I Didn’t Mean To Do It

I didn’t mean to do it. 

The words echoed in my mind as I stood there in the dark, my hands shaking, my heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the sound of the storm outside. The wind howled through the trees, and the rain hammered against the windows. It was a night that felt like it was made for horrors. But the real terror—my terror—was already inside.

I stared down at his body, lying in a pool of crimson that seemed to stretch out, devouring everything it touched. His once bright eyes, filled with laughter and warmth, were now dull and empty. His chest was still, the rhythmic rise and fallI had come to know so well, now forever silenced. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. We weren’t supposed to be here. I never meant for any of it to happen.

The night had started out differently.

We were celebrating. Well, I thought we were. It had been a long week for both of us. John had been working late at the office, and I’d been buried in a dozen little tasks at home. We barely saw each other, only passing like two ships in the night. So, when he suggested dinner out, I’d jumped at the chance to spend some quality time together.

We went to that little Italian restaurant we loved. The one tucked away in the corner of the city, with the flickering candles and soft music. Everything felt just right. The kind of evening that reminded me of why we had fallen in love in the first place.

However, as the night wore on, something changed. Something was off. Something I couldn’t explain. It started when John leaned in and rested his hand on mine across the table. He smiled, but there was something in his eyes I couldn’t figure out. Was it…uncertainty? Maybe it was just me. I hadn’t been sleeping well at all. We had building tension between us for months. First it was little things that were simple to overlook, but now, they were impossible to ignore.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked, trying to smile back.

John sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking down at his plate for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “It’s nothing really. Just…work stuff You know how it is.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I believed him. I never did. When John didn’t want to talk about something, he wouldn’t.

But then, as we left the restaurant, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small box. I couldn't help but smile, hoping that maybe he was attempting to rekindle the spark we ‘d once had. He’d always been good at that, surprising me and keeping the romance alive in his own way. 

“What’s this?” I asked, teasing him as I took the box from his hand.

”Just a little something,” he said, his voice sounding odd.

I opened it, and inside was a ring. But it wasn't a shiny, sparkly diamond ring that you’d expect as a romantic gesture. This ring was old and looked like perhaps it had been passed down through generations. The ring was tarnished and the stone had a crack in it.

”It’s…beautiful,” I said, though I wasn’t sure what I meant by that. There was something that didn’t sit right in my gut.

”Do you like it?” He asked.

I nodded, but found it difficult to smile genuinely. I felt chills all over. 

“Where did you get this?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Something felt wrong.

John didn't answer right away. His eyes had shifted, almost like he was hiding something. He looked away before attempting to look at me again. “It’s been in the family for years. It’s…special. I thought you would like it.”

”Special,” I echoed. My fingers traced the ring’s surface, and it was cold, even colder than metal typically is.

I could feel the tension between us. It wasn't just about the ring. It was deeper than that. Something had been building for a long time. John as acting odd, avoiding my eyes, trembling as he reached for the car keys.

But we didn’t say anything more on the drive home. It was quiet, other than the rain that had started. Everything was blurred by the water running down the windshield. The wipers were thankfully filling our silence.

When we arrived home, we went through our routine of getting ready for bed. John took a long shower while I tried to relax in the living room, but my mind wouldn’t shut off. I kept thinking about the ring —about the way it felt in my hands— and John’s strange behavior.

When John finally came out of the shower, he walked past me without saying a word, heading toward the bedroom.

”John, wait,” I said, my voice shaking. “Is something going on? Something you’re not telling me?”

He stood at the bedroom door and turned to me. He stared for a moment, with just a blank expression. Then, he sighed and walked toward me. He sat down on the couch next to me.

”I’ve been thinking a lot,” he began with a low voice. “About us. About everything.”

My heart thudded loudly as I waited for him to continue.

”I think we’re drifting, Sarah,” he said, his words immediately taking my breath away. “I just don’t know if we can fix this anymore. We’ve been drifting for months.”

It felt like the world was tilting. I couldn’t breathe.

”Drifting?” I whispered. “What do you mean? We’re fine. We’re…busy. We’re just busy. That’s all. We can fix this and make it work.”

John shook his head. “I’m not sure anymore. We’ve both been pretending. We’re just not the same people we were when we got married, Sarah. I’m…tired. Really tired. I don’t think I can keep pretending.”

I wanted to cry, to scream. But I couldn’t; all I could to do was sit there, trying to figure out what he meant. None of it made sense. I’d been trying—so hard—to hold everything together, and now it felt like it was slipping through my grasp.

Before I could say anything, he stood up and went to the bedroom. I heard the rustle of sheets and the soft thud of him getting into bed.

I didn’t know what to do or say.

I sat there for a long time, what felt like hours. The silence was killing me. Finally, I was unable to stand the distance between us any longer, so I went to the bedroom and stood in the doorway. John was lying on his side with his back facing me. I couldn’t see his face, but I felt the coldness coming from him.

”John,” I whispered.

He didn’t respond.

”I can't lose you,” I said, my voice cracking. “Please don’t give up. We can work through this. I’ll do anything.”

Still, there was no answer.

Something inside me snapped. I was frustrated and scared of losing him. I didn’t know what came over me, but I crossed the bedroom, grabbed the ring from the nightstand and chucked it across the room.

The silence was broken by the ring hitting the wall.

”Do you really think this is going to fix everything?” I shouted. “This stupid ring? A symbol of what? The lies we’ve been telling each other?”

Finally, John turned to face me, his eyes wide. Was he angry? Scared? But before he could say anything, I saw it, something sharp and dangerous, glinting in his hand.

He had a knife.

I didn’t see the motion coming. One minute, I was standing there, shouting at him, and the next I felt the cold metal press into my side. It wasn’t deep, but it stopped me in my tracks, clutching my wound.

”John,” I whispered, my voice trembling with disbelief, “What are you…”

But he didn’t answer. He didn’t move. I was frozen, trying to understand what had just happened. My breath came in shallow gasps.

In a panic, I grabbed at the knife, trying to push it away. I stumbled back, my mind racing as I tried to make sense of what happened.

Then, in a blur of motion, I grabbed the nearest thing I could get—a heavy glass vase—and swung it at him. It hit him in the face and he staggered backward, the knife slipping from his hand. 

But it wasn’t enough to stop him. He lunged toward me and I fought back with everything I had. My mind was full of fear, confusion, and anger. I didn’t know what I was doing anymore or how it happened. All I knew was I needed to protect myself.

The next thing I knew, John was on the floor. His body was crumpled, his unblinking wide eyes staring up at me. His chest no longer rose and fell.

I didn’t mean to do it.