The women in the room chatted about love, about childhood, about losing parents, about Mr. Spock, about good books they'd read. They mothered each o… - Louise Penny

There seems such a fine line between falling into place and falling apart.

The only thing money really buys?...Space. A bigger house, a bigger car, a larger hotel room. First-class plane tickets. But it doesn't even buy comfort. No one complains more than the rich and entitled. Comfort, security, ease. None of them come with money.

Eventually he'd let the answering machine take over and had hidden in his studio. Where he's hidden all his life. From the monster.

He could feel itin their bedroom now. He could feel its tail swishing by him. Feel its hot, fetid breath.

All his life he knew if he was quiet enough, small enough, it wouldnn't see him. If he didn't make a fuss, didn't speak up, it wouldn't hear him, wouldn't hurt him. If he was beyond criticism and hid his cruelty with a smile and good deeds, it wouldn't devour him.

By now he realized there was no hiding. It would always be there, and always find him.

He was the monster.