important to just press pen to paper and begin.

Thank you for reading The Other Mother. I hope you enjoyed the book. Love psychological thrillers? Read The Neighborhood Watch Next!

Everyone has secrets. Some neighborhoods collect them.

When Brooke Sullivan and her family move into the upscale community of Desert Oaks, the gates, the sunshine, and the smiles feel like a dream come true.

The HOA president drops off a welcome basket.

The “Neighborhood Watch” offers a home-insurance discount and a safety app that connects every Ring camera on the block.

All Brooke has to do is turn on Sharing.

Then a break-in rattles the street, and Brooke’s doorbell clip “solves” the crime.

She is invited behind the curtain, where she glimpses The Vault—a private archive of neighbors’ videos, fines, and quiet little files.

What looks like community is something else entirely. Surveillance. Leverage. Control.

When Brooke tries to walk away, the Watch reminds her who she used to be. The sealed court record. The new name. The people she has been hiding from. If she talks, they expose her past. If she stays silent, she becomes complicit.

To save her family, Brooke will have to turn the cameras back on the people who installed them. But in Desert Oaks, the lights never go out. And the Watch is always watching.

Perfect for fans of Freida McFadden and Lisa Jewell, The Neighborhood Watch is a razor-sharp suburban thriller about belonging, power, and the price of safety.