MY WIFE IS A SERIAL KILLER

INTO THE WOODS

Lenco's POV

The sound of clinking silverware against porcelain felt deafening.

Across the dining table, Willow was cutting a slice of roast chicken for Campbell with practiced, effortless grace. She laughed at one of Jerome’s jokes about his middle school track coach, her eyes bright, her expression completely radiant.

She was the picture-perfect mother. The devoted wife.

And her hands were clean.

Sometime during those few minutes upstairs, she had scrubbed away every trace of the dark, stiff residue I’d felt on my wrist. Her skin was scrubbed raw-pink around her knuckles, faintly smelling of lavender soap, but otherwise spotless.

I picked up my fork, but my stomach was twisted in knots. I couldn't eat. Every time I looked at her, I saw Robert’s sharp, calculating smile on our porch.

“Lenco, honey, you haven't touched your plate,” Willow said softly, snapping me out of my daze.

She reached across the table and placed her hand over mine.

Her touch was warm, but a shiver ran down my spine.

“Just tired, babe,” I forced out, offering a weak smile. “It’s been a long day.”

“Well, you’re not allowed to be tired until you blow out your candles,” Jerome said, sliding a homemade chocolate cake toward the center of the table.

Campbell clapped her hands in delight.

Willow leaned in close to me, her shoulder pressing against mine as the kids started singing the birthday song.

I looked down at the flickering candles, my mind racing.

Why did Robert call himself a politician when he acted like a detective?

Why did Willow look at her phone with that expression upstairs?

And whose blood was on my cuff?

“Make a wish, Daddy!” Campbell squealed.

I closed my eyes, blew out the candles, and forced a joyful laugh for my kids.

An hour later, the children were tucked into bed, and the house fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

For a while, I almost forgot about the stain.

Almost.

That night, when we were lying beside each other, I stared at the ceiling.

“Are you hurt?” I asked her.

Willow turned toward me.

“No, babe. Why?”

She moved closer and rested her head against my chest.

I hesitated.

I wanted to tell her about the blood.

But something stopped me.

Maybe because I didn't want to accuse her when she was already exhausted.

Maybe because I was afraid of what her answer might be.

When I remained silent, she lifted her head and studied my face.

“What is it?”

I reached for her arm.

My eyes went to the cuff of her blouse.

“The blood…”

Her expression changed for only a second.

Then she laughed softly.

“Oh, that?”

She glanced at her sleeve.

“I caught my arm on a broken latch on my luggage during the flight.”

I looked at her.

“Are you sure?”

She smiled.

“I'm fine, babe. I promise.”

She leaned closer.

“And I'm going to make up for forgetting your birthday tomorrow. Just you and me.”

I smiled despite myself.

“Deal.”

The next afternoon, she kept her promise.

Willow drove us several hours outside the city to a secluded nature reserve.

Hidden between the dense woods was a crystal-clear spring.

It felt like another world.

No meetings.

No phone calls.

No work.

Just us.

We changed into our swimming clothes and jumped into the cold water.

I held Willow close as we laughed and played around.

For the first time since she'd returned, she seemed completely relaxed.

Water dripped from the tip of her nose. Her skin glistened in the fading sunlight as I looked into her hazel eyes.

She was beautiful.

“You're perfect,” I whispered.

She smiled.

Then I kissed her.

We stayed in the spring for hours until the afternoon began fading into evening.

Eventually, Willow rubbed her arms.

“Let's make a fire. I'm cold.”

“Okay. I'll look for some wood.”

I started to get out of the water.

“No.”

Her hand caught my arm.

“I'll do it.”

She climbed out.

“You arrange our things for the tent while I look for wood.”

Before I could argue, she disappeared between the trees.

I watched her go.

Something about it felt strange.

But I pushed the thought away.

She was only going to get firewood.

I turned back toward our things and continued setting them up.

A few minutes passed.

Then several more.

I checked my watch.

Where was she?

I glanced toward the trees.

“Will?”

No answer.

I stood up.

“Willow?”

I called out, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The forest remained silent.

I took a few steps toward the tree line.

Then I saw her.

She was standing between the trees, completely still.

And she wasn't carrying any wood.

Her face was pale, and beads of sweat covered her forehead.