One shot was all she needed to put an end to all of this. The kettle sang a thin steam tune as she set out the cups for tea. There he was in the living room, watching the boxing match on the telly, his sweaty socks trailing between the living room and the kitchen where’d he’d just been moments before. She was still clutching the milk jug between her bone white knuckles, her cheeks blue-red in the low light of the overhanging bulb. She had had enough.
It was time to end it. Sixteen years was a long time to keep quiet, but she was strong now, fierce, and he could no longer control her. He knew that too, she was physically outgrowing him, and the booze and the drugs only made him weaker. It also made him more desperate, and dangerous.
He didn’t see it coming. She cocked Bobby’s Glock against his temple in the green glow of the telly, and before he could wipe the drool and look her in the eyes, she squeezed the trigger.
No explanation. No final parting words to ease his soul into neverland. She walked back into the kitchen. The kettle screamed through the steam and the ringing in her ears. He was gone. She was free.