The Husband She Loved Too Late
For five years, I paved the way for my wife, Samantha Cole.
After helping her resolve the company's troubles one last time, I called her and asked, "Darling, I'm so cold. Can you come home and hug me?"
On the other end of the phone, Samantha had only just pulled herself away from a moment of intimacy with her young lover, Oliver White. When she finally answered, her voice was impatient. "Joshua Davidson, will it kill you to stop being so dramatic?"
Indeed, it would. I slammed the phone down and then died on our bed.
Later, Samantha—the woman who had kept me trapped in that lonely house for five years—held my portrait in her arms and finally learned what regret felt like.