Tell Me Lies

I’ll admit, I went into *Tell Me Lies* skeptical. Another ‘perfect life gone wrong’ story? But within 20 minutes, Pomare’s writing had me second-guessing every character, including Margot herself. The genius here is in the structure: the story jumps between Margot’s therapy sessions with a patient (whose crime we don’t learn until late) and her own spiraling home life. The audiobook format amplifies this—Horne’s narration makes the therapy scenes feel like a chess match, her voice cool and controlled, while the domestic scenes thrum with repressed hysteria. The contrast is electric. That said, the pacing isn’t flawless. The middle act drags slightly as Margot’s paranoia repeats itself, and one subplot involving her husband’s infidelity feels undercooked compared to the central mystery. But the payoff? Worth it. The final act delivers a twist that’s both shocking and *earned*—no last-minute reveals, just a slow, sickening realization that the clues were there all along. Horne’s performance sells it; her voice breaks in all the right places, turning Margot’s final confession into something haunting. If you love audiobooks that reward close listening (and can stomach a protagonist who’s as infuriating as she is compelling), this is a standout. Just don’t start it before bed—trust me on that.