I locked my wife in the pantry under the stairs

up.

I sat up in bed. My heart was beating as though it already knew more than I did.

My mother appeared in the doorway with a cup of chamomile tea.

“Don’t go,” she said.

“Something fell in there.”

“She’s putting on a show. She wants you to run to her. You’ve always been too soft with women.”

“Mom, she said she felt sick.”

My mother placed the cup in my hand.continue reading …