Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Babylon ❯ Volume Three, Chapter Twelve: Wife's Confession ( Chapter 12 )

Wife's Confession

What case disturbed me the worst?

Hm… That's a good question. I've got one.

This happened eight years ago. A woman came in to tell her story. (Let's call her Amanda.) She smiled like she wanted to tell me something. We didn't speak at first. She played with her hands in her lap.

“What is your story?” I asked. Amanda lifted her chin.

“Today was the happiest day of my life,” she said. She didn't wait to say anything.

“I killed my husband!”

I looked up at her. “Do what now?”

She pressed her lips together. “Don't get me wrong. I loved my husband. But…”

“What happened?”

She lifted her chin. “I was miserable. We just weren't happy anymore. I thought I would go crazy!” Amanda took a breath. I stared at her. This was a new one on me. Was I going to hear a murder confession? What should I do?

Amanda lifted her chin. “It's been falling apart for a long time. We were too stupid to see it.” She snorted.

“We foolishly tried to fix it. At least I was. What an idiot I was to do it!” Amanda rolled her eyes.

“I should've known.”

“What exactly happened?”

She took in a breath. “It was a Sunday.”

“Hm?”

“I killed him on a Sunday.” Her eyes met mine. “It was easier than I thought. I didn't even try. It just happened.”

“Happened?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you do?”

“We were sitting in the living room, watching TV. We weren't talking to each other by then. Why did I bother? What was I doing with my life? What was the point anymore? These thoughts played on a loop.”

“Why not leave?”

She shrugged. “Don't know.”

“Then what happened?”

“I got up to get a drink. Nothing fancy. I was in the kitchen when I saw it. A cake knife. We threw him a birthday party last night.”

“We?”

“Friends, neighbors, those people.”

“Oh.”

“There it was. Still sitting on the cake plate, covered in icing and crumbs. He was supposed to clean up last night. Something about it annoyed me. I picked it up.”

I saw where this was heading. Still, I couldn't judge. Not my place. Amanda reached into her purse and showed me a photograph of a young couple on their wedding day. They shared a kiss by a lake.

“Happiest day of my life!” Amanda bragged. She pointed to a person in a boat on the water dumping what looked like a large black bag over the side.

“That's me in the back getting rid of the body!” She grinned as she said this. I sat there, stunned. I didn't know what to make of this. This couldn't be real. This had to be a sick joke. It had to be.

“And why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“Hm?” Amanda asked.

“What were you hoping for out of all of this?”

She frowned and thought about that for a moment. “I don't know. It's so weird. Stabbing him in the neck was easier than this.” She smiled as she said this.

Was Amanda making this up? Did she really kill her husband? Was he even dead?

I didn't know. Frankly, I didn't want to know. I didn't call the cops. What could I say? I didn't have proof. In the end, I took down the story and filed it away.

That's all I have to say for that.

Twelfth Shot