When I married Bill, he was still reeling from the loss of his first wife. After our wedding, back in his dusty, quiet house, I hugged his daughters Lucy and Sara close and swore I would help heal this grieving family. But sweet, troubled Lucy is still struggling. I was so worried about her, but now I think I’ve found the perfect therapist. He says he can unlock her memories and reveal what’s really causing her anxiety. Sitting in his sunlit waiting room, I allow myself to hope. But then Lucy comes running out of the room, her eyes wild. She says she saw her mother die.

Rachel is determined to be the perfect mother. She has a birth plan, with a playlist and a bag ready by the door. She’s chosen a lovely light cream paint for the nursery, and in wide-eyed, innocent Abbie she’s found the perfect person to help her with her baby. Because every mother needs a bit of help, don’t they? But Rachel needs a little more than most. She still makes sure her bedroom door is locked before she goes to sleep. She still checks the cameras that are dotted throughout the house.

My best friend Gabbie has everything, a beautiful house, an adoring husband, and a lifestyle to die for. But now she’s missing. And my husband was the last person to see her alive.... The party on Laurel Street was meant to be a celebration, of neighbors coming together as friends. But as I look at the shocked faces around me and the wine glass smashed on the floor, I know that our perfect community will never be the same.

Whatever doubts I've had about my fiancé, I'm determined this will be the happiest day of my life. I smooth the expensive white silk of my perfect dress and retouch my makeup, trying to cover the dark circles under my eyes. But when I go to find my daughter, her room is empty. My beautiful girl has vanished.

My darling little boy Albie adores playing at our new neighbours’ house. And after the terrible year we’ve had, I feel so lucky that we can start over in this perfect place, with new friends who treat Albie like the son they never had. He can’t stop talking about the tree house they’re building him, and the cookies they bake together. But as time passes, something starts to feel wrong. Why don’t they ever open the front door more than a crack? They told me they had no children so who does the small pink tricycle I saw in their hall belong to?