Mark puts up his coat and hat, then taking off to the living room. It’s like medicine to him; the living room cures the pains and hard work done today in an instant. It’s a comfort zone that not much else matches. It’s a safe spot, free from conflict, free from orders, free from bad news. Mark turns the channel to his favorite, a simple cooking show. He then kicks back and becomes one with his seat, sinking into the softness. Suddenly, his bliss is ripped away— his wife comes into the room. She seems to be only peaking into the room, as if she were waiting for something. It’s odd; she brings only one foot out into the living room, lifting it slowly. It comes down without a sound. She attempts to speak up, but all he hears is a trembling stutter.

“Are you alright?” Mark asks, clearly sensing her body language is off.

“Oh, dear… I, um…” She stops mid-sentence to think of how to carry on, “I… We… We need to discuss something.”

Mark gets up out of his safe zone, standing up and walking into the kitchen; a room where there’s no cooking show, no sofa, no comfort. Mark’s hairs go up, completely naturally.

Her words were slow and careful, with Mark receiving every detail. He couldn’t believe it; what she told was something right out of a dream. He shook and shook his head until it got dizzy, refusing to accept it. How could he?

She looked down to her feet, disappointingly. The woman that Mark loved just confessed one of the worst crimes one could commit. Will he be next?