Tearing herself away from the mirror, she moved into the living room to the coffee table where an opened pack of cigarettes lay amid the neatly stacked magazines. Sitting on the couch, she lit one and leaned back, inhaling deeply, trying to relax and ignore the tormenting thoughts that ran through her brain. There was a photograph on the coffee table of her and Tim on their wedding day, and the pretty young wife gazed adoringly at the image of the attractive slender young man she had married.

He was tall, nearly six feet, with a lithe muscular body and a rugged handsome face topped with thick sandy-colored hair. His eyes were deep blue, blue as clear lake water, and there was a gentleness in his expression that she had loved from the minute she first saw him at the insurance office where she had gone to work as a secretary soon after leaving the Lakeside Home. To the naive young girl, Tim Jameson seemed like a prince from a story book, gentlemanly and courteous, nothing at all like what Miss Whitfield had said, and she had found herself falling hopelessly in love with him. Within a year they were married, and it seemed to Susan like a dream come true. Tim made a good salary at the company, and they were able to move into their beautiful suburban home right away. After the spare, ugly environment of the orphanage, having her own house was like a gift from the gods. She had taken great pains to furnish it just like the pictures she saw in the magazines, spending hours selecting the right furniture and accessories. Now she let her eyes wander over the attractively designed living room, lingering over the colonial chairs and tables, the little figurines she had purchased, the vases of flowers, the pictures on the wall. Everything was neat as a pin and perfectly arranged, just the way she liked it. She was happy here. She liked being surrounded by such lovely things. Her life was almost perfect except… except for one thing.