Til Death Do Us Part

“I love you honey,” I say. He doesn’t respond, but I know he’s still awake. “I love you forever and always.” Still no response. I lean towards him and kiss his cheek. “I love you babe, till death do us part.” He mumbles, “love you too,” and rolls over on his side away from me.

I turn off the lamp on my nightstand and lay in silence in the dark. His breath slows to the deep rhythmic cadence of sleep, and I’m alone with my thoughts. Sometimes he feels a million miles away from me, even when we are close.

I really do love my man, though. I always will, regardless of the distance I feel between us. I intend to keep the vows I took on my wedding day, no matter what.

If only I hadn’t seen those text messages on his phone from her: “I love you to the moon and back,” she wrote, and “can’t wait to see you again, you hunk-a burning love.” And his replies to her: “You rock my world baby,” and “thinking of you 24/7 my sweet love doll.”

Hunk-a burning love? Baby? Sweet love doll? Really? I roll my eyes at the silliness. They sound like a couple of love-struck teenagers with raging hormones who can’t keep their hands off each other.

I wonder if she’s been in my bed? This sacred marriage bed meant only for me and him? I push the thought away, it’s too hard to fathom. I already know the answer.

No matter. I vowed to love him for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. And I will.

I find the knife I hid beneath the bed and clutch it tightly, my mind made up, my resolve firm. I lean over him and hold the knife high.

“Til death do us part,” I whisper, as I bring the knife down and plunge my husband into eternal sleep.