At the supermarket, I search through apple barrels — my meditation, my escape. A dozen pies for the upcoming sock hop.
I select Golden Delicious and Granny Smiths. With local apples long past their prime, I’m stuck with grocery store options, which is not ideal, but a single-note pie is worse.
Baking is my special skill. Elke likes us each to have a distinct tradwife talent that we use for about fifty percent of our content. She assigns them like a casting director: the baker, the gardener, the seamstress.
Not long ago, I was a senior associate at a Manhattan law firm. Now I’m obsessing over pie crust texture and the ratio of fruit to spices. But it’s better here, tucked away in the Hudson Valley. No panic attacks in crowded elevators. No sleepless nights staring at the ceiling.
My phone buzzes. A text from Diwa: Can you meet earlier?
Sorry, I reply. I have plans. With you-know-who.
I’m bagging the apples when I spot the blonde hair. Elke Thornton glides down the aisle, pushing her twins’ double stroller.
Crap. I glance around, but it’s too late to get away. I didn’t expect to see Elke at the grocery store, especially the budget one. She famously relies on her farm’s bounty: the best produce — green beans, summer squash, kale — and the most gorgeous orange-yolked eggs.
In Westbrook, the cheapest thing you can do is cut corners. It takes time to roll pastry, to mend socks, to make jam. Love is devotion, that’s what Elke has been preaching since I arrived here, a hot mess who didn’t know if I should check myself into a mental hospital.
Guilt crouches on my shoulder like a crow. After all her help, all the mentoring when I fled New York, this is how I repay her?
“Marni.” She beckons me over, confidence radiating from her like heat. The twins are asleep in their stroller, fat cheeks identical, a pearl of drool on one tiny mouth. I still can’t tell Rolf and Jürgen apart. “If you think I’m here for anything other than pantry staples, you’d be mistaken,” she says, her German accent strong. “The farm provides everything essential.”
“Of course.”
She eyes me up and down. “You look . . . comfortable?”
I’m wearing an old jean skirt and a loose sweater. She’s used to me dressing in smarter clothes, but I couldn’t bring myself to get dolled up this morning.
“Will Xiang make it to the sock hop?” she asks.
“He’s traveling back from the conference especially for it.”
“Small acts of kindness are the keys to a happy marriage.” Matrimony tips aren’t just for her online followers. She offers them in everyday conversation. It’s low-key insufferable.
THE TRADWIFE’S LIE
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Release: March 2026
Format: Print, Digital, Audio
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Bookshop.org | Spotify
In Westbrook, tradwives are currency. Belonging has a price.
And the most dangerous thing a woman can do is change her mind.
I didn’t come here to be brave.
I came to disappear.
After New York, after the firm, after everything that broke me, Westbrook felt safe. Predictable. A place where the rules were clear, and someone else made the decisions.
I became a tradwife. My husband is a doctor. He’s a lot older than me. But he’s kind, and caring. Maybe too caring.
I learned how this town really works — the rankings, the favors, the silence. I learned when to smile, when to look away, and which questions never get asked.
Now I’m pregnant. But I can’t tell my husband.
Now I know what happened to the women who stepped out of line.
And now I understand the truth:
Westbrook isn’t about tradition. It’s about control.
About the author
Dr. Bella Ellwood-Clayton writes twisty domestic suspense about the secrets we hide from those closest to us. Connect with Bella at www.drbella.com.au.