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“Mrs. Morgan. Do you know Kelly Summers?”<br /> “No.” I let out a deep breath. Maybe she’s our cleaning lady? No, that’s not her name. I shake my head.<br /> &quot;Then, Mrs. Morgan. Do you know your husband is suspected of murdering his mistress?&quot;<br /> He flips open the folder and throws a dozen crime scene photos on the desk. Right away, I notice that they’ve all been taken in our lake house. A woman is lying in our bed, covered in blood. My hands immediately covered my mouth as I let out a gasp and a whimper.<br /> &quot;Your husband said you&#039;re his lawyer. You will defend for him.&quot;<br /> ————————<br /> Adam Morgan<br /> The breeze sucks the front door closed with a slam. <br /> It startles me for just a split second, but I know it’s her. Without even seeing her, I know her freckles are prominent from a day working the outside patio at the café. <br /> I know her brown doe eyes are lit up—filled with hope and joy. I know her long tousled hair sits underneath a hat she knitted herself earlier this fall. <br /> I know when she pulls that hat off, she’ll still look effortlessly beautiful, messy hair and all. I know she’ll be braless, wearing a form-fitting top and a dark thigh-length skirt. <br /> I know the waist of her shirt will be creased from where her apron sat all day. I know she’ll smile when she sees me, and it’ll take me less than sixty seconds to be inside her.<br /> “Babe, I brought leftover baked goods from the café,” she calls from the foyer.<br /> I hear her wrestle her shoes, knee-length socks, and jacket off. I pull two glasses from the wet bar. I pour scotch into each glass, and just as she enters I have one drink outreached to her. <br /> With a little bounce in her step, she takes the glass from me, chugs it, and sets it back down on the wet bar. The heat from the stone fireplace warms her skin, and I notice the goosebumps on her arms flatten.<br /> Before I can take a second sip, she’s unbuttoning and unzipping my pants. She drops to her knees and looks up at me with a devilish grin.<br /> I drop her legs on the bed and walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.<br /> I can still hear her panting from the other side of the door, trying to regain control of her own breathing. She doesn’t make a sound, and I assume she’s still lying there. I hope it’s in ecstasy and not pain. Sometimes, I take things too far—it’s like I black out and when I come to, I realize the error of my ways. I can’t help myself. Kelly just does that to me. When I’m with her, my animal instincts take over.<br /> Sarah used to do that to me. But now around her, I’m barely a man let alone anything else.<br /> At the vanity I look at myself in the mirror. A five-o’clock shadow has taken over my face, and my hair is out of place. My otherwise blue eyes are clouded with red. I can only stand looking at myself for a few seconds before I must look away. I’m not ashamed of who I am, but I’m not proud either. I splash some water on my face and then onto my chest, abs, and shaft. I’m too tired to shower. I pat myself dry with a towel.<br /> “Babe?” Kelly yells from the other room.<br /> “Yeah, hon?” I answer as I start brushing my teeth.<br /> “Your wife texted you.”<br /> I spit the toothpaste into the sink and rinse my mouth out, wiping my lips with my hand. Back in the bedroom, the lights are on now, and Kelly is sitting in bed, wearing a nightgown, while holding my phone. She smiles up at me.<br /> “What did she say?” I slide a pair of Ralph Lauren pajama pants on.<br /> “She wants to know what you’re doing.”<br /> I take a seat on the bed next to her, pushing her long brown hair back. I gently peck her neck and shoulder.<br /> “Tell her I’m about to bang the girl of my dreams again,” I whisper. Kelly laughs and begins texting back.<br /> “Your wish is my command.” She giggles. I swipe the phone from her playfully and get out of bed. I quickly text back.<br /> Since you couldn’t make it to me, I’m coming back tonight to see you. No need to wait up. Love you.<br /> Before I can set the phone down, Sarah texts back.<br /> I love you too. I got a chance to read the new pages you sent over lunch, and they’re incredible. I’m so proud of you XOXO.<br /> I smile for a brief second, before a wave of guilt spans over me. I let out a sigh.<br /> You’re the best, babe. Let me take you out for dinner tomorrow night. Say yes.