Death by Chocolate

It was a sunny morning when Miranda decided to kill her husband. She really did love him, but he just had to go. It started as a whim at first and grew into a momentous desire. She had been planning it for a while.

"How would she do it?" was the second question after she thought: "should she?" It would be easy to poison him in the shed with some weed killer, or just cut a major artery in his neck with some pruning sheers. Or, maybe just turn the oven gas on and he'll suffocate. He would suffer too much. I want to put him down easy. We have been through so much after all: the kids, marriage, dating, family, and loss. I want it the most humane way possible.

So, Miranda pondered over the next year how to best kill her husband. When the day came, it started like any other.

Miranda's alarm went off at 6:00 AM sharp. She rolls out of bed to take care of her morning ritual: shower, bathroom, brush teeth and hair, makeup, dress and tidy. She immerges at 7:00 AM completed and satisfied. Her husband's alarm goes off and he stirs, rolls over, and sees his wife.

"Good Morning," he says as he lets out a loud yawn.

"Good Morning! Isn't it a fine day?"

"It's a day like any other." He gets up and heads toward the bathroom for his morning constitutional.

"Today is a special day."

"Oh?" Miranda sees her husband's eye searching for why today was special: anniversary, birthday, promotion, or award. Upon seeing no reason why today was special, he asks, "Well, why is today special?"

"I have a surprise for you," Miranda says with a sly grin. Her husband mistakes it as excitement.

"OH! Can I get the surprise now?"

"No, my dear, you have to wait until tonight."

"Oh, all right," he says giving Miranda a kiss on the cheek and strolls into the bathroom.

Miranda walks down the hall to wake her children for school. Miranda and her husband raised the perfect children, one girl and one boy. She walks into her son's room first his books, clothes, and video games nearly killing her in the process. How ironic! Her dying before she can kill her husband.

She giggles to herself as she shakes her son awake, "Darling, it's time to get up."

Her son rolls over and grunts as if saying I’m wake. Miranda takes that as his usual sign of okay, and walks quietly and laboriously across the bedroom to the door, turning on the light as she goes her son groaning louder in annoyance as she leaves.

Miranda walks across the hall to her daughter's room, knocks on the door. "Come in," Miranda opens the door to a room bathed in light.

"Good morning, sweetheart. I tried waking your brother up, but you might want to check on him in a few minutes."

"Okay, Mom! I'm just finishing my makeup."

"Alright, I'll start working on your lunches and breakfast."

"Okay, see ya." Miranda closes the door behind her and remembering how she appreciates her children and how lucky she is to have them.

Miranda returns down the hallway and walks downstairs to the kitchen. As Miranda opens the fridge, she pulls out the eggs, bread, and bacon, then the meat, cheese, apples, carrots, and drinks.

Miranda loves packing her children's lunch. She knows how much she'll miss this when they're off to college, or if she goes to jail. It's a risk she's willing to take. Miranda starts making breakfast, and about 20 minutes later her two children come running down the stairs. Lunch and breakfast made.

"Mom! We're going to be late! Is our food ready?"

"Of course, grab your lunches and breakfast and head to the car. I'll be there shortly."

The kids grab their food and book bags and head to the garage. As Miranda hears the garage door open, she calls to her husband.

"Sweetheart, we're leaving. See you soon!" Miranda walks out the door to drop the children off to school closing the garage door behind her.

Miranda comes back to complete her chores. She makes her usual rounds. First, she cleans the morning's mess in the kitchen, and then vacuums the living room, dining room, and family room.

She has a quick lunch, plans the dinner menu, and makes her grocery list. After lunch, Miranda cleans her dishes and runs the dishwasher. She heads toward the garage door to run her errands.

Miranda notes her husbands' car on the street. "He must have come home early for lunch," she thinks to herself as she drives out the garage closing the large door behind her. At the supermarket, she buys more eggs, bread, flour, cocoa, chocolate chips, salmon, Dijon mustard, butter, red wine vinegar, asparagus spears, lemon, milk, oil, French bread, tomatoes, mozzarella, basil, and vanilla. Tonight will be a light dinner, but more elaborate than usual with an appetizer and dessert.

As Miranda heads to the counter, she sees her favorite guilty pleaser, a copy of Cosmo, and places it in her cart. At the checkout, Miranda speaks kindly to the cashier asking her about her kids and their new apartment. She sees this cashier regularly they always chat about their families.

"Oh, today is a special day for us. I wanted to spoil everyone tonight."

"That's wonderful! I hope you enjoy your special evening. What are you celebrating?"

"It's an anniversary of sorts. I can’t wait to surprise my family!”

“Enjoy your evening, Miranda.”

“You too!”

Miranda takes her shopping cart and bags to the car and loads it. She drives home her usual way and parks in the garage as usual. She unpacks the groceries in the fridge. At that time, it’s pick up time. So she drives to pick up her kids at the local school.

They drive home and notice their Dad’s home early. Come to think of it Miranda saw his car as she was dropping off the groceries. The kids run upstairs to see Dad since he usually went upstairs to change and relax before dinner.

At that moment, Miranda hears curling screams. She runs from the kitchen, down the hall, up the stairs and into her room. There on the bathroom floor laid her husband a drying pool of blood forming on the tile floor. Miranda screams. This did not go the way she planned.

“Call the police! Call an ambulance!” Miranda commands her children. They open their cellphones and call. Within thirty minutes, a squad of police cars and ambulances show up to the house. Miranda and her children are distraught, crying, and hugging each other.

The police question each member one by one. None of them remember their father or husband leaving for work. None of them remember seeing him after his shower. They all broke down crying during the interview. Miranda received the most questions since she was home the whole day and was the most likely suspect. However, the detectives recognized the horror and terror was real; she was just oblivious as a housewife can only be.

The ambulance drivers remove the body as the coroner releases it. The kids and Miranda begin crying again as the body leaves the house. Once the commotion ends, Miranda and the kids sit in the family room exhausted and empty from the afternoons’ events. Miranda knows her kids and her for that matter need to eat.

“I bought all this food…let it not go to waste. Do you want to help me? Might be a good thing to get our minds off this.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, sure.”

The three of them go to the kitchen to prepare the food each of them taking a different task. The boy got busy with toasting the French bread, making the bruschetta topping, and setting the table. The girl started making the salmon with lemon asparagus and box mashed potatoes. Miranda began making the chocolate cake, her husband’s favorite.

All three worked in silence and tandem. All pondering the life of their loved one snuffed out too early. As cooking came to an end, all three make a plate of salmon and asparagus with mashed potatoes and toasted French bread with bruschetta. Meanwhile, the chocolate cake is cooking in the oven.

Miranda and the children eat together in silence feeling the weight of their loved one lost, the void of the empty chair and the emptiness of conversation.

The ding of the timer goes off and Miranda rises to take the cake tins out of the oven. She comes back to sit at the table with her children to finish their dinner. As each child finishes, they go upstairs to their room without speaking or asking for permission to leave the table. Miranda sits at the table for almost an hour.

She finally gets up and begins the icing for the cake and watching the mixer go around and around; she makes a decision. She ponders as she ices the cake. Her mind already made up, but wondering what her children will think. As she finishes the icing, she cuts a large slice of chocolate cake knowing she probably won’t finish it.

She sits back at the kitchen table. She puts a fork in her slice and gently lifts it to her lips, pausing the smell of bitter almond and cocoa wafts up to her nose. She takes a bite. Thinking of her day a year ago when she started planning her husband’s death. Miranda chose Death by Chocolate cake, his favorite.