Maria’s death was her own choice.

There was nothing I could do- it all happened too quickly, and my body took over. Eight days ago when I walked into our bedroom, I found the neighbor, Tony, thrusting under the sheets. I rushed over to the bedside and gripped his shoulders, ripping him off the top of my wife.

Tony’s eyes locked with mine, beads of sweat rolling down his fat body. He tried to explain his actions, but I understood enough. I drew my elbow back, and bury my clenched fist into Tony’s face.

“NO!” Maria shouted. I took a step back from the bed. I loved her so much… I pulled my 45, and planted a hole square into Tony’s forehead. Maria’s earsplitting screams pierced my soul, but the relief I felt was greater than the guilt I felt from taking another mans life.

Blood covered the headboard, and Tony’s limp carcass lay next to Maria’s naked body. Maria kept screaming, but what was left of my guilt turned into rage. How could she? We had been together for 32 years…

She didn’t need to die like this.