Sunny afternoons are the worst for a recovering alcoholic. But I’m doing OK and I’m proud of myself. I stretch out on my sun lounger with my book, basking in the peace before I have to collect my son from school. Then the gate rattles. It’s the police and judging by their expressions, they’re not here with good news.

As I face the two officers, I try to dismiss what they’re telling me. My husband, Rob, can’t possibly be dead—I only saw him this morning. Besides, he’s the safest cyclist I know and would never put himself at risk.

I don’t tell them that we rowed this morning. Besides, it’s not even relevant.

It breaks my heart that our last words were angry ones, and now, I’ve not only got to identify his body, but I’ve also got to break the news to our son. I’ve never felt so alone in my life and don’t know if I can resist the urge to find some comfort in a bottle of brandy. Especially when the police reveal that Rob’s death wasn’t an accident—that he’s been the victim of a hit and run.

And it seems I’m the prime suspect.

I’ve already lost my husband, now it seems I could also lose my son, my home and even my freedom. Every piece of my life is slipping away as the evidence mounts against the person with the most apparent motive – me.

And I have no alibi.

But others wished Rob harm, those whose motives are only coming to light now he’s gone. He’s taken so many secrets and lies to his grave that I barely know which one of them to begin with.

As the dark days that follow threaten to push me to the edge, I learn more about my husband after his death than I ever knew when he was alive.

And it’s too late to confront him.