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I Want to Kill My Wife 


Daniel had been driving all night, the glare from the first morning light on the windshield was unnoticed. His mind was on his destination. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other absent-mindedly stroked the handgun on the seat beside him. He was unaware of the strong dairy smell seeping through the cold pale fog.  Daniel knew the route well; he had ferriered Suzanne back and forth many times from their house in Merced to her parents farm in Hilmar. A quick glance at himself in the rear view mirror caused him to wonder why his face was red and swollen. Was it from the tears or the long drive from Northridge? He pulled the car to a stop on the road near the mailbox. Suzanne's new car was in the driveway. There was no time to think. Daniel took the gun and tucked it into his front coat pocket. 

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