Eight months after her husband was murdered in their own kitchen,
Cora Hale is still cooking dinner for two.
Then the letter arrives.
Cream-colored stationery. No return address. A single line she
cannot stop reading:
I am the man who killed your husband.
He does not ask for forgiveness. He offers, instead, an answer to
the question Cora has asked the dark ceiling of her bedroom for
two hundred and forty-three nights: why us.
Why the back door, which she had locked, was open. Why the alarm,
which she had set, was off. Why a man who had no reason on earth
to come for Daniel Hale had been let in by Daniel Hale.
Cora writes back.
She does not tell her sister. She does not tell the detective. She
drives, instead, the long road to a state prison in Maine, where
her husband's killer is waiting at a laminate table on the other
side of a guard with a paperback.
And in the small careful country of letters between strangers,
Cora Hale begins to understand what her husband actually was-
And what she is willing to become to set the man who killed him
free.
A slow-burn literary psychological thriller about marriage, grief,
and the woman a widow becomes when she finally stops looking away.