The Quintessential American Family

PROLOGUE MARK AFTER DINNER APRIL 18 11:42 PM MONDAY

I love my wife.

I love my wife.

I love my wife.

I think to myself as we cuddle on the couch. Her soft body molds to the curves of mine. She lays her head on my chest and snuggles deep into me like this affectionate instinct comes naturally to her. I force myself to swallow. My throat is dry and itchy. My heart beats erratically. I wonder if she can hear the pulse of my traitor heart through my chest.

We're watching Family Feud. Or at least acting like we are. Being normal feels pleasant, even if we are pretending. She glances up at me and smiles—a cruel tilt of her lips—and reaches for the remote to turn the volume up. It's as if she can read my mind. She's turning up the volume to drown out the desperate tune of my feigned thoughts.

I love my wife.

I love my wife.

I love my wife.

I kiss her on the top of her head and stroke her midnight waves. We both stare at the screen. Neither one of us are watching what's on it. I wonder what she's thinking and if she's thinking about Him.

My hands get tangled (intentionally) in her hair. I sniff at the strands of silk overflowing in my palms and slipping through my fingers. Strawberries. Her mane of thick hair smells of garden sweet strawberries. My breathing ceases for a moment. My heart is a hollow thing of what it used to be. She always smells like strawberries when she's about to leave and go to Him. My eyes water at the thought. She's cheating on me not even three years into our marriage.

I love my wife.

I love my wife.

I love my wife.

Swallowing the unbearable choke of fury, I give her dark locks a playful tug. Her light brown eyes meet mine. I should call her out on it. I should tell her what a horrible cheating wife she is. We both know what she's doing, but neither one of us are willing to acknowledge the elephant-sized truth in the room. My tongue wets my lips. I need to say something, anything. But her teasing smirk does not reach her eyes. Her gaze is cold, direct, and as sharp as a kitchen knife. She's taunting me. My wife cuts me down into bitesize pieces. She always does.

Say something you fucking coward, Nicole says with her gaze.

Shutting my mouth, I pinch her nose and she laughs. It sounds genuine but the effort is not. We both return our gazes to the TV.

In less than half an hour Nicole will be gone. In less than half an hour my wife will be naked, riding the cock of a faceless man I've deemed my enemy. In less than half an hour my wife will laugh at how pathetically hopeless I am with Him. That's what they do when they get together. They fuck each other's brains out and laugh at me. I break out into a hot sweat, the sheen coating my skin in wet stickiness.

My stomach twists.

I want to kill my wife.

I want to kill my wife.

I want to kill my wife.