There was a knock on the door. Startled, I glanced at my watch to check the time. It was nearly ten-thirty. Attempting to calm my nerves, I took a sip of my white Zinfandel. Sitting at my small dining room table, I cupped my hands together and breathed deeply. Get up, now. Answer the door. I bid myself to move.

Inside my heart, I knew this time would come. Days had gone by since I had last heard anything from him, though it was late in the evening now. I took another sip to assure myself that I must be mistaken. It couldn't be him. My cheeks grew red with anxiety as my glass once again found my mouth.

I had been expecting this, but not today. I thought I had another day. Fear rushed over me as I rushed around the house. I fluffed the Christmas pillows that decorated the couch, picked up the leftover dishes, and switched on the Christmas tree lights. Honestly, I had forgotten about them but thought the glow of the lights would add a warm sentimental atmosphere. I was desperate and this could be my last chance to make a good impression. Something had to go my way. I flipped on the VHS as I finally walked toward the front door.

Another knock. I couldn't run away from this. Too much time had passed. I'd kept him waiting a few minutes already. This time, a voice accompanied the tap on the door.

"Anna? Are you home?" His voice sounded sincere, so honest, and inviting.

"Just a moment, please," I called as I picked up the last of the magazines that littered the sofa.

A glimpse of my reflection caught my attention as I walked toward the door. Smoothing my hair, I cleared my throat before speaking again. "I'll be right there!"

Well, it's now or never. I hope I can pull this off. I'm sure there will be lots of questions. I just must be myself. Be relaxed and breathe. I always forget to breathe, and my face gets redder by the second.

One final twist of my skirt. I smoothed the remaining creases as I reached for the doorknob just as another knock took my breath away. He's very persistent.

I took one deep breath and turned the knob to open the door.

"Oh, it is you. Good evening, Sergeant Cardow. I've been expecting you. Though it is a late hour. I assumed we might meet again tomorrow."

I turned so the sergeant could follow me. The door closed behind him. We walked in silence to the back of the house. The hallway seemed exceptionally long this evening. I led him to the media room.

As we approached, I could hear the faint sounds of the home video playing on the screen. It was my husband's voice. It sounded of laughter. But I knew what was really happening. I knew what Sergeant Cardow was looking for.

Standing six feet two inches, he towered over me, and I needed to walk quickly in front of him. He had been so patient and understanding with me these last few weeks. His dark eyes were filled with compassion. His husky voice spoke of truth. Even the touch of his hands as he had held mine gave me hope.

I heard his footsteps slow to match my own. The dim lights of the Christmas tree became more prevalent as we entered the den just adjacent to the kitchen in the back of my home. The family portraits on the wall reminded me of a more peaceful time. Though we had no children of our own, the walls were filled with our nieces and nephews from both sides of our families. I smiled as I thought of those good times. In an instant, it had vanished.

The sobbing grew louder as we approached. The Christmas lights flashed red and green, then faded to amber. It was a nice cover. The lights would have distracted any other visitor until I could have turned off the video. I would welcome anyone else this evening. If only someone other than Michael would have been on the other side of the door. It was so late, that I thought it might have been Julia with another emergencyâ?" I swear that girl finds herself in more situations than the local police department. Her hysterics would have given me the extra moments to stop the video. Then I would have had an extra day.

But I allowed the movie to continue for the detective.

"Anna...my apologies for the late hour but we did have a few moâ?"," he stopped mid-sentence to focus on the screen as the sounds heightened.

My husband's voice was shaken as the tears rolled down his face. I was there, standing in front of him. My back was to the camera. "What is happening?" he muffled between shallow breaths.

"You really don't know, do you?" I paused but did not expect an answer. I had grown tired of waiting on him.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The gun was louder than I could have imagined. Even standing there with the sergeant, I did not anticipate its shattering reverberation again. I jumped as I gasped. I watched again as my husband's body slumped to the floor.

