Denouement

"I am not having an affair with Carlos Harter!"

Holding hands on their oaken bed, he tried to think, but thought nothing useful. Later, he would wonder about specifics. Why the full name?

For now, he was lost. Springtime rays caught the edge of winter, a chill breeze sunlit through the faux Tudor windows. His bed, soft and still warm.

From downstairs came nothing untoward. Iggle-Piggle. The unpractised laughter of small boys. Looking up, he let go her hand.

Sideways she slipped from his bed, and went downstairs. Though hard to do through his tears, he loaded his gun.