She stood there, looking down at his crumpled body. “Now what?” she thought to herself. Feeling oddly devoid of emotion, she realized she had just killed her husband after he told her that he was leaving her with his child for another woman. She thought that maybe she should feel hurt somehow, crippled with emotion. She was numb, colder to the world than the outrageous murder weapon she still clutched in her hand, and she found she didn’t care. He had deserved what he had received. She sighed heavily and dropped the leg of meat. She turned and fixed herself a strong drink, the type of drink her husband rarely had. She picked up the side table he had knocked over, and put her glass down. She picked up her sewing and began to mull over what she should do next. The sun had almost disappeared when she suddenly stood up, knocking over the side table yet again. She strode out of the house purposefully, heading towards the toolshed, where she took a spade and a pair of leather gloves. She walked back to the house, casting a long spindly shadow across the lawn.

She found herself standing over his body once again. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” she whispered hoarsely. With that, she hefted him on to her shoulder and lurched out the front door. She found the keys in his back pocket, and unlocked the door before throwing him in. She heard a sharp crack, and she was vaguely aware that she had probably just broke his nose before she slammed the door shut. She slid into the driver’s seat and keyed the ignition. She sat very still for a minute, trying to think of where she should go, where no one would look for him. Sitting so still, she realized she felt different. Sick, but not like she ever had before. It was a dull ache deep in her stomach, the kind of pain that made her feel like throwing up. She probably would not have noticed it if she hadn’t stopped and thought. The pain didn’t matter to her, it was too small to bother. Besides, she knew where she had to go, and the pain had faded already. 

She drove slowly and carefully, taking the scenic route to the most isolated place she knew. She could rest easy if she was sure that no one would find him. She knew that the river was a bad idea, because he would probably wash up in one of the villages that it flowed through, and in the forest it was too likely that a animal would dig him up and leave him exposed to human eyes. She had settled on the graveyard that her mother had been buried in. Who would search for a missing person in a place of the dead?