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2020-11-24T13:36 [writing/story age/year-of-desperation]

Wife Finding

by S. E. Hatfield, 5 June 2010

I find my wife everywhere.

I find my wife in the embrace of kids and mothers in the park, or when I’m washing dishes with her favorite kind of soap. I find my wife in the secret taste of lovers, and I find her in the jewelry shop, buying diamonds with her eyes. I find my wife in every wife of the other officers, but I know they’re jealous of her, of me.

I’m constantly finding connections to her.

She’s been missing for three weeks now. Her side of the queen-sized is empty, painful.

She didn’t come home with groceries; we found them in the store parking lot. She didn’t unlock the front door; we found the keys twelve blocks further away. She didn’t start the oven for our special night; we found the special recipe in a diner a county over. We didn’t make love that night; we found the lube at a filling station in nowhere.

I’m constantly finding connections to her.

Day 26 pays off. We find the ranch house from the address scribbled in her date book she left in a country department store. We find the front door.

I see blood. I see fingers near the door, an elbow near the sink, bits of torso and leg in the living room. I find a head in the oven.

I find my wife everywhere.