Chapter 1

"Mom, why is it still breathing even after we unplug it?"

Late at night, my nine-year-old son Howie Abbott had a death grip on the hem of my nightshirt, one finger pointed at the tall, upright figure standing in the corner of the living room. His voice shook so badly it barely held together.

My whole body went rigid, and the half glass of warm water I'd just poured slipped and shattered on the wood floor, glass scattering everywhere.

That was the top-spec bionic robot nanny I'd paid 3.28 million for.

For the past six months it had been flawless, handling every last bit of the household chores, tutoring my son, even putting that leech of an ex-husband in his place every time he showed up looking for trouble.

All along I'd thought I'd simply bought myself a cold, perfectly obedient, expensive machine.

Until this moment, when I followed my son's finger with my eyes.

In the pale wash of moonlight through the window, that "machine," which should have been powered down and lifeless on standby, had a back that was rising and falling in some way that made my skin crawl.

And then it did something that made my scalp prickle.

"Winona Fox! Why is your braised pork so salty again? Are you trying to salt my mother to death?"

Rick Dickerson's voice carried from the living room into the kitchen, layered over the match-start jingle of his phone game, and it grated on me like nothing else.

I stood in the kitchen thick with cooking smoke, spatula still in my hand.

Oil had just spattered onto the back of my hand, raising a swollen red blister, and I sucked in a breath at the sting.

I turned my head and looked at my husband of ten years through the glass sliding door.

He was sprawled across the couch, both feet up on the coffee table.

Beside him sat his mother, my mother-in-law, picking through the dish with her chopsticks.

"Exactly. Meat's so expensive these days, over thirty a pound!"

She rolled her eyes and dropped a piece of fat back on the table. "Ricky works so hard for his money, and you just eat and live here for free and can't even cook a decent meal."

I drew in a breath, switched off the range hood, and walked straight out.

"Mom, I paid this month's living expenses, I pay the mortgage, and even the cigarettes your son smokes come out of my pocket." I looked at her, cold.

Her face changed, and she slapped her chopsticks down on the table.

"What kind of attitude is that? You've completely lost it! Ricky, look at the wonderful wife you married!"

Rick didn't even lift his head, fingers dragging frantically across the screen.

"Winona, did you take the wrong medicine? It's the weekend, what are you kicking up a fuss about? Go pour me a glass of water, I'm dying of thirst."

"You want water, pour it yourself." My face was cold.

"Say that again." Rick finally deigned to put down his phone, glaring as he got to his feet.

Right then my nine-year-old, Howie, came running out of the bedroom, holding a math worksheet covered in red X's.

"Dad, I don't know how to do this problem. Can you show me?" Howie tugged timidly at the corner of Rick's shirt.

"Get lost! Can't you see I'm busy being pissed off here? Go find your mother!"

Rick swatted his hand out, annoyed, and shoved Howie straight to the floor.

Howie's head struck the corner of the coffee table, and he burst into tears.

Something roared in my head, and the string that had been pulled tight for ten years snapped clean through.

I rushed over, shoved Rick aside, and pulled Howie into my arms.

"Rick, are you even human?"

I was shaking all over, tears swimming in my eyes, but I clenched my teeth and refused to let them fall.

"What did I do? I'm out every day schmoozing, working like a dog, and I come home and still have to wait on the two of you?" Rick jabbed his finger at my face as he cursed.

"You call that schmoozing? You call getting drunk and running your mouth with your loser buddies schmoozing?"

I stood up, grabbed the plate of braised pork off the table, and slammed it, plate and all, down at Rick's feet.

Sauce splashed up his pant leg.

"You're insane!" Rick hopped back, screaming curses.

"Yeah, I'm insane. Your family drove me insane." I drew in a breath, my voice cold as ice. "Rick, we're getting divorced."