By now, the neighbors would be awake. They would know that Sherry and Dave had their final fight. Word would spread before the sun rose and the entire block would know that Dave had finally filed for divorce and broke the news to Sherry.
"You bastard!" She wailed, "You can't ignore me! I gave you three beautiful children! I let you have your whore! But this?"
Ears would be turned toward open windows while coffee warmed hands on the cool November morning. Though no one could truly hear it, each of the eavesdroppers would imagine the rustling of papers waving in the air.
"Goddamnit!" Sherry screeched, "Why her? What does she have that I don't?" Dave continued to remain silent.
Divorce happened all the time on the sleepy little cul-de-sac, but no one would ever have suspected the Coopers. They projected marital bliss with the perfect All-American family. That is, until this morning; their seemingly crisp and clean laundry was quickly being shown just as soiled as the rest of the neighbors'.
"Fuck me!" Sherry's voice shook, tears shredding holes in her once solid tone. "Bend me over the table! Right here, like you used to! Please!" Her screaming faltered to begging. She dropped the divorce papers as she fell to her knees, her manicured nails fumbling with the buckle on his belt, "Just let me suck your cock and prove to you I'm the one you want!"
Dave backed away, "Pull yourself together, Sherry. It's over between us; has been for awhile." He turned and lifted his keys off the hook by the front door, "I have to get to work. We can discuss my moving out tonight."
The neighbors would pretend nothing was wrong, smile and raise a coffee mug in greeting as Dave walked to his car in the driveway. Everyone would go about their normal routines, just business as usual, the same way they played ignorant of every other domestic dispute on the block. Or, they would, if the morning's events had stayed at a mere wailing from a soon to be ex-wife desperate for her husband's attention. This morning, however, they gathered on their porches, their steaming coffee painting trails in the air as they stood, dressed in robes, watching the red and blue lights strobe in the early dawn hour.
As Dave opened the door, Sherry did something she only ever thought a nightmarish fantasy: she pulled open the hidden drawer in the entry's catch-all table, wrapped her fingers around the cold steel of a Colt .45, and lunged up off her knees.
"You fucking bastard!" she screamed in a final battle cry, and let loose her pent up rage at being the legal wife, but always his second choice. Six solid shots sank deep in his back.
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