The clerk didn’t ask questions just gave a tired nod as David slammed the jug of bleach on the counter. His hands were still trembling.

“Long night?” the clerk mumbled.

David forced a smile. “Laundry.”

His hoodie was zipped up to hide the specks. Blood looked black under gas station lights.

He paid in cash. No card. No camera over the register he’d checked. Twice.

Back in the car, the smell hit him again. Iron. Sweat. Regret? No. Not regret. He’d planned this. The guy had it coming. Years of threats. That smirk in court. The not-guilty verdict.

Now he was gone. Broken. Crumpled.

But the mess God, the mess.

David unscrewed the bleach cap with shaking fingers. His heartbeat slowed. This wasn’t guilt it was adrenaline crashing. Bleach would make it go away. Wipe the red. Clean the sin.

He wasn’t a monster. Just a man who’d finally said enough.

As the first splash hit the floor of his garage, he whispered to no one:

“I’m not sorry.”

The bleach hissed on concrete like it agreed.