When Frank came home from work, Andrea was waiting for him at the kitchen table.
That was not odd in itself as she was sitting there most evenings when he arrived.
The difference was that last night, after an argument over frozen sausages, he’d bashed her brains out on the marble countertop, drug her body to the tool shed, and hid it behind the mulch.
Frank ignored her. The same way he ignored the giggling little girl under his bed who kept him up nights.
He began frying the thawed sausages waiting on the counter.
Andrea said nothing; silence was good.