As I tossed the salad for dinner I thought I had never been this embarrassed in my life. I could not believe that my husband stormed into my chamber with only a reason to believe that I was cheating on him. How could he? Has he no faith in me? After all we had been dating for four years before our courtship of two years and even after three years of marriage he does not trust me?
I heard his car drive into his parking space. I fumed. I never ask him details of his business trip where he has to take along his personal assistant who looks half horny and half nymphomaniac. I have never asked him why he has to overnight even when there is no meeting around.
It was time to settle it. It was either the typical Indian woman way to scream shout and get tired and go to sleep. Then wake up the next day like a loser. Or something needed to be done.
It was a choice I had to take and I had taken my decision. Something needed to be done and I would do it.
I dimmed the lights, put on some music. Something that was going to suit the actions that would take place so the best song that was suiting the mood was by Cutting Crew and the song was ironically called “Died In Your Arms “.
I went back to table to prepare the dinner. In he comes dropping a file and saying “oh you look like you are in a mood to murder”. Look at the guts on this man. Joking like nothing had happened today. But I kept my cool and replied “yes I am”. Good for him he sensed the hostility coming from me. That shut him up for the while.
We sat down and finished our dinner. Our only words were pure silence. After dinner we sat on our sofa as usual. Silence still prevailed. Out of guilt he broke the silence and said “Look I am sorry for what I did today. I should not have behaved that way with you. I……… I should have trusted you. Will you forgive me?” Forgive you. Look at the way this guy talks schoolboy charm. Any woman would forgive him no matter what he had done to her. But it was not going to work with me. He put his arms around holding like a scared child holds his mother. He kissed me. Oh the confidence this man had that he would get away with what he did today. As I reached for my purse I reminded myself of the old medical training days when we were being taught how to stick a needle in the vein without giving the patient feeling of anything.
I broke him off and then looked into eyes and said “you don’t trust me, you did not trust me in the hospital, you“ he tried to cut me with something starting with an ‘I’. But I put a finger to his lip and continued” you never trusted me when I replied to you”. “Replied to what?” he asked innocently. “When you asked” I said moving my fingers along his hand to his hand, taking my hand out of his and once I reached his elbow vein I completed my sentence “whether I was in mood to murder I said yes but did not trust me, you should have trusted me.” Those were my last words to him as I looked into his eyes I saw shock and surprise as I stuck an empty injection in veins and I emptied the vacuum from the injection into his veins. I still loved him so I did see him die. I got up with the evidence in hand and left with my purse in hand knocking over something like a little bottle but I did care. I bribed the gate keeper who was any way going back to his village the next morning for the crop season not to tell anyone that I had walked out so late in the night. I made sure that even if he did return he should not be seen around this part of the city. I broke it and threw it the dump outside our apartment. I had parked my car outside the compound so that no one suspected I was home. I made sure no body saw me when I went into my apartment.
He was found dead next morning. When neighbors failed to get any response they had to break down the door. Those bastards, could they not see how beautiful the door was?
The police found fingerprints of two types, a man’s and a woman’s. Real Sherlock Holmes. Obviously it had to be my husband’s and mine. The post mortem was done in my hospital by the same man who he suspected me with. Oh the irony?
The police closed the case and announced it was a case of suicide with the post mortem report (courtesy dr.Imran, my friend) suggesting an overdose of sleeping pills. He was in habit of sleeping pills, yes he was and the last bottle had finished the previous night which I made sure to place near the sofa before he came. His entire property worth nearly rupees six crore had been signed to my name that same day; yes the file he kept when he came in was his will. He wanted to prove that he loved me. But seeing me in a bad mood he got nervous, he always used to. The police had handed me the will after verifying it with his lawyer. I was yet to sign it.
A year after that night Imran proposed to me. I obliged because he knew how to love a woman unlike my late husband, who loved me like he was singing a silly dopey song. As you might have guessed by now, yes I was unfaithful to him. Imran had been and now is my partner. My partner in passion and my partner in crime. Passion and crime. Only God knows how long these two words had been each others‘partner. I gave half the money I got from the will because he risked the post mortem. But the money matter is acceptable because I love him most importantly he “trusts” me.
