I didn't kill Amanda. Don't get me wrong. I wanted to, but I didn't. The moment I saw my wife of 11 years having sex with some [ __ ] in our own bed, something snapped. The dresser was next to me and the bed on the opposite side of the room. I knew I could pull out my gun from the top drawer and nail them both onto the bed before either of them could open their filthy mouths to blurt out some pathetic excuse onto why I should spare these little shits who ruined a perfectly happy marriage. But I didn't. I'm not that kind of man. Instead, I let the son of a [ __ ] go and haven't spoken to my wife since. A few days later, I opened the door to a police officer who asked me questions about Amanda. Apparently, she was reported missing by her mother who repeatedly tried and failed to reach her phone. I hadn't seen her for 3 days at the time and honestly, I didn't care. This cheating bastard deserved whatever happened to her. I spent the next few weeks with interrogations and court trials. They seemed to have no doubt as to who was the culprit. Can't blame them after all. It would have been awfully convenient for the murderer to be the victim's ex-husband. People in law enforcement probably see the same case every other week. Luckily, there wasn't enough to convict me. The whole process was soul-crushing. Months spent trying to convince people that I didn't murder the love of my life while staring at the obvious disbelief in their eyes. I wish I had killed her. It'd have been much simpler for everyone. But, I didn't. No matter how angry I was, I could never do that to her. Today, as I write this, it's been exactly a year since I caught her red-handed. I miss Amanda so much, but everyone seems to have forgotten about her. I would, too, if not for the fact that I still have her presence. She's still with me. I can see her. Some nights, I can hear her crying as if apologizing to me for the things she has done. At least, that's how I like to see it. Sometimes, she screams, making me jump out of the bed in panic. Usually, a broken finger or a rib is enough to shut her up. Sometimes, she feels like resisting, and I have to bring out the knife. Oh, the horror in her eyes. She's always been frail, so I don't have to flay her a lot before she passes out. Then, I change the duct tape she chewed through for the fresh one and go right back to my cozy bed. You see, I told you I didn't kill Amanda. Could have shot her the moment I walked into that room, but I didn't. And I make sure that every day she wishes that I had. Oh.