Forty Years For A Shadow

Summary

In the forty years we were married, he never let me suffer a moment of hardship.

Even now, with children and grandchildren filling our home, he still reached across the dinner table to place the tenderest cut of the fish fillet into my bowl.

I thought this was the definition of growing old together.

That illusion shattered the day I went down to the basement to look for old things. I accidentally knocked over a heavy, clay jar of aged Port—the one he had sealed and hidden away for her.

He burst in, looking like a madman, and his hands closed around my throat.

“That is not yours to touch.”