Christina McDonald - The Night Olivia Fell: A brilliant and gripping psychological thriller for fans of THE RUMOUR

We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster ebook.

Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.

CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.

Thank you for downloading this Simon & Schuster ebook.

Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.

CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.

Publishing a book is a team sport, and there have been so many amazing people along the way who have made this book a reality. First, thank you to my super-agent, Carly Watters at P.S. Literary Agency, for picking me out of the slush pile and making my dreams come true. You guided a novice writer to a debut author and believed in me every step of the way. Im forever grateful for that.

Thank you also to my fabulous editor, Kate Dresser. Your insight and enthusiasm turned this novel into a polished piece of work, and truly inspired me. Thank you so much for taking a chance on me and being a champion for this book.

I am so grateful to the team at Simon & Schuster and Gallery Books whove worked so passionately on this novel: Molly Gregory, editorial assistant; Chelsea Cohen, production editor; Jen Bergstrom, publisher; the marketing team, Liz Psaltis, Abby Zidle, Mackenzie Hickey, and Sade Oyalowo; and publicist Michelle Podberezniak. Thank you also to HarperCollins UK, especially to editorial director Manpreet Grewal, who brought my book to the UK; editorial assistant Cara Chimirri; and the marketing and sales team, JP Huntings and Georgina Green. And thank you to my publicists Crystal and Taylor at BookSparks for giving my book the reach I hoped for.

Im also grateful to Richard, my husband, my best friend, and my biggest champion, who not only let me disappear to write whenever I needed to but actively encouraged me every step of the way; and my boys, Adam and Aidan, who inspire and delight me every single day. Thank you for teaching me about love: the unconditional type. Also my wonderful friends whove listened to me talk about writing over coffee, wine, or basically any other time: Aimee, Anna, Annemarie, Danika, Natalie, Laura, Sarah, Nick, and Shareef. Thank you! And thank you to Lisa and Michael, who patiently answered my endless questions about police and detective procedures.

I am indebted to my mom, who encouraged me to reach for my dreams; my dad, who in life taught me to laugh and in death taught me to say good-bye; and my siblings, Kimberly, Sheri, and Daniel.

I would never have finished this book if it werent for the insightful and inspiring teachings on story, plot, and character by John Truby in his London masterclass. Thank you for taking the time to answer all my questions.

Finally, thank you to all my readers and every single reviewer and book blogger whos taken the time to talk about my book. You are the reason I write. Thank you.

JUSTYNA KANTECKA

Christina McDonald is an author, journalist, and copywriter, and has worked for companies such as the Sunday Times , the Connacht Tribune , Expedia, USA Today , Travelex, and Pearson. Originally from Seattle, she holds an MA in journalism from the National University of Ireland Galway and now lives in London, England.

FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR:
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Christina-McDonald

MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT

SimonandSchuster.com

Facebook.com/GalleryBooks
@GalleryBooks

october

I woke abruptly, dreams tumbling from me in cottony wisps. I couldnt remember falling asleep, but the lamp on my bedside table had been switched off, the only light a full, glowing moon outside my window.

The phone was ringing.

Olivia? I murmured, hoping shed get it so I wouldnt have to. My daughter was one of those people who could wake up and fall asleep as if flipping a switch.

I rolled over and peered at my alarm clock. The red lights blinked 4:48 a.m. Nobody called at this time of night with good news.

I bolted upright and grabbed the phone, the feather duvet sliding from my body, leaving my bed-warmed arms cold and exposed.

Hello?

Hello, is this Abigail Knight? The voicea manswas low and tight, coiled like a viper about to strike.

Yes.

This is Portage Point Hospital. Its about your daughter, Olivia. Im afraid theres been an accident.

I ran down the hall to Olivias room, cold wings of fear fluttering in my stomach.

Her door was shut and I threw it open thinking, irrationally, that shed sit up in bed blinking her eyes at me sleepily. I imagined, hoped, that shed be angry at me for invading her teenage space. Shed throw a pillow at me, and Id laugh weakly, clutching my chest with one hand as my heart rate returned to normal.

I had a terrible dream, Id say.

Im fine, Mom, shed reply, looking at me with all the scorn a seventeen-year-old could muster. You worry too much.

But her room was silent and empty, her bed a jumble of blankets. Dirty clothes spilled from the laundry basket in her half-open closet. Sheaves of paper were scattered in a disorganized jumble on her dresser.

I lurched out of the room, down the stairs, and into my car.

Last night, at the Stokeses barbecue, shed been fine.

But, no. I shook my head, really remembering. No, she wasnt fine. She hadnt been fine for a while.

Maybe it was just the typical moodiness of a teenager, but this felt different. Olivia was usually sunny and sweet. She was an easy teenager. The girl who never partied, got straight As, helped all her friends with their homework.

Lately she seemed distracted and temperamental, irritable whenever I asked what was wrong. And then there were the questions about her father.

She wants the truth.

The thought came fast, an ugly surprise. I set my teeth against it. Id worried for so long that all the lies I kept hidden on the dark side of my heart would one day be washed into the open. These lies, my past, kept me always on guard.

October drizzle coated the car, and a handful of brown leaves covered the windshield. The acidic feeling in my stomach clawed its way up toward my throat as I wrenched the car door open and threw myself inside. For once my old beater car started without any hesitation, as if it too knew we had to hurry.

I tore out of the driveway, my tires spinning in the gravel. I flicked the wipers on, but a single dead leaf was caught, wiping a jagged, wet arc across the windshield, back and forth, back and forth.

I thought of the last time Id gone to the hospital with Oliviashed broken her arm falling out of the ancient willow tree in the backyard when she was ten. My guilt had been overwhelming. Id failed at the most important job I would ever have: keeping her safe.