Matthew whistled as he entered the flower shop, he bought a dozen long stem roses, paid the woman behind the counter, and proceeded to head home. He parked in the driveway and walked to the front door, turning the key.
"Honey, I am home," He shouted.
Something was wrong. Vierra didn't answer. He sniffed the air, and bleach was the only identifiable smell. He set the leather jacket on the chair. Walking silently to the kitchen, he saw the uncooked chicken, and the half chopped vegetables.
Vierra was sitting at the table, hands folded on the smooth wooden surface. It was rare for Vierra to be in a bad mood. It didn't take Matthew long to find the source of her melancholy. In front of her was a scrapbook. Matthew's stomach knotted with guilt.
She stood, with her blue eyes filled with pain. She tied her hair chestnut hair back to indicate she meant business, "We need to talk. The kids are with Melanie." She continued to stand.
Matthews's brown eyes dared to look into the icy blues of Vierra. She only came up to his chin, but he feared her more than anyone. He took a seat in the uncomfortable wooden chair, "You have questions?"
Vierra's pretty face turned into pure contempt, "You're damn right, I have questions. How long has this been going on." She was tapping the book with a slender finger.
Matthew felt his heart sink beneath his feet, "It's been going on since I was eighteen."
Stunned silence followed his answer, "I have put everything I have into this marriage. Now I feel like an idiot. All those late nights at the office were late nights on the town. I turned a blind eye because I thought you were trying to secure our future."
"I was trying to secure the future, in a very..."
"I don't believe that, Matthew. This scrapbook tells me you are proud of the lies. How can I trust you?"
"I wanted to tell you, Vierra, but I was afraid of losing you."
Vierra's voice went up a couple of octaves, "I am about to make your fear a reality. The kids and I will be staying with Melanie. She is helping me find a divorce lawyer."
Matthew rushed over to her and got down on his knees, "Please don't leave. I'll quit and turn over a new leaf. I will do anything to make this better."
"There is nothing you can do," Vierra said, tapping the scrapbook. "You put us in danger, Matthew. Any of these people could come looking for us. It is for the best."
"It's not like I was cheating..."
"You were cheating, Matthew. Just not in a conventional sense."
"I will quit..."
"You are not going to quit. We both know you love it. Why else would you make the damn book?" Vierra's fist shook the table, her eyes filled with pain.
Matthew sat back down in the chair, "If you knew, would you have married me?"
"What do you think, Matthew? You know my history," Vierra said, walking over to the weathered trunk. She dragged it over to Matthew, "Show me. I want to see it for myself."
"You already know the truth. Seeing it in person is not going to change anything," Matthew said. Vierra was staring at him, one hand pointing at the trunk. She was not going to move until he did as she asked.
He sighed, opened the trunk. He grabbed the sharp-looking helm, placed it on his head, and clapped the visor down. He slid into the leather suit. On the chest was a fist surrounded by energy. The metal gloves still fit perfectly.
"I am Hexfist," Matthew said.
Vierra had tears in her eyes, "Will our son be like you?"
Matthew tried to embrace Vierra, but she shoved him away, "We will know when he becomes a teen. The mantle has been in my family for generations..."
Vierra slapped him, "Your whole family knew? Jesus Christ, Matthew, and they kept it from me too?"