The Good Wife

The church was packed like sardines, raising a stink at the funeral mass. The cops found Vincent in a pool of blood, next to a dresser with two Styrofoam cups, one with crimson lipstick, in a motel.

“Lydia, I’m sorry you had to devote your life to this man. He deserved his fate.”

I sat in the front row veiled, all-black sucking up to the glib condolences. I walked up to the coffin and watched the body with a sinking feeling, as I placed the bouquet on the stomach. The way to a man’s heart, Mama said.