The wheel was sweaty from the heat of my palm but my fingers were aching with cold. I squint my eyes to take a better look at the figures ahead from the dim lot I just park. Dancing with the radio playing in the car. The laughter that tingles the lot could provoke one's jealousy.

I watched them for an eternity. I hated it but I couldn't look away. The way he smiles at her when she utters a phrase. The way he tucks her hair behind her ear. Bet he is telling her how lovely she looks. Those same smooth lies made me fall for him.

I don't know what to feel at this moment. How do I react? Nothing I faced in my 27 years of living prepared me for this. I felt numb to the core. Maybe I should bust in and yell at him for being a worthless piece of a jerk. Perhaps I should just sit back and watch how long he can continue the act of a loving husband. Or I just want to stay silent and see how bad my life can crumble from here.

After some movement ahead, the headlight glowed revealing the glistening street. The sudden brightness took me a second to adjust. I promptly crouch down.

They got inside the very car my mother got him for the promotion and drove off. The engine roared and the tire squeaked at the slippery road as they fade away.

And I, I squatted in my car with my nose sour and eyes watery. I rolled my eyes up and refuse to let it pour out. But I laid my view on the picture of us that we took after planting a gooseberry sapling in our backyard with our muddy hands projected towards the camera, Now we have eleven of them thriving. It feels like yesterday that we move into our own home. How long has he been cheating on me? Did he ever love me? I look towards the vast skyline that meets the road unseeingly. It did nothing but make me squeamish. I rolled down my window hoping it to help relieve the suffocation but it didn't. It only reminded me how dirty my hands were.

I swept my eyes at my sodden clothes that gripped me like a second skin. I flinched at the wet mess my car is.

Like my life.

Can I be any more pathetic than this?

Are you still going to follow them, Kaya? You have sufficient indication that your outstanding husband is cheating.

I questioned myself not intending to find an answer.

The steam that rises from my mouth and my shaky breathing is the only thing that is contrasting with this stillness. The engine rumbled and I stepped onto the highway pursuing the route they took. I speed in to catch up with them. The road was deserted and I couldn't see any enthusiasm. I tuck my wet strands behind my hair as I hesitate if I should still seek them.

After a minute of mind-numbing silent speeding, I saw their car near a rundown gas stop. I halt my car before it gets too close. I can make out some broken and battered cars at the side of the road. Dust covered and green moss prospering on top of it. The rusty odor circulates the distance. I could make out the colors as the night was departing and the daylight seeps through the cracks of the clouds.

But what I saw was that dawn was nothing I anticipated.

Sheila lay on the concrete ground with a pool of blood oozing out of her. Her face was unrecognizable but I know it's her. It was as if someone had smashed a tool again and again on her face until it turned into a bloody mush.

Wait. Where is Peter? Is he hurt. My heart pounded like drums thinking about the possibilities of him in danger. I hate the fact that is what's concerning me even after everything I saw earlier.

However, Peter came out of the back of the car with a large duffle bag and a bloodied hammer.

I clasped my mouth tightly with my shivering hands. I could not move an inch but hot tears kept on flowing. Not from sadness and pity for Shiela, but from pure fear I felt at that moment. My ears ring and my stomach curl.

Run said my instincts.

But I sat there frigid watching horrible things unfold.

Standing with a bloodied hammer next to Sheila's corpse. His face clawed. He stood with a straight back staring at her as if he was admiring a beautiful art.

If not for his soiled clothes people would assume that he was in a museum and not in front of a deceased corpse he just murdered.

His countenance was desolate but strangely at ease. He took out a hefty duffel bag from the backseat. And begin to stuff the body into it like my mom would stuff my life-size teddy into a bag when we move houses. He shoves the torso inside first. Then forces the legs to bend. And the hands too. He puts a hand in first. But the other hand was left hanging out.

Peter abruptly walks towards the car and brought out an open toolbox. He takes pliers and brought in close to sheila's left hand. He caresses the hand and kisses it bringing it to his forehead and sat there for a moment. Almost sad to part with it. Then he chopped her finger off.

He chopped a finger with the wedding ring off her hand.

I yelp out as an impulse. But regret sets in the second I did. As he was already walking towards me with the bloody hammer.