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​Shortly after the divorce hearings, his ex-wife disappeared from the public eye. People thought it was strange because she had such a decisive win. He'd been caught red-handed cheating on her with his TA at the university, and even made plans to run away with her on his boat. That was going to be a lot harder since his ex owned it now, along with the house, two of the cars, and custody of their children. I should have lawyered up sooner, he thought as he pulled into the driveway for perhaps the last time, taking a sip of his watery iced coffee from the red mug she got him so many birthdays ago. Hopefully she wouldn't be here while he came to collect his things, and there was a good chance of that - friends said they had seen her around the docks a while ago, but his boat was still there. Probably selling it, he mused darkly as he made his way through the front door. What's that old saying? The best two days you have as a boat owner are the day you buy it and the day you sell it. His wry smile turned into a chuckle. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the house, he felt a headache begin its initial throbbing. He reached out to the bookcase to steady himself, but to his eyes, his arms suddenly looked like they stretched 7 feet out from in front of him, and they still missed the shelf. "Honey---Pam?!" He choked out, failing to catch himself from using the baby talk that had come as second nature to him for so many years. His neck burned and his eyes couldn't focus. He heard singing coming from the kitchen, and like a child learning to ice skate, he hugged the wall as he shuffled one foot in front of the next to get there. He rounded the corner of the open door to find Pam lying down with her head turned to the side on the black-and-white tile, her arms bound to her sides with rope. She wasn't breathing. "Hope you like your steak medium rare, Miles," his TA said, turning around holding a pan that sizzled with olive oil. "You know how much you preferred my cooking to hers." The last thing he saw as his head hit the floor was the vacant stare in his wife's dead eyes, looking straight through him with hollow irises. And the last thing he heard was the sound of an electric knife whirring on.


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