“Good evening, Alan,” I greeted my husband as I sauntered into our bedroom. I could already see beads of sweat forming at his brow. I tended to have that effect on him.

“You would never believe who I ran into this morning,” I began, my manicured fingers disappearing into the folds of my tailored dress. “A friend of yours – actually, a little more than a friend-”

“Karen, you know I would never-”

“Cheat on me? How can I be sure you haven’t? Especially when she clearly has feelings for you. Do you love her? Tell me the truth, Alan.”

“Of course not. I knew Camilla was fond of me, but I never felt-”

“Liar!” I screamed at him, my face contorting in a violent rage. In my anger, I sent a porcelain vase flying into the wall, where it smashed into sharp pieces.

“Karen, this is madness. Every week you accuse me-”

“You know what, Alan? I’m sick of it. Of always having to check your texts and calls. I think its time we split up.”

A shot exploded from my gun, concealed by my dress.

“You had it coming,” I muttered.

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