He sat at the dinner table across from his wife, stirring his coffee the way he always did — slow, deliberate, like a man timing his thoughts. They had been together twenty-three years. Long enough to read each other’s moods without a word. Long enough to know that silence wasn’t always a bad thing.
The conversation that night had been casual. Neighborhood gossip, the new fence at the Johnsons’ house, the ever-late trash pickup — harmless, passing topics that filled the space between heavier thoughts. He’d been relaxed, content even, until a flicker of mischief crossed his mind.