On-screen, I turned in silence and walked away. I left him there on the floor. At the time, I didn't know if he was dead or alive. But I did know that he would be dead by the time I called 911. The video ended when I pressed the button on the remote. I looked into Sergeant Cardow's eyes.

His face was forlorn, as though he himself had just been betrayed. He hesitated before speaking. "Mrs. Merchant, please turn around and place your hands on your head! You are under arrest for the murder of Dr. Charles Merchant." Despite what he had just witnessed, his voice was stern and steady.

I know this was not the outcome the detective wanted. He was only prepared to go over my story one last time before the case was closed. A robbery gone wrong while I was visiting my sister out of town. It was the perfect setup. I had planned for so long. He had only tried to help me these past few weeks. His eyes sparkled with tears as the color washed from his face. No one in the department had assumed me to be a suspect. It was surprising that it had been almost a month since my husband's demise. But after just ten days, I knew I had to confess. The case was still open, and I just couldn't risk an innocent person taking my place.

I had made the video that night of the murderâ?" though I don't know why. What on earth was I to do with that video?

But I just couldn't let the department waste time and money on a manhunt for a fictitious killer. What if they caught someone? An innocent person would go to jail in my place. My conscious prevailed and I decided to come clean. Somehow, confessing this way to Michaelâ?" Sergeant Cardowâ?" in private was much less ominous than walking into the police station.

"It's okay, Michael. You know my stories; you know I had grown to hate him. I just couldn't go on. And now, he can't hurt me anymore." My words were even and composed as I complied with his demand. The metal was cold on my wrists and though heavy, I walked out of my house feeling lighter than I had in ten years.

The sergeant guided me gently by my arm as we walked to his car. He protected my head as I sat down in the backseat. He locked me inside as he composed himself and called for backup.

We had grown closer over the last few weeks, but that was over now. He would never be able to look me in the eye again.

The fifteen minutes seemed like an eternity as I sat there. I watched as Michael paced around the car. I couldn't hear his words, but his mouth was moving. I'm sure he was mumbling about the evening's events. Occasionally, he would scuff the ground and the dusting of snow would fly up into the air.

He moved as though his life depended on it. He walked past my door every few seconds, but he never looked at me through the glass. Michael and I had grown up together in the neighborhood. The college years took me away from home and shortly after I returned, he went to the west coast for a promised job. Five years later found us both in our hometown. Though we reconnected, I was newly engaged to Charles. He always came to our dinner partiesâ?" that is until he met Michelle. My matchmaking had finally worked. The four of us connected for a few quiet evenings but they enjoyed each other's company to the point of near isolation.

I know my actions had devastated him.

The roar of the engine as I sat in the back of the squad car lulled me into a daydream.

It was August 2013. Charles and I met during a master's programâ?" his in communication, mine in education as we continued our career paths.

We had an instant attraction. He even changed his seat so we could sit together. After two months of chit-chat, he finally asked me on a date.

It was the most beautiful evening as we drove out of town to the boat dock. We had decided on a dinner cruise accompanied by the South Florida sunset. We were inseparable after that, and we married just ten months later.

The outdoor August wedding was a dream. My bridesmaids dressed in red complimented the groomsmen in their black suits and red boutonnieres. I was in a white gown and, as my parents escorted me down the aisle, I saw him standing there. Tall, athletic, with skin darkened by the Caribbean sun. He was waiting for me; I had waited for him.

The wedding was short and sweet with just the right amount of rain to encourage me that there would be few tears in our marriage.

As we gathered the gifts and left the park that afternoon, I knew we would be together forever.

Tears swelled in my eyes as the jolt of the car brought me back to my present. Here I was, handcuffed and being taken to jail for the murder of my husband. My Charles. I could hear the officers speaking in whispers. No doubt their secrets were not in my favor.

"How could a wife do that to a guy, her own husband?" This time the driver spoke loud enough for my benefit. If I could only put them in my shoes. If they could just know what I have endured. If they would just sit and listen to my story, I would surely tell them. I'd tell them all. I'd shout it to the world.