Pop Goes the Weasel

13

The man crept up the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky board on the fifth step.

Crossing the landing, he avoided Sally’s room and headed straight to his wife’s bedroom. Strange how he always thought of it as her room. A moment’s hesitation, then he placed his fingers on the wooden door and pushed it open. It protested loudly, the hinges groaning as the door swung round.

The man held his breath.

But there was no sound, no sense that he’d disturbed her. So quietly he stepped inside.

She was fast asleep. For a moment a pulse of love shot through him, swiftly followed by a spasm of shame. She looked so innocent and peaceful lying there. So happy. How had it come to this?

He walked out quickly, heading for the stairs. Dwelling on it would only weaken his resolve. Now was the time, so there was no point hesitating. Opening the front door soundlessly, he shot one more cautious glance upstairs, then slipped out into the night.