Murderous Intent Spells the End
“You shouldn’t have done this, Fiona. Fiona, you listen to me!”
Fiona McDonald’s husband hollered from the stoop of her Fort Lauderdale home, his voice rising in pitch the longer he shouted.
“This is a mistake. Fiona, let me in so we can talk about it. Something is wrong with my key.”
“Yeah, well you shouldn’t have slept with my stepsister.”
Fiona doubted he’d hear her because he’d continued with his masculine breakdown, yelling loud enough to attract the neighbors, or at least their hired help.
“Hit me and see what happens,” she muttered as she maneuvered the window shut, her right arm awkward with the sling she wore.
“Fiona, I’m sorry.” His shouts were muted now.
“Huh, you’re sorry because you’re suddenly understanding the consequences of your actions.”
She’d intended to drink her mint tea on the balcony and indulge in her favorite pastime of watching the boats as they motored, puttered and glided past her waterside property.
He’d spoiled her afternoon before it started.
She wandered through her bedroom to the back of the house and ignored the kafuffle outside. The sprained arm came courtesy of Robert. He’d never hit her before, but she refused to put up with physical abuse along with the mental cruelty. Finding him in bed with her traitorous stepsister last week had put a full stop on their marriage. If he’d hit her once, he’d do it again.
In those fleeting seconds as he’d raised his fist, she’d witnessed murder glittering in his eyes. Failing at marriage wasn’t a big deal when compared with her safety and her ability to live a long, peaceful life.
At least that’s what she tried to tell herself.
She’d wanted love and happy-ever-after. She’d wanted the chance for the family she’d never had while growing up. When they’d first met, Robert had implied he needed the security he’d never experienced as a child. She’d thought them a match made in front of a heavenly choir. Learning that Robert had never valued her and had wanted her wealth instead of having any genuine feelings for her hurt. She’d bought his short-lived charm and her gullibility brought a wash of shame.
He’d hoodwinked her then, but he’d shown his true character now.
The man was a greedy brute with a hair-trigger temper. And he possessed the questionable sexual taste of sleeping with her stepsister.
“You gave me no choice,” Robert had shouted at her. “You’re a lousy lay.”
A shudder sped through her, leaving a trail of chill bumps in its wake. She hadn’t imagined his murderous intent right before she hit her head and blacked out. Janet had lost her composure and fled. She’d learned later that her younger stepsister had called the medics, which had prevented a worse beating and perhaps saved her life.
A week later, the hospital had discharged her.
“Take it easy with that arm. Give it another two weeks before you stop wearing the sling,” the doctor had ordered.
She’d called a cab and gone to her lawyer to start divorce proceedings. After that, she’d removed Robert and his possessions from her home and life.
It appeared Robert disliked her new brave and independent self.
Fists pounded on her front door, but she grabbed her noise-canceling headphones and hit play on Imagine Dragons. Much better to listen to a song about thunder and lightning, a tune full of dulcet tones rather than Robert’s screechy posturing.
She wandered through the house, inherited from her mother, and noted the improved ambience sans Robert’s belongings strewn around the place. She straightened a picture, repositioned an orange-and-green glass owl and savored the way her bare feet sank into the luxurious cream carpet. Marrying him had equaled a huge mistake. She understood her error now. Loneliness had sent her in the wrong direction. Hindsight and all that.
Her phone vibrated against her hip as she wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water, the pearly-white Italian tiles cool against the soles of her feet. She groped for the phone with her left hand and grimaced on seeing the screen. Robert wasn’t used to her taking the initiative, but he’d gone too far this time.
She hit ignore.
There would be no sweet reconciliation.
No second chances.
Back in the master bedroom, she opened the walk-in wardrobe and studied her clothes. Black. White. Gray.
