She always loved the pool.

From the first moment we found this house in the Hollywood Hills. Hidden in a tiny cul-du-sac, sitting all alone in the corner, like a shining sex symbol just waiting to be touched. Our dream home.

Built in the late 1930s and renovated in 2005, it had a hip mix of art deco and mid century modern design. Cool, crisp lines and pre WWII extravagance that was pure luxury, and welcoming at the same time.

The hidden gem was the olympic size swimming pool. Walking through the huge glass doors off of the kitchen into an oasis of comfort. Shimmering blue water, sleek marble deck and black and white subway tiles exuded opulence.

Her private getaway. Her perfect vacation.

Never without the most expensive swimsuits, she would spend hours in the tranquil water. Each time I called from some faraway place my business took me, she was enjoying the fluidity of the water against her skin, saying it made her feel reborn.

She was kind, loving and attentive. Never an evil thought or bad word. No one wakes up and decides to be adulterous. It’s a slow burn. A little step out that starts as flirting, and ends in a way no one saw coming.

There’s was only one way to fix it. To make it better. To start over.

The police sirens screaming and cars skidding into the driveway nearly tore me away from the scene. I watched the streams of blood spiral downward away from the floating bodies of the cheater and the pool boy, finally redeemed and cleansed in the water. Reborn.