Critically acclaimed author Alex Dahl explores how love can turn darkly sinister when a desperate mother looks to reconnect with her lost daughter in this riveting Norwegian set psychological suspense novel. Two mothers. Two daughters. One heart.  When Alison's beloved daughter Amalie drowns, her world turns impenetrably dark.  Alison tries to hold it together throughout the bleak Fall, but in the darkest days of the Norwegian Winter she completely falls apart.  In another family, Amalie's passing is a new beginning. After years of severe health problems, young Kaia receives a new heart on the morning after Amalie drowns. Her mother Iselin has struggled to raise Kaia on her own and now things are finally looking up. She's even made an affluent new friend who's taken a special interest in her and her daughter. Alison knows she shouldn't interfere, but really, she's just trying to help Iselin and Kaia. She can give them the life they never had, and by staying close to them, she can still be with her daughter. Kaia is just like her, and surely, something of Amalie must live on in her. As her grief transforms into a terrifying obsession, Alison won't let anything stop her from getting back what she has lost. Praise for The Heart Keeper: “Dahl follows her critically acclaimed debut, The Boy at the Door (2018), by weaving another tautly constructed web around two mothers and one child. … Crisp and insightful prose drives a first-person narrative, related in turn by Alison and Iselin, that turns slowly sinister as it draws to a haunting conclusion. Recommended for Scandinavian-noir collections and fans appreciative of Picoult-like emotionally compelling fiction.”— Booklist Praise for  The Boy at the Door : “Dahl savagely delineates the price of living in a society that insists women must try to be perfect wives and mothers and have successful careers, too, or they’ll be inevitably made to feel they’re never good enough.″— PW  (starred review) “A tangled web, masterfully constructed and certain to satisfy fans of the genre.”— Booklist “Scandi Noir at its best...Atmospheric and beautifully written...combines complex and believable characters with a heart-breaking and head-spinning plot.″—Mary Torjussen, author of  Gone Without a Trace  and  The Girl I Used to Be “The Boy at the Door  is a stunning debut! Alex Dahl has crafted an extraordinary plot; intricate and twisted with dark secrets emerging at every turn.″—Alexandra Burt, International Bestselling author of  Remember Mia  and  The Good Daughter “Suspenseful, vivid, and ice-cold,  The Boy at the Door  deftly shows that things are always messier than they appear.″—Kristen Lepionka, author of the Roxane Weary mystery series  “The Boy at the Door  is a genuine page-turner, a fascinating psychological study and a must-read for people who can’t resist twisty thrillers with unreliable narrators.”—Saturday Reader Alex Dahl   was born in Oslo and is the critically acclaimed author of The Boy at the Door .  She graduated with a B.A. in Russian and German linguistics with international studies and went on to complete an M.A. in creative writing at Bath Spa University, followed by an M.S. in business management at Bath University. Alex has published short stories in the U.K. and the U.S. and is a serious Francophile. 1   Alison   I wake all the time; that is, if I sleep at all. The alarm clock projects the time onto the wall on Sindre's side of the bed and I lie staring at the pulsating dots separating the numbers. It's just after two o'clock in the morning and Sindre isn't here. He was here when I fell asleep. At least I think he was. I pull my hand out from underneath the warm duvet and stroke the cool, empty space where my husband should be.   A few nights ago, the same thing happened. I woke, suddenly, bursting from a dream I couldn't remember into this black, silent room. I blinked repeatedly, trying to make out the bulky shape of Sindre in the dark-I didn't want to reach for him in case he'd think I wanted something; I wouldn't have been able to bear his warm, careful hands on my skin. It took me several moments to realize he wasn't there. I got out of bed and sat on the windowsill, looking out at the forest and beyond, to the lights of the city rising up the hillsides to meet the stars. It was a very cold night for early October, and an orange moon hung low over Tryvann. I felt glad Sindre wasn't there-it was good to not have to pretend to sleep, even if only for a while.   I was about to return to bed when I spotted something moving in between the trees directly opposite the house, off the gravel path. I moved slightly back from the window as Sindre came out of the forest, dressed in a light blue shirt, half tucked into his trousers, and his expensive leather loafers. His shirt was smeared with a streak of dirt across his chest and he stood awhile in the narrow stretch in between the house and the car, as though he couldn't decide w