I still remember the day it happened. Not the exact date, mind you, but the feeling in the air. It was heavy, like a storm about to break. I'd been on edge for weeks, ever since I found out about her cheating. We were living out in the sticks, just the two of us and miles of nothing. It was the kind of place where you could scream your lungs out and no one would ever hear.

      She had been suspecting it for a while, and I knew she knew, but finding those texts on my phone...that did it, I should have been more careful. That day when she called me into the dining room to “Have a talk”, I knew what was coming. She started with how much she loved me, then gently took a right turn into how disappointed she was. How hurt she was. Then suddenly we were going down a steep slope of blame game nonsense and she was saying that I was the entire problem in this relationship. She was sure I had cheated on her many times, but she didn't care anymore. 

     Because I “belonged to her, til death do us part”. 

     She started saying she had forwarded all the pictures and messages to her email, and she was going to start leaking them to family members, and work acquaintances. That was going to be a problem. I told her no, i asked her not to, and she said it was either that, or she was going to leave and when she did, I was going to be taken for everything I had. She was right. Some mess I had gotten myself into. She started laughing as I began begging. I knew this was going to ruin me just because I was trying to have a little fun. My life was about to be turned upside down. Then she started to type up a message to her best friend. 

     Something in me just snapped. I don't remember much of what happened next, just a kind of red haze. They say when you're in a rage, you're stronger. I believe it. I was in and out of reality, and the glimpses I could catch of reality were my hands around her throat. In between all of that I spent what seemed like hours watching our best memories in my mind, mixed with our worst fights. When I came to, it was dark outside and she laid cold on the floor, my hands still around her neck. I let go and began panicking. After a while I dragged her out to the edge of our property, where the woods got thick. I had a shovel in the shed. I remember the dirt flying, her staring up at me with eyes full of fear and pleading. But I had to have imagined that. It would make sense that I'm going crazy considering I just murdered my wife. So I just kept digging.

     The next morning, I woke up. I was alone in my bed. I still couldn't believe the events of the night before. I went to the kitchen, and started making some coffee, and then I heard the shower running. My heart nearly stopped. I walked slowly to the bathroom, my mind racing. I did it didn't I? Maybe I didn't...maybe it was all just some sick dream. But then I saw her. She was washing mud from her hair, looking up at me with the same eyes. But now they had something else in them. Something cold.

     I couldn't move, couldn't speak. She just kept staring, water running over her. Finally, she said, "I'm going to the police." I knew then I had to finish it. I left the bathroom and headed out to the shed, I grabbed a rope and came to the kitchen and took a knife. I stopped and inhaled a few deep breaths. Was I about to do this again? Kill the person I married a second time? What was I talking about? I couldn't have done it the night before because obviously she didn't die. I entered the bedroom, knife hidden behind my back, waiting to strike, she wasn't in the bathroom anymore. I found her in the walk in closet. She was in full nude with her back to me. Without any hesitation, I pounced, stabbing her in the back with the kitchen blade, symbolic of the way I had stabbed her in the back by having the affair that started all of this. Only this was a permanent solution to a temporary problem. She bled, laying on her back staring up at me. Her eyes were empty, as her last few breaths fell out of her lips, i couldnt help but think there wasnt really a struggle or desperation in her to cling to life. It was all too eerie of a feeling. I carried her lifeless body to the truck, loaded her in the back, and then checked her pulse no less than eight times. She had to be dead this time. I got in the truck and went to the river, then I weighed her down with a cinder block and the rope tied around her waist. Watching her sink under the water, I just felt...sick, but relieved, too.

     The next morning, I woke up to find her sitting by the fireplace. Her hair was still wet, a towel wrapped around her shoulders. She just looked at me and said, "The first time, I could forgive. But twice...that's not easily forgivable." I knew then I had to make sure. Somehow, I wasn't completing the task at hand, and I needed to figure out what I was doing wrong.

     I went to my bedroom, then into the closet. Her blood was still damp on the floor from the day before. I really should have cleaned that up before I went to bed. No worries, I'll take care of it later, once I was alone. I reached up to the top shelf, and pulled down an old shoe box I hadn't touched in years. I took it over to the bed, sat it down gently, then opened it. Inside there was an old purple rag, with something wrapped up inside it. I picked ut up and started unraveling the revolver that my father had given me before he passed away a decade ago. I loaded it, then turned to head back downstairs. She greeted me at the top of the stairs. 

     “What ya got there?” She asked. 

     I hadn't exactly concealed the weapon before leaving the bedroom. 

     “Oh nothing.. “ I stammered, "it's just a uh”, and with that I raised the gun up and shot her twice in the chest. As I watched her stumble backwards to the top of the first step, I could see she was just smiling. She reached out to grab the rail and I shot her twice more. This time she fell, tumbling towards the hard granite floor beneath the staircase. I watched from up top, waiting for movement, but there was nothing. Then I made my way down the stairs and checked her. 

Dead. 

     I took her body behind the shed, we had a burn pile there where we usually would get rid of dead leaves, or yard debris. We hadn't used it in a while but it was time to try it out again. 

     I grabbed some gas from the shed, poured it over her, lit a match, and then I watched her burn. 

I watched the skin start to char, even melt away in some places. I watched her face and that smile, but then...then I saw her eyes. They didn't even flicker. She then sat up, stood, and walked out of the fire. Skin was hanging off of her, but she just kept coming. Her smile stretched side to side.  

     She said, "Forever means forever."

     That's when I knew I was in trouble. See, we said that in our vows. "Forever and always." I didn't understand then, but I do now. She won't leave without me. I've tried to fight back, but I can't hurt her. I've shot her, stabbed her, hit her with a shovel, lit her on fire, but she just keeps coming. Her eyes, they're full of this...hunger. I ran, I ran back to the house, grabbed my keys and coat and got out of there. I sped down the road as fast as I could. I was worried about my life being turned upside down if I let her live, but I let it still get flipped on end somehow. The best part is, I know someday, she'll get me. I'll be the one in the ground, and she'll be sitting by that damn fireplace, waiting.

     I’m sitting in a motel room, miles from that place. I see her everywhere - in crowds, in mirrors, in my sleep. Nothing seems real anymore, not after what happened. All i do is eat, sleep and pray. I pray for God to forgive me. I pray he finds a way to stop that unstoppable monster. I pray each day that I make it through the night, because one day when I wake, I know it won't be from a dream. I know my undying love will be the death of me.