Len was very sick. His wife, Lynn, was maintaining a
candlelight vigil by his side. She held his fragile hand,
tears running down her face. Her praying roused him from his
slumber. He looked up and his pale lips began to move slightly.
"My darling Lynn," he whispered.
"Hush, my love," she said. "Rest. Shhh, don't talk."
He was insistent. "Lynn," he said in his tired voice.
"I...I Have something I must confess to you."
"There's nothing to confess," replied the weeping Lynn.
"Everything's all right, go to sleep."
"No, no. I must die in peace, Lynn. I...I slept with your
sister, your best friend, her best friend, and your
"I know," Lynn whispered softly. "That's why I poisoned