Every Tuesday night, I meet up with Sandra to talk over a bottle of wine. Usually, the questions are all just basic conversation. Like, "How's Brock?" or "How's work?". So, this eventual Tuesday night, I did my makeup and walked on over to Sandra's place. Brock was always off partying or working late, so we could be unfiltered.
I walked up to Sandra's place and rang the doorbell. She said hi and we got straight to pouring that wine and painting each other's nails.
"So, how's Brock?"
".."
"Sandy?"
Immediately, she burst into tears. I made sure to dry her new red nails and then ran to get her a tissue.
"Honey, what's going on? Did y'all fight?"
She sniffled and wiped her eyes.
"Oh, Char, I think it's fine time you knew." she said between sniffles.
"Knew what?"
"Brock's been cheatin' on me," she wailed, bursting in tears, "and he's got this mistress, one of them free-spirit chicks. God, she's like, this total hippie. But I came home one night, late, cuz my damned shift manager just loves to make me clean the tables. Anyways, I come home at, like, 10pm, expectin' Brock to be home, maybe with dinner on the table and wine so I can tell him about my day. He ain't there. I cooked myself some TV lasagna and watched some reality TV till he got home...at 3am!"
"Now, why would he be home at 3am for?"
"Oh honey, it gets worse. So he walks in the door, and I stand up pretty pissed off, cuz I was expectin' some lovin' man to cook me dinner and be there, and I see he's got some redder lips than usual. Now, it's hellsa dark in this house, so I think he's been in a fight cuz his neck 'n collarbone have hellsa bruises. Well, I examine and I notice it's nothin' more than hickeys and red lipstick"
"No. way."
"Way. So I ask him and he's like 'yeah, well, sorry hon. It's just this work dispute. Got in a bad fight and I tried to hide it cuz my lips were cut up' so why was he out past 12? Don't make sense to me. Anyways, looked into our joint account and noticed he's spent over a thousand on jewelry, none of which were given to me. And it's not a presents thing, cuz there's no events nearby that I could assume it would be for me. So, yeah. He's been cheatin'. He's been so distant, a-and..."
She cried again.
"Oh, Sands. I'm so so sorry." I said as I hugged her.
"The worst part is, I swear he did it, but I can't prove it."
"Oh hunny."
"I'm gonna call him out."
"You better, girl. He's gotta get what's comin' to him."
"Yeah. Oh, shit. It's like, 10:30. He should be home soon."
"Oh, I'll go then. You let me know what happens, ok Sands?"
"Gotcha. You know I always call."
So I hugged her and left. She never called. I waited for hours. And hours. I decided she was too heartbroken and went to bed, so I dropped it until next Tuesday, when our meetup was to happen. I called her, but no answer. So I popped up at her house, and no answer when I knocked. So, then I went to her work, Carlson's Diner, and ate there during a time where it was damn well her shift. Not once did I see her. Even asked the shift manager. She was supposed to come in, but never showed. And if anyone knew Sandra, they knew she was always punctual. So, I assumed she left out of hurt.
Next day, Brock calls me up.
"Hey, Charlotte."
"Brock."
"You seen Sandra?"
"Nope"
"Oh, ok- I'm gonna just-"
Then he hung up. Soon, I find out from town gossip Emmy that he reported her missin'. And, the day she disappeared, Emmy heard hellsa yelling at their place. She even heard tires being slashed and throwing. Then some screaming at one another. It was a huge fight. Cops even came cause of the yellin'.
So I waited for Sandra's return.
Five weeks later, no luck on Sandra's search, and she was pronounced dead.
He did it. There's no doubt. But it's impossible to prove.
Brock, that bastard, killed his wife.
He's gonna get what's coming to him.
So I started surveillance. I would park my car on their block and spy every day. And the tire-slashing rumor is true, cuz' Brock's ugly ass pickup truck was sportin' some brand new Goodyear tires. From what I know, the mistress, the hippie hoe, moved in. I peeped in their windows one night, and she's sleepin' in Sandra's bed and everythin'.
What. The. Fuck.
So, I devised a plan. I called up Sandra's sister, Brooke, and told her to tell the authorities that we went out to a movie if they ask.
I put my dad's boating license to use.
And used what I've learned as a cleaning maid in my youth.
I disguised myself as a insurance policy seller and convinced that no-good mistress to take out a huge sum of money from Brock's account and use it for her life insurance.
And then, when the mistress went out with her girlfriends, I put the plan into action.
I won't get into the real nasty details, but when Brock came home, I hit him where it hurt.
Then, I took a late-night cruise for one and dropped Brock off right in the lake.
They questioned me, but how are they gonna think it's me when I was seeing a film with Brooke all night?
Soon, they turned to that mistress. And all signs pointed to her, even though she swears she had nothing to do with it.
They all think she did it, but there's no proof.
And she thinks I did it, but I was at the movies, I swear.
And I swore to myself and Sandra not to let up until the day I died.
303Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG403yb7qFX
Now I've died. And for everyone who was caught up in this drama, you all know well by now that I did it. Y'all turned your back on that no-good slut that broke up a family like I wanted. Like what Sandra wanted. This letter, found next to me in the event of my death, is my incrimination. But, since I'm no longer alive, I can't be condemned. Sorry to y'all, my parents, friends, husband and kids, everyone. But it's damn time you found out.
He got what was comin' to him.
Love, Charlotte James-Hanson
ns 15.158.61.20da2
