Mine

I’ll admit, I rolled my eyes at the premise—another ‘wife scorned’ thriller? But *Mine* subverts the trope by making Lucy’s inaction the real horror. This isn’t *Gone Girl*; there are no grand schemes or twisty reveals. Instead, Florentia traps us in Lucy’s cloying, day-to-day despair, where the most disturbing moments aren’t violent outbursts but the way she *doesn’t* react: folding Andrew’s forgotten socks, smiling at his new girlfriend’s Instagram stories, or the scene where she ‘accidentally’ lets slip a detail about his childhood to a colleague. It’s the banality of malice that lingers. Higgins’ narration is masterful in its restraint. Some listeners might find her pacing too deliberate early on, but it’s a deliberate choice—her Lucy isn’t a hysterics-prone villainess but a woman who’s spent years swallowing her rage. The real standout is how Higgins modulates Lucy’s voice in social interactions: syrupy-sweet with Andrew’s new girlfriend, brittle with her own mother, then hollow when alone. My only critique? The secondary characters (especially Jasmine) sometimes blur together in tone, their voices lacking distinct cadences. And while the ending satisfies, the final act’s acceleration feels abrupt after such a measured build. Still, this is a thriller that understands revenge is a dish best served *cold*—and in excruciating, quiet detail.