The Wife He Left to Die

Summary

My husband, Garrett Mercer, loved me with the kind of suffocating possessiveness that people who have never experienced it mistake for passion.

He tracked the hemline of my skirts—they had to fall two inches past the kneecap. He demanded a running log of my whereabouts, pinging my cell every half hour if I was out running errands, and if I wasn’t through the front door by six in the evening, my phone would detonate with frantic calls. When the double pink lines finally appeared on the pregnancy test, his paranoia mutated into something clinical.