Their Twisted Affair Ended In Blood

I lay in the sterile white of the hospital room, my chest tightly bound after a quadruple bypass. The anesthesia still lingered in my blood, pulling me toward sleep, but the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor kept me anchored.

My wife of forty years, Diane, sat by the edge of the bed. Her movements were as practiced and gentle as ever as she tucked the thin hospital blanket around my shoulders.

Then, she spoke. And her words became a blade of ice, cleanly slicing open the heart the surgeons had just stitched back together.