<br /> My phone vibrates.<br /> Yes.<br /> Sometimes, I get a glimpse of who we used to be, and I think we can be that couple again. But I’ve screwed up too much for that to ever happen, and Sarah’s career has always come first—before me, before a family, before everything. I don’t foresee that ever changing.<br /> I thought when we had kids, she’d slow down, but she told me five years ago she didn’t want kids. I thought I’d be able to change her mind. I couldn’t.<br /> I set my phone down on the dresser and plug it into the charger. I look over at Kelly who is giving me bedroom eyes. She can never get enough of me, and I can’t get enough of her. But I know that won’t always be true. <br /> There was a time that Sarah and I couldn’t get enough of each other either. That time passed long ago. Occasionally, those feelings resurface, but they’re short-lived and usually induced by beverage or time apart. Don’t get me wrong, I love Sarah. <br /> If I didn’t, I would have left her long ago. It’s that love that I hold on to—not the money, the security or the houses. Kelly gives me the love that Sarah can no longer. They both complete me. It’s sick I know, but it’s true. I need them both.<br /> “Are you ever going to tell your wife about us?”<br /> “Are you ever going to tell your husband about us?” I retort.<br /> She huffs and folds her arms across her chest. “It’s not the same.” Her words are quiet.<br /> I leave and return with two full glasses of scotch, handing one to her and taking a seat. I put one arm around her and pull her close telling her I know. <br /> She lets out a soft, silent sob and as quickly as the cry left her body, she pulls it back in, regaining her composure. She takes a large gulp of the scotch and doesn’t even flinch at the burn. <br /> She leans into me. We sit there in silence, drinking our glasses of scotch, trapped in loveless marriages where we come second to the people we love. When Kelly and I are together, we come first. I refill our glasses twice more, and then we have intercourse again. <br /> This time, I don’t bang her—I sleep with to her.<br /> ...<br /> The slam of a car door wakes me from my slumber. It’s pitch black inside and outside, and I don’t have the slightest clue how my night ended with Kelly, but I assume it was with more rough intercourse since my shaft feels like it’s been dragged along a slab of pavement. I glance at the clock on the nightstand and in large red illuminating digits it reads 12:15 am.<br /> I whisper.<br /> I should have been home with Sarah by now. I rub my hands over my forehead and down my face, trying to massage the nerves back to life. How did I get this bad? <br /> I stepped out the room and walked to the entrance, picking up my items, and gently shutting the door behind me. I look down at my phone before getting into my black Range Rover. It’s 12:30 am. <br /> I’m half tempted to stay with Kelly, but I promised Sarah I would come home tonight, and although I won’t get in until nearly 2am, at least, I’ll wake up next to her.<br /> More than an hour later, I pull up to our home nestled in the Kaloroma neighborhood of D.C. <br /> I push open the door and find her sleeping heavily on her stomach, completely relaxed. She’s wearing a thin black tank top and black lace thong panties, not her typical nighttime attire. <br /> I expected to see her in a nightgown. Is she teasing me? Does she want me? Or did she just pass out from one too many beverage sodas, her drink of choice. Her silk-like blond hair is damp and is pulled back into a low ponytail—every strand neatly in place. <br /> Even when she’s asleep, she’s perfectly pulled together. My eyes follow the curve of her back and the smoothness of her toned hip, down her sculpted legs. <br /> Over the years, she may have neglected me, but she never ignored that body of hers. She stirs a little but doesn’t wake.<br /> By my side of the bed I shuffle off my pants and shirt. My eyes never leave her. She makes me so miserable, but so blissful at the same time. <br /> I hate her as much as I love her. Does she know? Does she care? What am I to her?<br /> I love her.<br /> -<br /> Sarah is gone when I open my eyes. <br /> As I go down the stairs, the doorbell rings.<br /> “Jesus Christ. I’m coming!”<br /> There are several loud knocks.