It was a quarter to six. I was awake before the alarm. He laid there, blissfully unaware of last night's events. Mike thought I was out with the girls, having some drinks. I felt a little guilty about lying to him, but how could I possibly tell him what I did? He was fast asleep when I came back home. I enjoyed watching him, his chest rising and falling slowly, breathing rhythmic and soft. The way his eyes flickered when he dreamed and his black hair were very appealing. I could watch him for hours, and I often did.
I got up and had a shower. The quiet time in the morning was something I enjoyed immensely. Even when I was on tour, I'd be up before my battalion, revelling in the solitude. The steaming water ran over my body as I washed away any remnants from the night before. As I dried off, I turned and looked in the mirror. These eyes had seen more than they care to remember. Was it Mary the dutiful housewife, or someone else? I was torn between two worlds, vascillating in the liminal spaces of my mind. I knew that was in too deep to ever find my way out.
I checked that I'd packed my duffle back up in the wardrobe, careful to keep it well out of sight and away from the children and Mike. The weapon was in the safe, hidden securely in the laundry. I checked my phone; Victor sent a thumbs up signalling that the clean up had gone to plan. I was expecting another delivery today, but I wasn't prepared for who the target would be.