Coming Home

It had been a month since he was last home. He had been overjoyed to learn that the business trip would be cut short by a few days, and had planned on surprising his wife by coming home early. She was his everything. The stars that lit up his universe at night, his color to the world, there was nothing he wouldn't do for her.

Arriving home he assumed she was sleeping and remained quiet as to not wake her. He put on a pot of coffee. Shaking with the anticipation of seeing her, he lit some candles, and arranged things for some midnight ice-cream snaking. Then he opened the door to his bedroom; his breath caught in his throat. Before any syllable could escape his shivering body he closed the door.

His eyes stared, memorizing the room, the cream and brown scheme chosen by her when she moved in with him. Even though he tried to think about everything else, his mind pushed the image he just saw into his head. His wife soundly sleeping, in the arms of a man he had never seen before. His breath quickened as he tried to rationalize why. There was bound to be some cheating he reasoned to himself, surly he was gone often enough for it. He should have called before hand to tell her he was coming home; it would have saved him the heartbreak of seeing this. Nothing made it hurt more than trying to defend her. He didn't know why he tried. It didn't help. It couldn't make his chest stop pounding or keep his eyes from seeing black.

Then? He was calm. He opened the door, and positioned himself next to his wife. Using a pillowcase that had fallen to the floor he gagged her and dragged her to the kitchen. After tying her to a chair he sipped his coffee and watched her struggle against her bonds. He picked at his collar. He was tired, and disappointed in her. Running his had down his face he thought about how much he hated that things had to end this way, as they so often had. Now, finished with his coffee he grabbed a candle, and set it just close enough to the curtain.