Laying on her stomach under the bed she held back vomit.
She worried her rapid breath was whipping around the house in big gusts of wind.
Could he hear her?
Slow, steady steps made their way up the stairs.
Was he heading to the bedroom?
Panicked she put her palm to her mouth.
Black loafers came into sight.
The bottom of the bed framing them against the white carpet, a square,
Like she was watching him on a television set.
He flipped off the switch and fell onto the mattress.
An hour passed, her tiny body under his.
She rolled out in one agile motion,
And hovered over him in an unmeasurable moment.
Drawing her knife she slit his throat,
Grabbed her duffle bag and started throwing his nicest things inside it.
She left through the back door and made her way to the shed
Where his wife had left her the cash.
