21st July, 1986.
Determination had pumped in his blood all night. He was ready to make a dent in the tension swirling wildly in his house. For a vague moment, Kenny had been angry with his wife for giving up on trying to reach out to him. Then shame had crowded his throat for thinking such a thing when he had been the one doing everything in his power to discourage her friendship. He had gotten his senses back now and was going to make this right.
Kenny cleared his throat, having caught his wife as early as 6:45 a.m. this Monday morning. She was prepping the table for breakfast as usual.
"Good morning," he began, flashing her a small smile that belied the anxiety currently messing with his intestines. It felt like his innards were tied into tight knots.
