The house always felt too small for the secret Stephen kept inside. At 18, he stood five-foot-ten and was very skinny, a frame that seemed to invite mockery from the athletic boys growing up. His features were gentle, his lips full, and his hair, though kept short to avoid more teasing, had a tendency to wave. School had been a gauntlet of whispers and shoves, of “faggot” and “pretty boy” hurled like stones. He’d learned...

The first time Sarah suspected something was off, it was a pair of her silk stockings. They weren't just misplaced; they were stretched out, lying limply in her lingerie drawer like a discarded snakeskin. She thought little of it at first, but the pattern continued. Her favorite black lace bra had the clasp bent. Her red high heels were scuffed at the tip. It was strange, because her husband, Mark, wasn't what you'd call...