“Cheating bastard!” I fumed and waited for Donald to come home.
I found out about the affair six months ago and spent the last two preparing my goodbye. I waited calmly, just beyond the perimeter of my hastily scrawled handiwork. I heard the key turning in the lock.
Donald stepped inside and smiled at me. “Hi, honey! I’m home.”
His last words echoed shock and pain as he was suddenly consumed by the bright, hot flames which erupted and descended back into the pentagram scratched upon the floor where Donald had once stood.
“No,” I laughed madly. “Now you’re home.”
