I guide her into the wine cellar. “Pick the best year.”
I shut the door, lower the latch behind her.
“Babe?” her muffled voice calls.
“You remember what I said our wedding night? ‘There’s nothing we can’t overcome as long as you never lie to me’? You lied. I saw you with Brent.”
Panicked knocking, her voice now shrill. “We were just working on a project!”
“You’re a hospital administrator in the middle of COVID. What the hell kind of project requires you to tongue your boss?”
Her silence is confirmation. I turn to leave her to her final drink.
Written for Friday Fictioneers. Honestly, guys, how can you look at this photo prompt and not immediately think “Cask of Amontillado”?