Trace of Deception

knife

I knew he duped me. Knew it. I would hint at finding things around the house. Things I hadn’t placed where they had been found. I hadn’t placed them there for a good reason. They weren’t mine! The final straw was the traces of blonde hair on my dresser.

Did he think me a fool?

This entire time I thought I was the one he loved, I thought I was the one he wanted to be with… forever!

“Has your wife been here?” I asked slamming my mug on the counter; coffee splattered everywhere. That wasn’t the only thing that would be splattered if I didn’t get some damn answers.

His gaze shifted just as he shifted in his seat. “Why would she be here?” He scooped up his scrambled eggs with the fork and dumped them on the plate, over and over like a four-year-old.

“That’s not an answer,” I snapped.

“What do you want from me?” He snapped back.

“You said we would be together. You told me it was over for you two!” I screamed then steeled myself.

“Well, about that,” he started but I interrupted him with laughter.

“I found the hair. Why would you bring your wife here?” I cut right to the bone. The games were over.

“I didn’t. She just showed up,” he pulled at his collar and pushed the plate of eggs toward the center of the table. I opened the dishwasher and pulled out a butcher knife and a plastic baggie.

“She just showed up and wound up in my bedroom?” I turned and brandished the knife in one hand, the plastic baggy in the other.

“It’s not what you think, love,” he whispered and stood up. That’s when I saw the blood: on his pants, on his hands, on the chair. I took a good look around the kitchen and realized there was blood everywhere.

“What did you do?” I shrieked as I held the butt of the knife at my belly.

“You’re about to find out,” he cooed.

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