Confession
Lisa was on her deathbed, with her husband John at her side. He held her cold hand and tears silently streamed down his face.
Her pale lips moved. “John,” she said quietly. “Hush,” he quickly interrupted, “don’t talk.”
But she insisted. “John,” she said in her tired voice. “I have to talk. I must confess.”
“There is nothing to confess,” said the weeping John. “It’s all right. Everything’s all right.”
“No, no. I must die in peace. I must confess, John, that I have been unfaithful to you.”
John stroked her hand, squeezed it and sobbingly told her, “Now Lisa,, don’t be concerned. I know all about it,” he cried uncontrollably. “Why else would I poison you?”