<br /> “Hold on!” I make my way down the hallway, down the stairs, and to the front door. I swing it open and find two men standing there in matching attire: tan Dickies uniforms, complete with utility belts and wide-brim hats. <br /> The looks on their faces are similar, stern and frustrated… or is that disgust or discontent? I can’t really tell. I rub my eyes. The one on the left, a tall white male, with a hard jaw and piercing green eyes speaks first.<br /> “I’m Sheriff Ryan Stevens. Are you Adam Morgan?” he asks.<br /> I nod.<br /> The one on the right speaks next, an even taller black man with broad shoulders, and a visage that looks chiseled from stone. <br /> “I’m Deputy Marcus Hudson. We need to ask you some questions about your whereabouts yesterday evening.”<br /> “What’s this about?” I grip the front door with one hand and exchange glances with both the sheriff and his deputy. There are two squad cars parked on the street.<br /> ...<br /> Two hours later I find myself alone in a small interrogation room with a stale cup of coffee on the table in front of me. A large one-way mirror is on the wall to my left. I drop my head into my hands. My foot taps the floor with fervor as my patience has worn thin.<br /> “I want my phone call,” I scream within the empty room. “I want my phone call!”<br /> The door opens, and Sheriff Stevens and Deputy Hudson enter carrying Styrofoam cups of coffee.<br /> Sheriff Stevens sets a bottle of water in front of me. “Thirsty?”<br /> I pick up the water, chug it, and crunch up the empty bottle. I toss it into a trash can by the door. They take their time settling into their chairs across from me. <br /> They give each other a glance as they casually sip their coffee. They’re trying to look calm, but their clenched jaws and strained eyes give away the fact that they’re pissed off.<br /> “I want my phone call.” I still have no idea why I’m here. These pricks roughed me up a bit and threw me into the back of a squad car. <br /> I haven’t been charged with anything, and I’ve been sitting in this room for over an hour. I don’t know if Sarah is okay. I don’t know how I’m involved in any of this.<br /> “Mr. Morgan—can I call you Adam?” Sheriff Stevens asks, as if we’re on a first-name basis, as if he’s trying to be personable with me. These backwoods pricks. I’m tired of this, and I just want to know what is going on, so I nod with no enthusiasm.<br /> “Good. Well, you can call me Ryan and this guy,” he pats the deputy on the back, “you can call him Marcus. Now, we’re here to ask you a few questions, and hopefully, you’ll decide to cooperate with our investigation—unlike earlier. Do you understand?”<br /> I take a deep breath and rub my forehead with my hands, trying to soothe the headache I have coming on. “Yeah.”<br /> “Excellent. Now, can you tell us where you were last night?” Sheriff Stevens asks.<br /> My eyes dart around the room. “I was at my lake house over on Lake Manassas until around midnight. Then, I drove home.”<br /> They nod. Deputy Hudson pulls a notepad and a pen from his shirt pocket and begins jotting down notes. “Were you alone at the lake house?”<br /> “No.”<br /> “Who were you with?”<br /> “What’s this got to do with anything? I want my lawyer right now. I’m not answering anything else until I know what’s going on and why I’m here.” <br /> I stand up, kicking back my chair and shaking the table. The cups of coffee spill and two other deputies immediately charge into the interrogation room, restraining me.<br /> Deputy Hudson stands quickly flinging his chair back. He charges at me, grabbing me by the neck. His eyes bulge, and his lips purse as he comes within two inches of my face. <br /> “Listen up, you little prick! Kelly Summers was stabbed to death in your bed. Perhaps you want to start telling us what really happened, because, with the amount of evidence stacked against you, your days are numbered.” He pushes me against the wall as Sheriff Stevens pulls him off telling him to cool it.<br /> “I’m not going to cool it. Kelly was a good girl. She was family, and this white-collar prick comes into our town and kills her.” Deputy Hudson spits. Drops of sweat accumulate at his hairline.<br /> “Wha— what are you talking about? Kelly? She was fine when I left,” I sputter, choking on my own words. <br /> “How? How did this happen?” I collapse. The room spins and spins. The deputies let me fall to the ground as they take a step back.