Blood. That’s the first thing I see when I attempt to wash up the mess I had created. Looking down upon the dead body of my wife’s now ex-lover, I sneer at the man, the one who destroyed my reputation among my family, the one who stole my wife, the one who decided that he would replace me.

     Glowering, I carefully cross over the pools of maroon liquid that’s absorbing into the hardwood floors, being sure not to create unwanted footprints that could lead to my guilty soul, and wash my hands in the farmhouse kitchen sink. I stare out the window, observing a woman jogging by, pushing a stroller ahead of her, completely unaware that thirty feet to her left, a man was stabbed nine times. I snicker to myself and go back to the body of the middle-aged man.

     I whip out white gloves and slip them on, being sure no holes were visible before stripping the person, who had committed adultery for the last two years, to his underwear. While doing so, I notice a small cut on my pale white palm and revolt in my slovenly actions. How could I have let myself be wounded in the process of wounding another human being? My hand must have slipped while pressing downwards, I think to myself, and the blade, which was sharper than it appeared, had got it and with the adrenaline running through my veins, I was unable to sense it at that moment of time.

     In annoyance, I snatch a facecloth from the island counter and hurriedly scrub the body clean, removing all fingerprints and DNA that could be traced back to me. When I’m about to leave and prepare myself a reasonable alibi, I hear the front door unlock. I freeze. My eyes bulge and my heartbeat increases to a pulse that may be fatal. I breathe through my mouth, trying to catch my breath while I hear something thud onto the stained flooring. “What have you done?!”

     Realizing who the person that had entered was, I relax and assemble another thrilling smile, then turn around to my cheating wife. “What do you mean? I’ve done nothing wrong.” My wife steps over the paper grocery bag that she had dropped, mouth gaping, and gawking at the dead body beside me. We switch positions, her next to her lover, me alongside the ajar door. I slam it shut, still wearing my all too important gloves, and watch her tears fall onto the floor.

     “How could you!” She screeches, eyes red and puffy, cheeks soaked with tears that are more real than the love she has for me.

     "How could I? How could I? You were the one who decided to bring him along into our relationship!” I respond just as angrily as her words were.

     "I loved him!” She yells while creeping closer to me, claws thrashing and hair covering her face. I grab her wrists before she could do harm and click my tongue at her.

     “Tsk, tsk. Now, darling, why would you say that? You told me you loved me this morning while I was leaving to go to work. You should have told me you had affections for him before I killed him,” I smirk while she continues to cry, feeling proud of the desolation my wife is experiencing. I feel the bulge of my Glock between my belt and flesh, the back-up if my plan had gone awry, whilst the woman who I had thought I had known for the last thirteen years continues to scream why I had broken one of the ten commandments.

     “I committed murder. You committed adultery. We have both destroyed one of the ten commandments. Mine is just frowned upon more,” And with that, I put my Glock to her temple and pull the trigger.

     I do the same to her as I had done to the lover, except I place the gun into my wife’s right hand, making it look like a suicide had taken place. Satisfied, I take their clothes, leave my house that I’ve lived in since this marriage, and spring into my car.

     I pull out and drive twenty miles away, dumping the clothes into a dumpster hidden between apartments, then proceed to go shopping at another grocery store. I gather milk, meat, and is in the frozen aisle when my pager goes off. I look down to see my address and act to look confused, knowing that there were cameras all around, only adding to my alibi. I quickly replace the milk back into the fridge, abandon my shopping cart full of food related items, and sprint back to my car.

     On the way there, I begin to think of what I’m going to say and what I’m going to do, how my wife had forgotten some items and I volunteered to collect the rest, and before I know it, I’m pulling onto my street, staring down yellow caution tape and red and blue lights flickering back and forth.

      I jump out of vehicle like I had rehearsed in my head, then sprint up the yard shouting, “What happened? What’s going on? Is my wife alright?” I am stopped by a pair of large hands that belong to my coworker and look into his sapphire blue eyes. He sorrowfully closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly, giving the universal sign that a loved one had not made it through the day.

     My breathing accelerates and I also shake my head in return. 

     “No,” I sob. “No, she has to be alright, she can’t be-”

     “I’m sorry,” Is all he states. My hand covers my mouth while silent, fake tears stroll down my cheek in the summer rays. I feel the large hand rest on my back while I kneel on the soft grass. After several moments I pipe up. “H-how?”

     “It looks to be a homicide-suicide. We found your wife and a man, that has not yet been identified, almost nude in the entryway. I’m so sorry, Lieutenant. You can take this one off if you want; there’s not much to it.” I nod my head in silence.

     “So you believe one them killed the other, then killed themselves?” I ask with anxiety.
     “Yes. You’re wife seemed to have shot the unidentified male, then pointed the gun to herself. No finger prints. Only DNA was of the two. Sir, go home. It’s hard to lose a loved one.” I conceal a laugh.

     Oh, if only the love wasn’t one-sided.