She’s going to kill me when she finds out. When I tell her the worst betrayal she can imagine—even if it’s ten years old and turned over like manure in a freshened field.

She’s going to kill me when she finds out that the nausea in my throat isn’t caused by losing you but by losing her, knowingly, willingly and with gusto.

She’s going to kill me when she finds out that your name is sweet on my lips, all the while poisoning her guts, rotting her psyche from the inside out.

She’s going to kill me when she finds out that we claimed the big dipper years ago and it’s never pouring out, merely scooping up the day’s memories.

She’s going to kill me when she finds out that forgiveness can win over the coldest heart, and there is more than one way to grow up.

She is going to kill me when she finds out.