Or…

After the convention, on his flight home, he was almost eager to get there and confess his one-time, weekend infidelity, now that it was behind him, now that he had decided that confession would clear his guilty conscious and (after some inevitable agony for both of them) cement their relationship, given that he knew she adored him and that he could never live without her.

Little did he know that she was home, already fully informed, staring at the front door,
holding a freshly-sharpened butcher knife.

——[||]——
Poets & Storytellers United
Friday Writing #215 – 2/20/26
~ Tunnel’s End ~