<br /> Who would hurt Kelly? The text messages from her husband. I recall them, each more menacing than the last and full of threats. It had to have been him. <br /> “Her husband. It had to have been her husband. Check her phone. Check her texts,” I plead—trying to put all the pieces together, trying to make sense of it.<br /> “Don’t you talk about her husband!” Deputy Hudson points his finger right in my face.<br /> Sheriff Stevens pushes him away from me. He turns back toward me. “We’re looking at all angles, but like the deputy eloquently said, this isn’t looking good for you.”<br /> “I would never hurt Kelly. I-I-I couldn’t. I loved her.” I drop my head into my hands.<br /> “That’s great,” Sheriff Stevens says with a hint of sarcasm. “Why don’t you follow one of these deputies and go call your wife?”<br /> -<br /> Sarah Morgan<br /> I find myself face to face with a man by the name of Sheriff Ryan Stevens. He matches the rough description of millions of men on this planet. <br /> Sandy brown hair kept high and tight in typical, ex-military-turned-police fashion adorns his head, sitting just north of his intense green eyes. These eyes have seen a lifetime of experience already and show as much fatigue as the rest of his face. <br /> The detail that I notice the most, though, is how he carries himself. This is a man in charge; this is a man who cares about his work; and this is a man not to be crossed. <br /> Despite the lethargy and years of abuse to his body by his line of work, his spirit is matched by none, even deputies half his age.<br /> I’m seated across from him in a small, disorganized office. Matthew is waiting for me in reception. I wanted him in here with me, but not until I knew what was going on.<br /> I still am unclear, and I have yet to see Adam, but I’ve been assured that he is all right and that I will be able to speak with him after I’ve talked to the sheriff regarding the incident my husband was involved in.<br /> “Mrs. Morgan, thank you for your patience,” Sheriff Stevens says.<br /> “Sarah is fine.”<br /> “Ryan is fine as well.” There’s a bit of snark in his voice, but there’s kindness in his eyes. Whether that kindness is for me or not, I don’t know.<br /> “What is going on?” I cross one leg over the other, leaning back in my chair.<br /> “I need to ask you a few questions before you see Adam.”<br /> “Okay.”<br /> “Was Adam with you last night?”<br /> I take a moment to think of the night before. I came home late from going out with Anne. But Adam came home later than me. He said he had been at the lake house writing, which is the norm. <br /> He goes there to write frequently and stays there for days at a time. It was one of the main reasons we had gotten the lake house. <br /> He was having trouble for the longest time putting words on paper, and when he came to me with the idea of buying a vacation home close enough for him to work at, but far enough out of the city for us to vacation to, I was on board right away. It was the perfect solution. <br /> Although I’ve rarely been there. Anne’s spent more time there than I have. She spent a week there this past summer as a part of her Christmas bonus, one week paid time off at my lake house. <br /> It was nice she had the opportunity to use it for what we had intended it for—vacation. Work kept me too busy to take frequent weekend trips, but it turned Adam’s writing around. He’s been churning out pages like never before.<br /> “Yes, at some point,” I finally land on.<br /> “And what point was that?”<br /> I pause trying to think over my answer carefully.<br /> “Well, I had fallen asleep. But I woke up around 2am and he was there. He could have been home for much longer.”<br /> Sheriff Stevens nods and jots down a few words on a pad of paper in front of him. He glances up at me and then writes down a couple more words. <br /> He chews on the end of his pen and glances at me again—this time, running his eyes over my body. <br /> “And that’s at your home in D.C., correct?”<br /> “Yes.”<br /> “What happened after he got home?”<br /> “We talked.” I let out a small cough. “And we had intercourse.” I know something terrible has happened. This is an interrogation, and there’s no sense in holding any information back. Adam couldn’t have done anything wrong, so honesty is the only thing that is going to make this all go away, whatever this is.<br /> “Is that usual for you two?”