I Played Dead, He Went Mad

For three years, I thought my husband was just too busy with work.

Until late one night, I stumbled upon a file on his tablet titled The Mental Deterioration Plan.

High-frequency noise in the dead of night, slow-acting sedatives mixed into my aromatherapy candles. Step by step, he was driving me "insane."

He stole my father's life's work, forced me to my knees in the ruins of my childhood home, all to clear the name of the real killer.

But he had no idea. Every single pill he forced me to swallow was hidden under my tongue. Every manic episode was just an act.