After ten years of marriage, she had the corner office, a six-figure salary. You had daddy daycare. You never complained. You were a good man. Everyone said so.
Christmas Eve you caught her with Glenlivet and pills. There was an SEC investigation. The ride was over, she'd be getting off.
"But the kids," you cautioned. She was serious. You could tell.
There was another option: you and your .45. The children would receive sympathy rather than shame. You, the good man, would take the blame.
She agreed. Although not to three slugs in the gut.
A good man? Perhaps not.
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