<br /> “A husband and a wife having intercourse, Sheriff Stevens?”<br /> “No, you and Adam?”<br /> “What does this have to do with anything?” I’m irritated, and I’m done playing games with this small-minded sheriff. I tear apart men like him every day. I may be here as Adam’s wife, but I am a defense attorney.<br /> The sheriff taps his pen against the desk. He’s waiting for me to speak as he has no intention of answering my question. He’s trying to get an understanding of Adam’s and my relationship, but why? What could he think Adam has done? Sure, we don’t have the perfect marriage, but who does? And why is it any of his business?<br /> “We’re trying for a baby,” I say not actually answering his question, but side-stepping it. If he doesn’t answer my questions, I won’t answer his.<br /> “Congratulations.” There’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice.<br /> “Are we done?”<br /> “No, Mrs. Morgan. Do you know a Kelly Summers?”<br /> “No.” I let out a deep breath. Maybe she’s our cleaning lady? No, that’s not her name. I shake my head adding to my resounding no.<br /> He nods and underlines something on his notepad. He selects a file folder from a stack of papers and pulls out an 8x10 photo, placing it in front of me. It’s a picture of a beautiful girl with long brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. She’s smiling. She’s younger—probably late twenties. She is a stark contrast to Sheriff Stevens, where he is serious, worn down, on a mission; she is carefree, letting life take her as it wants.<br /> “This is Kelly Summers. Are you sure you don’t know her?”<br /> I pull the photo a little closer and lean in really taking it in. Her beauty is truly captivating. Her freckles spread lightly along her nose, her lips are full, and her cheekbones are prominent.<br /> “I don’t know her.” I push the photo back toward him. He nods, taking the picture and putting it back in the folder.<br /> “Are you and Adam having marital problems?” He taps his fingers on the desk.<br /> “You know what, Sheriff Stevens? This is getting ridiculous. I don’t know what Adam and I have to do with this Kelly woman, and I’ve had enough. I want to see my husband right now.” I’m half standing when Sheriff Stevens slams his hand on the desk.<br /> “Sit down!”<br /> “Or what? You’ll arrest me? Take me to my husband.” I stare him down. Although he is large, he is so small to me.<br /> He flips open the folder and throws a dozen crime scene photos on the desk. Right away, I notice that they’ve all been taken in our lake house. A woman is lying in our bed, covered in blood. Her eyes are expressionless. Her torso and chest are mutilated, skin gouged and scraped. I drop my purse, and my hands immediately cover my mouth as I let out a gasp and a whimper.<br /> I drop to the side of the desk regurgitating a bit of my lunch into my mouth. The acid burns as I try to force it back down, but this only makes my eyes well up with tears even more.<br /> And then it hits me. Now I know why I’m here.<br /> I feel a pat on my back. It’s Sheriff Stevens. He’s trying to calm me down.<br /> “I’m sorry.” He hands me a Kleenex and keeps his hand on my back. I stand facing him, though my legs are a bit wobbly beneath me. I wipe my mouth and pat at my eyes, trying to compose myself. This isn’t like me. I don’t break down. I’m strong. He asks me if I’m okay and I nod. Where I once was just trying to figure out why I was here, I now need to go into lawyer mode, because this “kind and simple” sheriff routine is really the work of a seasoned pro, watching, calculating.<br /> There’s a knock on the door. Sheriff Stevens keeps a hand on my shoulder—still trying to play nice. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I regain control of my breathing and attempt to compose myself.<br /> The door opens, and I turn to find a tall black man in similar clothing as Sheriff Stevens. His eyes are cold, bloodshot, and they do not meet mine. He says, “He wants his lawyer.”<br /> Sheriff Stevens nods. “Marcus, this is Sarah, Adam’s wife. This is Deputy Hudson.” I shake his hand.<br /> His eyes bounce off me. There’s a rage in them. “Should I let him call his lawyer?”<br /> Before Sheriff Stevens can speak, I interrupt. “There’s no need.”<br /> “Why?” they both ask in unison giving each other a puzzled look.<br /> “I’m his lawyer.”

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