Secrets of Suburbia

I'm not supposed to leave the house. But what my husband doesn't know won't kill him. I break his rules every morning on my runs. It's always been best when I have a routine. So every day I wake up, run, clean the house, wish for a better life, repeat. Every day is exactly the same. Except Thursdays. I live and breathe for Thursdays. It's when he comes. I watch from a distance. I can't help myself. But I was never supposed to talk to him. I know what you're thinking. But you don't know my story. You don't know the kind of monster my husband is. And trust me, you have no idea who I am.

To most people, suburbia is synonymous with good school districts, manicured lawns, and friendly neighbors. But you can never really tell what's hiding behind those white picket fences and smiling faces. I mean, we all have secrets. The kid down the street steals lawn gnomes. The woman on the corner is having an affair. And me? I'm a murderer. At least...that's what everyone thinks. Because that's the other thing about the suburbs. Rumors spread like wildfire. Handsome detectives start poking around. Houses explode. You know...the usual.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Mistletoe and holly and lights all aglow. It's my favorite time of year. Until my husband had to go and ruin it. Christmas is officially canceled at my house now that I've kidnapped my husband and locked him in the basement. And not even Santa can get me out of this mess. I know what you're thinking. That I'm crazy. But I swear I'm not. I'm going to let him free eventually. Or maybe with a little Christmas magic he'll fall in love with me again.