He looks at her. Really LOOKS at her, for maybe the first time in ten of the last fourteen years of their marriage. He sees the sagging skin, the lackluster hair, the sad wrinkles around her eyes. There are new depths of sadness and pain there.

That’s when he knows. He knows what she’s done. He knows that she knows what he’s done.

He falls to his knees. Reaching for her, tears welling up in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. So sorry.”

The sadness in her eyes becomes something else. Something harder. She walks past his outstretched arms and through the kitchen door, into the hallway beyond.

He hears the front door open. Then close. Hears her footsteps on the front walk. Listens to the rusty scraping of the mailbox.

The tears fall freely now. He turns his body, still on his knees, to face the kitchen door. He hears the front door open. Then close.

Pulling in a shuddering sigh of resignation, he waits for the final sound of his life.