I thought it was just a rash on my husband’s back—until the doctor saw it, turned pale, and whispered, “Don’t go home. Call the police. Now.”

says the combination is your birthday.”

My birthday. The insult almost made me laugh.

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“Proof that Ethan is sick because of you.”

There it was.

Monica believed the plan was still intact. They had intended to drug me, strap infected insects to my skin, and then frame me as the negligent handler of an illegal colony. If I died slowly continue reading …