You’d never know what secrets the house on Hogarth Street holds - what’s happening, right this second, behind closed doors. An emerald-green front lawn. Perfectly trimmed hedging. An ivy-covered front gate and the scent of honeysuckle in the air. In the yard, two scooters lie on the grass. One blue, one pink, belonging to five-year-old twins.

Elizabeth is Joe’s foster mother, but she loves him like her own. The five-year-old, who adores superheroes and watching the birds outside, is the child she has dreamed of. As she looks into the garden, where he was playing just moments ago, her heart feels like it has been ripped from her chest. She was meant to save Joe from his birth mother who almost harmed his chances at life. The woman who has been trying to desperately get him back. She was meant to protect Joe from her husband. The man who, right now, lies to the police, saying he was making breakfast when Joe disappeared.

My husband is dead. I attended his funeral. I watched his casket be lowered six feet into the ground. (Actually, it may have been only five feet, but that still seems like more than enough.) And then we ate an array of finger sandwiches and deviled eggs and miniature beef wellingtons that cost more than my first car. My point is, Grant is gone. And so are all his many, many deep, dark secrets which I never really ever bothered to ask him about. He is never coming back.

Returning early from a disastrous date night with my husband, I know something is wrong the moment the wheels crunch the gravel drive of our home. Inside, the TV is on and a half-eaten meal waits on the table. My heart stops when I find our little girl is alone in the house and our babysitter, Sasha, is missing....

"There’s someone I want you to meet," Belle says, as a man draws up to her side. He’s tall with dark hair and stubble on his square jaw. He’s not exactly smiling, but the corner of his mouth curls upwards as he slides his hand around my daughter’s waist.

This holiday is the first time my husband Jeff and I have been on our own in years, and I want it to be a fresh start. We can walk along the beach, eat ice cream in the bright Spanish sun, and fall in love again.

With its peeling wallpaper and overgrown garden, I know our new home isn’t perfect. But my husband, Ben, promises it’s the fresh start we need. I remind myself that he’s an amazing father to our two children and that we have years of happy marriage behind us. He’s been distant for months, but I’m desperate to believe the move will bring us back together.

Our new home was meant to be a chance for us to start again; to make new friends and forget the past. And as I look around the barbeque we’ve thrown for our neighbors, I dare to dream that things will be all right. I watch my husband joking as he flips burgers and my daughter turning cartwheels on our sun-bleached lawn. And then my gaze falls on my son, Jacob, and his new girlfriend, Rose, in her light blue jeans and her green crop top. There is a worried expression clouding her beautiful eyes.... The next day I get a call from Rose’s mother that chills me to the bone.

Megan waits at the school gates for her six-year-old son, Daniel. As the playground empties, panic bubbles inside her. Daniel is nowhere to be found. According to his teacher, Daniel’s father picked up his son. Except he and Megan are no longer together. After years of being controlled by her cruel husband, Megan finally found the courage to divorce him. Hands trembling, she dials his number, but the line is dead. Six years later, Megan gets the call she has dreamt about for years. Daniel has walked into a police station in a remote town just a few miles away....

Socially awkward Chloe Cooper divides her time between dog walking, bartending, caring for her ailing mother, and at a safe distance, watching people and inventing the stories of their lives. Like Chloe’s new neighbors: glamorous influencer Jemma Spengler and Jemma’s husband, Adam, a renowned surgeon. They’re attractive, wealthy, and in a house of open windows, so exposed.