A glass of Chianti – served chilled
My husband chews the steak, an ecstatic expression on his face.
‘You should cook meat more often.’
I nod at him, glad he doesn’t realise he’s eating what is his last meal.
I slice my char grilled vegetables. I savour every mouthful.
‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it,’ I say, taking a generous swill of wine with my next bite.
Hovering above myself, I watch a macabre scene play out below me. My husband, slumped in the chair, head lolling, his face purple from the poison I concealed in his meal.
Me, I’m choking on a huge lump of red pepper.
About the author
Angela Haffenden is a thirty-seven- year old mother of four children. She is also responsible for a husband, a dog and an ageing father. She writes mainly to stay sane. She lives by the sea and writes in a cabin in the garden.
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