Home is Where the Heart Is

'Home is where the heart is' was a favorite catchphrase of my wife, Linda. She didn't use it excessively, but out of her vast collection of meaningful sayings, Linda used it the most.
Since I was in the Air Force, my family, consisting of two kids, a dog, and my wife, had to move around a bit. We didn't move as frequently as other families, but it was still hard for my oldest, Sarah, to make friends, since she was going into high school. My son Tanner had it easy being in first grade.
I never knew moving around bothered Linda.
Our last move was when we started fighting. She threatened to leave and take our children with her. I love my kids so much, and I loved Linda too much to let her go. She was mine.
She'll always be mine.
On Saturday, Sarah and Tanner were at their grandmother's house for the weekend in Overbrook. My wife and I stayed home in Wichita as I watched her pack her bags.
"Sam, I didn't want this life. I wanted to stay in one place. Sarah is suffering and Tanner misses his old life. Just let us go. We'll always be with you. After all, home is where the heart is," she said.
I got an idea.
That night at dinner, she didn't taste the crushed up pill in her drink. I smiled to myself as she blacked out in her chair.
I didn't want her to suffer. That's why I drove the sharp blade through her skin, cutting a circle around the heart, when she was unconscious. When I stuck my hand through the hole I had created and ripped out her heart, I smiled pleasantly to myself. I put the heart in a box and taped it up, packing it in my suitcase at the back of my closet. As I was walking out of the house with my belongings, I didn't feel the least bit away from home.
For I had Linda's heart, and home is where the heart is.
Category:Mental Illness
Category:Micropasta