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Eliza never expected to marry until she met Joseph.

He made everything better, never minded about her habit of saying the wrong thing or her chronic nervous sweatiness. Their life together was perfect—well, okay, not perfect, but pretty damn good.

Until he died. On their wedding anniversary.

With the second anniversary of his death looming, Eliza is still grieving. What’s worse, her meddling mother-in-law and her casserole-wielding, platitude-giving busybody neighbours won’t leave her alone.

Blackmailed into going to therapy, Eliza has no choice but to comply.

Ever the rebel, complying doesn’t mean she has to cooperate. When her therapist suggests writing letters to her husband to get at her feelings, Eliza pens off a sarcastic response written to her Dear Dead Husband.

What follows is a series of rants aimed at everyone around her.

From the so-called friends who never showed up for the funeral to the village gossips who are secretly grateful their husbands aren’t dead, no one is safe from her harsh brand of truth-telling.

But there’s one truth Eliza won’t admit, even to herself.

(Warning: Contains graphic descriptions of casserole violence. Reader discretion advised.)

A razor-sharp, darkly funny novel about love, loss and finding your way back, Dear Dead Husband is perfect for fans of The Wedding People and Lessons in Chemistry.

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