She watched her husband, Eugene, sit before the fireplace, staring at the dusty portrait of her dead ex-wife he took out from the attic.
"I know you have every right to be furious with me. I would understand if you don't want to see me again." Venus said, standing before her husband with her head down, ashamed of what she had done.
He had barely said a few words to her since she had confessed. That was understandable because she had done something terrible. Now, she felt like she had lost him.
Was she kidding?
Of course, she had lost him. There was no question about it.
"You have to tell me how you feel. I want to hear you shout or throw things at me if you are still angry with me." She felt like she was walking on thin ice.
Anytime, the ice would crack, and eventually, everything would crumble around her. She knew it would happen, but the anticipation was killing her.
