The act was deliberate and she knew it by the way her boss’s eyes flicked at her. It was the tiniest, least noticeable movement. She was aware that he was aware of her and that made the news even harder to bear. It was a dirty little whisper and he enjoyed it as it slipped off his tongue.

Mona walked home through the shin deep snow, struggling to keep her balance. "I saw her husband coming out of......" played on an endless loop in her mind, leaving out the final few words that were too distasteful. She saw the image of her boss’s almost smiling lips and that tiny eye flick in her direction, as if to satisfy himself that she was close enough to hear, reflected between two mirrors, endless but without depth. It was like he was picking at one of her scabbed over sores, trying to make it hurt again and he knew it.

She did not know why she walked so fast, as she was unsure of what awaited. Perhaps she had one hope, one belief in her husband left, and that is what inspired her, propelled her along. Or perhaps she was afraid that if it was the truth, if....if.. Maybe she could get her things out and go, leave before he got home.

There was nowhere else to go except home, which was exactly where her legs seemed to carry her one plodding, sucking, wet, cold step after another. The wind whipped snow into her face each time she crossed the open spaces between sheltering buildings.

It was April. It was not supposed to be this cold and snowy. Also, husbands were not supposed to be seen coming out of strip bars when they were supposed to be working. This particular strip bar got into the papers a while back after the cops raided the back room whorehouse and found customer names and numbers, including her husband’s name and number.

Her boss made a point of showing her the evidence. Her boss enjoyed making her cry.

The bastard, her husband, not the other bastard who was her boss, admitted that he had patronized the bar on occasion, but never, ever was he a back room customer. And he did not know how they got his number and name. Maybe he had entered, a drawing, where you drop your business card in the jar a win a free lunch, he offered as an explanation.

The bastard, her husband, was in for it now. She had made him promise to never go into that place again and he was very agreeable to that.

But, again, there he was and the cops SAW him this time! Proof positive the rat was into the cheese.

She arrived home and was alone, the house was deserted, dark. She decided to leave a note, a simple note. All she would write was "Good bye. The cops saw you coming out of ........." in red ink. She would leave it on the bed, near his pillow.

She walked to the stairs to climb to their bedroom to pack. She did not want to turn on lights, so she crept cautiously to the stairs.

He was waiting for her at the top. He had heard her enter their house and he knew he was caught. He stood with the flowers, Tulips and Daffodils, spring flowers, in his hands like an offering.

She screamed and screamed and cried and beat against his chest in furious anger. He stumbled away, back from the stairs and tripped, the flowers landing perfectly centered on his chest. His surprise was genuine and she realized that. She decided that he did not know he was spotted coming out of that whorehouse.

"What the Hell are those for?" she hissed, tossing her head toward the flowers decorating his chest.

"It’s our anniversary," he replied, gasping for air.

She saw the card attached tot the boquet. She remembered where that flower shop was, what was next door. She forgot the date.