Fury

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Then…

Twenty – eight – year – old Liz Tyler woke in the dark moments before her alarm clock would have chimed. Reaching over to the nightstand, she turned it off. She lingered for a moment, enjoying the warmth of her husband, who slept soundly next to her, half hoping that he'd wake up and make love to her.

She'd never been more in love with him in their seven years of marriage. There'd been a rough spot three years earlier-a meaningless fling with the cliche tennis instructor to get even with her husband for his workaholic hours as a stockbroker-but he'd forgiven her and understood that he'd played a role in her infidelity. Wading through a flood of tears and self-recriminations, they'd reached a new level in their relationship and were stronger and more loving as a result. They'd conceived a baby, Rhiannon, named in memory of their first meeting at a Fleetwood Mac concert, and the child, now two, had cemented them to each other still further.

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