Page 82 of His Loving Wife

“Well, I suppose I should get going. This storm might knock it out again, but at least you have power for the time being.” He holds out a hand to shake Andrew’s, and I’m suddenly impressed at his ability to maintain composure. “Nice to meet you.”

Andrew shakes his hand and nods.

“Thanks again for all your help,” Vincent says, as Dan passes the kitchen en route to the front door.

“Nice meeting you, Vincent,” Dan says. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

My stomach clenches when I realize Vincent never said his name. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to pick up on the snafu. His gaze never leaves the counter as he continues chopping.

Dan’s hand is on the doorknob when Vincent speaks.

“One more thing,” he says, moving quickly around the corner.

Dan pauses, turning to see what he wants.

It’s then that I see the knife in Vincent’s hand. He plunges the blade into Dan’s stomach, pulls back, before punching another vicious stab.

Dan’s eyes are wide, flooded with equal parts fear and surprise. Vincent steps away from him, leaving Dan to sink to his knees, before collapsing on the floor.

Then, like I’m reliving that terrifying night from a year ago, I hear Willow scream.

Chapter 44

Vincent

Vincent hadn’t always been an angry person.

In fact, he started his journey in life defending others. It was what inspired him to go into law enforcement. What better way to protect your community and those who mattered most to you than to sacrifice yourself on the front lines?

As time passed, he started to feel less like a hero, more like a cog in the machine. He never climbed the ranks like some of his peers—why he never really knew. Twenty years in, he was still getting the same respect as those who were fresh out of the academy. It didn’t sit well with him, this feeling of being overlooked. He’d reached a point where the opportunities to branch out had passed him by. He was counting down the years to retirement, and after that, the years until his life would be over. He could almost hear the time passing with loud, vibrating ticks.

Likewise, his family life was deteriorating as quickly as his wife’s health. He missed the days of coming home after a long shift to a chatty wife and a warm meal. He missed being fawned over by his two young girls; in their eyes, he was always a king. The cancer stole away his wife’s energy just as age had stolen his daughters’ admiration for him. He was no more important at home than he was on the job.

And then, just when he thought his life had started a downward spiral, he met Trixie. She was ten years his junior, the newest receptionist at the call center downtown. They started talking during his weekly patrols. At first it was nothing, but as their conversations became more flirtatious, Vincent found himself riding a feeling he’d not had in years, a sensation he’d long believed he’d never find again.

Trixie, without ever knowing it, gave Vincent new possibilities. He was alive, perhaps for the first time ever. And then, as quickly as that fire burned, it was extinguished. He’d return home to his sickly wife who grew angrier by the day. His oldest daughter was ditching school to get high. His youngest daughter was spending too much time with older boys. He’d found condoms in her room. Vincent was the toughest guy on the force at one time, and now he couldn’t even control his own daughters, couldn’t put a smile on his wife’s face. Was this why he’d never risen in the ranks? During some of his lowest moments, he thought it might be.

He held onto that different side of his life. The bright side. The Trixie side. Of course, Trixie didn’t know he was still married or that he had two teenage daughters. When he was busy living that other life, it was like the one he’d spent the past two decades in didn’t exist. As time passed, he was less and less ashamed to admit that it didn’t bother him. Sometimes it was nice to picture a life without them.

And then, he wasn’t even sure when, he stopped imagining; he started planning. What he would do if he no longer had to interrupt his schedule with treatments and doctors’ visits. If he didn’t have to lie awake at night fearing one of his daughters might get knocked up or wasted. He pictured a life where he was no longer on patrol, rather in control. He’d have days to do what he wanted. A boat to go fishing. He’d have Trixie. And the more he thought about it, the easier it felt it might be on all of them—especially him.

He quit his job and cashed out his retirement fund. He used the money to whisk Trixie away up the coast. They found a cozy little rental by the sea, put the place in her name. For an entire weekend, they stayed there. It was the most rewarding three days of his life. They could be together here, forever.

When the weekend was over, he left Trixie drunk and sticky in their new bed. He got in his car—a new one he’d bought in cash the week before—and returned home. He used his key to walk in the front door of his house. He used the scissors in the kitchen to cut the phone lines. And he retrieved his gun.

He went upstairs. First, to his oldest daughter’s room, where he held a pillow over her head and pulled the trigger. His youngest daughter, having heard the sound, stirred briefly when he entered her room. He shot her before she was able to piece together that her own father was pulling the trigger.

His wife was too zoned out from the meds to be bothered by the sounds. She was still asleep, deep and heavy, when he put the pillow over her face.

What he did wasn’t easy. And he wasn’t particularly proud of it, but he didn’t regret his actions. They were necessary. He didn’t know until that moment, when he stood in the quiet house, the blood of his family splattered across his chest, that he’d been suffering all those years. He’d been suffocating, slowly, and now it was as though he was breathing for the first time. Deep, replenishing gulps.

Vincent had never been a religious man. He liked to believe his family was in a better place, but he knew without a doubt he was.

And that was all that mattered.

Chapter 45

Now

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