My wife is sitting in the dark, tapping her talons on the kitchen table. I am unsuccessfully sneaking in at 4:00 in the morning.
“Honey, I—”
"You have the right to remain silent.”
“Honey, I can—”
“Anything you say can be used against you, etcetera.”
She is now picking at some dried substance with her fingernail. A rather large knife sits on the table pretty darn close to her hand.
I have a choice to make.
I can spill my guts; life as I know it could be over, figuratively, or literally.
Maybe...perhaps.
Or…or…
I can stay silent, slink off to bed, and see what tomorrow brings. Well, later today anyway. That would give me a little time to come up with a good story.
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