It was a cold evening. My calendar read November 8th. I picked up the book on my nightstand next to the picture of my daughter and began to read when my phone rang. 

“Hello?”

“Sam, I’m in the driveway.”

It sounded like my wife, Lillian. 

“Who is this?”

“Come to the window, honey.”

Still on the phone, I got out of bed and inched my way over to our bedroom window overlooking the driveway. Sure enough, she was there.

“I’m coming in now.”

I ran to lock our bedroom door. 

“Lily, I’m sorry.”

“It’s too late for sorry now.”

I heard the front door open and then slam shut. As she walked up the stairs, my mind wandered back to a similar cold November evening five years ago, when I killed her after a fight and dissolved her body in the basement.