The Waiting Room

Hammered

Margaret glanced at the coffee table in front of her. On it, she had placed a hammer, a kitchen knife, and a gun. She had been staring at them for hours, contemplating her next move. The years of insults, lies, loneliness and defending him to her now estranged family: It all came flooding back. Would she actually do it? Would she kill him? She had thought about it before, but this time it felt different. This time she felt ready to act.

She continued to pace the room, the plastic tarp on the floor crinkled under her bare feet with each step. Her thoughts running wild. She felt a strange mixture of panic and anger. How did it come to this? How could she have stayed with him for so long after all his infidelities? Why had she allowed herself to be pushed around like this? How did she convince herself that this life was enough?

The clock ticked away, the minutes crawling by. A thin layer of sweat formed on her forehead and the exposed skin on her arms. Margaret was losing her patience. Where was he? She wanted him to come home. She wanted to see his face when she told him what she had in store for him.

Suddenly, the door opened, and her husband walked in, flicking on the small lamp near the door. He was slightly drunk, reeking of alcohol and an earthy citrus perfume. He had been with that woman again. A moment before, she thought maybe she should take mercy on him, for the sake of his children. Those thoughts faded away as anger boiled inside Margaret, and she clenched her fists.

Without a word, she walked over to the coffee table and grabbed the hammer. She held it tight in her fist and looked him in the eye.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, his voice trembling as he tried to focus his eyes.

"What I should have done a long time ago," Margaret said. She felt calm and determined. This was her moment.