My heart is racing and it feels like my head could explode. It couldn’t have been me, I couldn’t do something like this. The knife in my hand is feeling heavier and heavier. I drop it and it clangs on the floor.

I know what kind of person I am. My parents had always called me their golden child. I went to cotillion and private school. My college plans were always ambitious, but instead I married someone obscenely wealthy the summer after my Freshman year. I went from future lawyer to perfect wife fit for his perfect house. But I did my duty faithfully and even bore a child with him. This disaster was merely an accident, because this was not me.

I mean how could it be? I “loved” my husband. Everyday I cared for the baby, cleaned the house, cooked meals, and made sure everything was tidy before he got home. For I knew how upset he would get if something was out of place. What else is love? I knew him so well: how to avoid his screaming, how I should stay in the kitchen until he went into the living room and then only come out if I had another beer for him. That was love. I was faithful and I was a good wife.

So I may have felt anger inside, rage in fact. Nearly every day, wanting to destroy this house, the perfect meals, the perfect nursery, and sometimes even the perfect husband. But those were just thoughts, I would never show it. That would be improper. Just because I felt that didn’t mean I was a monster. I’m not a monster! It couldn’t have been me.

So let’s review this case. How did I get here? I had gone out for a grocery run- the sprouts I bought before were too mushy- and I came home just a little after my husband had arrived home from the firm. I went to the kitchen to cook the new sprouts and my darling had gone upstairs for a shave. He had a tough day at the firm. As I was cooking this delicious dinner I heard a scream from the upstairs bathroom. I called up and didn’t get a response, but my timer went off! As I was pulling the roast out of the oven, I heard another scream. I ran to the top of the stairs, into to the bathroom, and oh... it was unbearable.

That’s it! That’s my story! I should really cut myself some slack. How silly of me to think that I was capable of something so heinous.

I got up, and kicked the knife a little closer to his body.

“Oh Harold, how could you have done such a silly thing?”

The cops were on their way now. I walked towards the mirror to reapply some lipstick. In my mind I repeated the story, replaying every detail like a movie. And every replay with such a tragically good ending.