Firstly, to get you in the mood, here's the blurb:
"Emily Marchant died on Valentine’s Day. If only she’d stayed dead, how different my life would have been.”
Something told Chrissie the house didn’t want her, but it’s her new husband’s home, so now she must live in it. Sumptuously furnished, Barton Grove is filled with his first wife’s treasures.
Emily died six years earlier but a part of her never left. A stunning photograph of the first Mrs. Marchant hangs in the living room. There is something unnerving and impossibly alive about that portrait.
A series of terrifying events take over Chrissie’s life, but no one will believe her. As her marriage and her life unravel around her, she discovers, with devastating consequences, that Emily never intended Joe to take a second wife.
Now, here are my eight sentences:
Perfect Emily, Saint Emily, I thought, as she gazed lifelessly down at me.
I stared, unblinking, sure I must have imagined it. Had that been a flicker of recognition? But this was a photograph. Emily was in her coffin six feet under St Matthew’s churchyard. By now she was hardly more than a moldy skeleton. So why was I certain—just for a fleeting second—that she had looked back at me?
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