* * *
Ruth felt taller. Certainly the light behind her as she stood in the hallway, with the poker still in her hand, cast a long shadow. She shuffled forward, her injured thigh from where Robert had kicked her causing her to limp. Robert kept his distance. Well, why would he change now, Ruth ruminated. He had kept his distance throughout their marriage.
She now stood before Roberts’s inner sanctum.
His study.
Only Robert had a key. She had never been inside. She had never seen his secrets. She picked up Robert’s prized golf trophy from the hall table. A statuette of a golfer on a pedestal he had won in his younger days. She had always hated it. It stood nearly three feet tall. An eyesore. Robert had kept it there because he knew it annoyed her. She stood the poker against the wall and lifted it. It was heavy. It had a big square bronzed base. She raised it above her head and smashed it against the door. It took three blows before the locks gave and the door flew open.
She retrieved the poker and stepped inside. When she turned on the light, the scene that confronted her brought her to a sudden stop. Eyebrows pressed together in a deep frown. A blink. Then another. Then a slow disbelieving scan of the interior. As Ruth stepped forward, the relevance of the contents of the room dawned on her.
She burst into laughter. Not joyous laughter. It was low, guttural, anguished. She fell to her knees and sobbed.