He trusted his instincts, a rare occurrence. He was glad he did.
Howard plopped down in front of the family computer and immediately found his proof – a string of explicit, borderline vulgar emails between his wife and… someone else.
A man… a woman… he didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He just knew it was over. A twelve-year relationship up in a plume of smoke.
Before he left, Howard paused beside her new Audi and gave his fresh can of red spray paint a violent shake.
Other husbands might have taken the high road, but not Howard.
He went small.
The Weekday One Hundred 