Chapter 1

For half a century, I watched my husband, Richard Grant, swap one woman for another, and I kept up the act like I didn't notice a thing.

Everyone called me the ideal wife and mother, always patient and kind.

Yet only I knew, all these fifty years of forbearance were merely biding time for one final, devastating revenge.

Finally, Richard retired, and his mistress, Linda Young, had a sudden stroke that left her paralyzed in bed.

Richard begged me, "No one's there for her now. Can you help me look after her? I'm really asking you for this."

Smiling, I walked over to her bedside, leaned in close, and whispered one sentence in her ear.

Her eyes flew open, she coughed up blood right then and there, and totally broke down.

*****

My name was Helen Summers, and I was seventy years old.

Everyone said I was lucky.

My husband, Richard Grant, was a big shot at his company, always living the high life.

We had both a son and a daughter, and honestly, both our kids turned out great.

As for me, I was always gentle, never argued with anyone, and everyone in the neighborhood said I was the kind of wife and mom everyone wished for.

Everyone said my life was worth it.

I smiled, never bothered to explain.

They had no idea.

Those fifty years of so-called peaceful marriage were a stage I set up myself.

And I was the loneliest, most patient performer there.

I played the good wife for fifty years straight.

I kept up the act so well that Richard was convinced.

He thought I had no clue about all the women he cycled through outside.

He thought I'd swallow it when he brought home his illegitimate child, claimed it was a relative's kid, and expected me to raise it as my own.

He thought I was some soft target he could mold and shape however he pleased, and I'd never make a sound.

I kept waiting, waiting for the perfect moment to get my revenge.

Like a seasoned hunter, I hid in the tall grass, willing to spend my whole life to catch my prey when it was at its juiciest and most careless.

Now, the moment was finally here.

Richard finally retired.

All the power he'd schemed and clawed for his whole life vanished the moment he got that retirement notice.

And his last mistress, Linda Young, the one who'd stuck with him the longest, had a sudden stroke last week and was left paralyzed.

Now, the only thing she could move was her eyes; the rest of her body wouldn't listen to her at all.

That day, Richard came home.

As soon as he walked in, he bowed right in front of me.

He was seventy years old, sobbing uncontrollably, his face streaked with tears and snot.

He pleaded, gripping my hand desperately. Those hands were once powerful and full of life, but now they were nothing but brittle skin and jutting bones. "Helen, I'm begging you.

"Linda has no one to look after her now. Her kids are all overseas. She can't rely on them at all. The doctors say she'll be like this for the rest of her life."

I looked at him quietly, not pulling my hand away, and my face showed a touch of gentle compassion and pity. "Richard, please, get up. Let's talk."

My voice was soft and gentle, like every time he came home late, and I handed him a cup of coffee over the past fifty years.

He cried harder, like he was finally letting out all the pain he'd kept inside his whole life. "I know I've wronged you.

"But for everything we've been through in fifty years together, please help me take care of her.

"She's so pitiful. I'm begging you, Helen. This is the one thing I'm asking you for in my whole life."

We had been married for fifty years.

When he said those words, I nearly laughed out loud.

What a joke.

When he was out there romancing other women, did he ever care about all those years we spent together?

When he knocked up some other woman and made me deal with the fallout, did he ever care about the history we shared?

Now that his mistress is paralyzed, he suddenly remembers the connection he had with me.

After all those endless nights alone, my heart had already hardened into a stone shaped by years of solitude.

Still, I kept that gentle, understanding expression on my face, like always.

I helped him up from the floor and wiped away his tears. "Richard, don't worry. We're married. I'll never turn a blind eye as long as I can help.

"Linda's sick. Of course, I should go see her."

Richard's eyes went wide, his tear-filled gaze full of disbelief.

He probably thought I'd blow up, yell at him, or kick him out of the house.

But he never expected me to agree so easily, to be so gracious.

He was so worked up that his lips were trembling. "Helen, you're really saying yes?"

I nodded, grabbed my coat from the rack, and put it on without a fuss. "Of course. It's taking care of someone, nothing I can't handle."

I gave him a soft, impeccable smile. "Let's go. We'll head to the hospital right now. We shouldn't keep Linda waiting."

Richard was so grateful that he could barely get a word out, nodding nonstop like I was some kind of saint sent to save him.

He followed behind me, careful with every step, his eyes shining with relief.

He would never know.

This was the day I had been waiting for.

I had been waiting for him to hand me the knife himself.

And with that knife, I would give Richard, Linda, and the fifty years he stole from me the grandest ending anyone could imagine.