He sat in the kitchen, staring through the bay windows into the dark.
If not for the moon, one wouldn’t even know that ground existed beyond those windows.
He held his shirt in his hand, tightly.
Cynthia walked in quietly and took the shirt from his hand.
He pointed at the bloodstain and she acknowledged it.
“Don’t wash it,” he said. “It’s evidence. So many cameras now hard to tell who saw what. Throw it in a bag in the garage. If they ask for it, they can have it.”
Cynthia took a bag from under the sink and shoved the bloody shirt in it.
When she returned from the garage, she rubbed Jason’s back softly with her left hand.
Out of the side of his eye he could see the reflection of her wedding ring in the window.
Massive. Ostentatious.
“I admire you,” she said.
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