by Ian Yates

Created on: February 14, 2009

Is this a dagger I see before me its hilt towards to my hand?

Why the hell am I quoting Shakespeare at a time like this. My name is Malcom and I am pretty confused at the moment.

My wife lies dying on the floor before me, a bloodied knife is in my hand. The large double doors are wide open and the police are looking at me like a shark looks at tuna.

Hungry.

Expectant.

Confident.

Perhaps I should explain how I came to be in this position...

For almost a year there had been suspicions about relationsips outside of our marriage. Text messages from strange numbers,a phone call from family that had to be taken in the bedroom. The door shut. Postcards from strange lands with no signature. What would you think dear reader?

It even got to the stage where facebook friends were scrutinised for evidence of some strange public love affair. Photos of each and every "friend" examined for a glimpse of the supposed love of your life. What was a paranoid non schizophrenic to do?

I did what any sane man would do, I hired a private detective. His name was Marcus Steele, I know it sounds like an 80s porn star but I even saw his birth certificate and his passport. I am naive enough to believe these cannot be faked. Anyway, his name and credentials do not matter, what matters is that he produced hard evidence.

My wife, the woman I had loved, cared for, sweated over and sacrificed so much of my life for was in correspondence, regular correspondence with another man. It was even suggested, actually evidenced, that they had met up on more than one occasion.

This was why I was here in this situation.

I received a phone call from Marcus stating a rendezvous for my wife and this man. I knew I had to be there to see with my own eyes, to witness the betrayal I longed to be false. I managed to make my way across town and infiltrate the building before the deceivers arrived.

It was a small village hall. The type you see on sad documentaries where they have a dance once a month and an old mans birthday party just before he pegs it. I only just made it into the small sports cupboard before HE turned up.

The smell of stale sweat and mouldy gym equipment made my eyes water. Luckily the open slats on the cupboard door afforded some respite, but still I found difficulty in breathing whilst I waited for the betrayal.

She walked in first, looking around nervously, looking for her man to appear. She had dressed in the skirt and blouse I had bought for her on Valentines day. An elegant Valentino outfit that accentuated

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