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The Aftermath

“We’ve found a house for you, sir.” 

My Brother's Name is Jessica

There’s a story I’ve heard many times about how my brother Jason got the scar that runs above his left eye, almost parallel with his eyebrow.

Lilac Girls

If I’d known I was about to meet the man who’d shatter me like bone china on terra-cotta, I would have slept in. Instead, I roused our florist, Mr. Sitwell, from his bed to make a boutonnière. My first consulate gala was no time to stand on ceremony.

Lost Roses

I only put the centipede in Eliza’s slipper since I thought she was stealing my sister Sofya from me. I was eight years old and had just lost my mother. I couldn’t lose Sofya, too.

Big Sky

And there’s the Ark Royal, keeping a good distance from the enemy...There were a couple of quiet explosions – pop-pop-pop.

The Gulf Between

New Zealand, 1994: Sirens are wailing in the distance, a rarity in Queenstown, at any hour, day or night.

How to Fix a Baking Blunder

What went wrong and how can I fix it?

Run Away

Simon sat on a bench in Central Park—in Strawberry Fields, to be more precise—and felt his heart shatter.

Out of Sight

I know within thirty-three seconds of entering the front door that my home is empty and my husband and daughter are missing.

So What About Social?

It would be crazy — and probably impossible — to try to create a guide to anything in the digital marketing space in this day and age without touching on social media and the role that it plays.

The Snakes

The night they decided to leave London Bea had a dream. Dreams are like silent films; guns are fired without shots, people talk without voices.

Daisy Jones and The Six

Daisy Jones was born in 1951 and grew up in the Hollywood Hills of Los Angeles, California.

A Rose Petal Summer

Caro pulled her jersey over her knees knowing she should just be sensible and have an early night.

The Taking of Annie Thorne

Even before stepping into the cottage, Gary knows that this is bad.

18th Abduction

JOE AND I were in the back seat of a black sedan, cruising along a motorway from Amsterdam Airport Schiphol to the International Criminal Court in The Hague.

Celtic Empire

Wails of grief drifted over the city like a black aria. The mud brick dwellings burst with anguish, as the sorrow swirled into the night desert.

Invisibly Breathing

A prime number is divisible only by itself and by one. If I were a prime number, I’d want to be a five.


We think we write the stories but, in a significant way, the stories write us.

Never Tell

By the time I pull my car into the garage, my hands are shaking on the wheel. I tell myself I have no reason to feel so nervous.

The Last

Nadia once told me that she was kept awake at night by the idea that she would read about the end of the world on a phone notification.