I thought I hated my wife. Until she was murdered.
I thought I knew her, too. Better than anyone.
The spouse is always the first suspect. You feel guilt regardless of how far you are from the scene of the crime. I couldn't help but feel complicit, that our mutual and growing hatred had somehow taken root and led to this. I knew it wasn't true in a legal sense, but I felt dirty with responsibility regardless.
Maybe I never really hated my wife. Maybe she just drove me mad. Maybe I would miss her.
But mostly, I needed to know who killed her, and why...