It was a beautiful spring afternoon and the sun warmed my face as I drove home from work. When I reached my place, I noticed that my daughter, Stephanie's, car was parked in the driveway. That meant that she must have come home from college for the weekend. I always enjoyed listening to her stories about her friends, classes, and sports activities.

She had me blocked out of my side of the garage, so I parked behind her car and walked up the driveway. I saw a hair comb on the pavement. I knew it had to belong to either Steph or my wife, Karen, so I bent to pick it up.

I awoke with a splitting headache. I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn't. I tried to speak, but I couldn't. I thought I could hear murmuring but it sounded miles away. I awoke again. Everything was quiet. I tried to focus, to concentrate on my surroundings.

I awoke again. I heard voices, subdued voices, but I was able to make out the words. They only created more confusion in my mind. What was stable? Who lost blood? Why couldn't I speak?

I woke up and heard my wife, Karen, talking. She sounded close. After several attempts, I managed to open my eyes. The bright lights forced me to close them immediately. I waited a few seconds and tried again. This time I was able to adjust and keep my eyes open, although I did have to blink several times to clear the images.

"Kurt!" exclaimed Karen. "Nurse! He's awake!"

Karen made that sound like a good thing. I realized that I must have been asleep. Why was she telling a nurse? Was she hurt? What was going on?

"Kurt, Darling!" Karen whispered into my ear as she clutched my hand. "You'll be okay! All your vital signs are good. Don't worry!"

Now I was worried. Why would she say that to me? Why would my vital signs be anything but good? I was in good shape. I exercised. I spent most of my spare time outdoors. I'd put my vital signs up against those of any man my age, and most men ten years younger.

Next thing I knew, a nurse was leaning over me, looking in my eyes and adjusting some tubes. I knew that couldn't be good. I fell back asleep.

I opened my eyes and looked around. I could see Karen asleep in a chair in the corner. I tried to turn my head and I must have groaned.

"Dad! It's Steph, Dad," a voice practically yelled into my ear. "Mom, Dad's awake! He looks way better."

"Better than what?" I asked in a voice so low I was barely able to hear it. "What's going on, Steph? What the hell happened?"

"You were shot, Dad. Somebody shot you when you were walking up the driveway. The bullet entered your back and came out the top of your chest, but you're going to be okay," she assured me.

"Sweetheart, I'm right here. We won't leave you alone, so rest easy, Darling," cried Karen. "You'll make a full recovery and be home in no time."

Then she bawled as she held her face against my forehead. I felt the tears dropping onto my cheek. I had no idea exactly what all had happened, but it was obvious that Karen had been under tremendous stress. Had I almost died? I hadn't seen Karen cry like that since her father had passed away suddenly from a massive heart attack. I fell back asleep with Karen crying all over me.

It took a while, but I gradually slept less and stayed alert longer. The story was remarkably simple. It appeared someone had shot me from a parked car across the street from our house, and then sped away. The car had been reported stolen and was found a few miles away in a field. That seemed to be the extent of the known facts.

I had dropped like a bag of rocks when I was hit. Stephanie had been watching through a window as I walked toward the house. She had gone to the door to greet me, and just as she opened it, a gunshot boomed across the neighborhood and I went down. She screamed and ran to my side.

Karen had been making dinner when she heard the window break, followed immediately by the percussion of the shot. She reached me seconds after Stephanie. It was Karen that pulled Steph's cell phone off her belt and dialed 911. Then she rushed back inside for blankets and a pillow while Steph held me and cried. My blood soaked her shirt and jeans, and ran down the driveway.

It was touch and go that night. The bullet had just nicked a lung and pretty well mangled a rib, and had punched a huge hole in my upper chest as it exited. The blood loss was the primary concern.

The cops showed up as soon as I was able to talk and asked me all kinds of questions. I know they had a job to do, but a lot of their questions seemed asinine to me. Did I know anyone that wanted me dead? I couldn't help but think that if I did, I would have shot him first! I couldn't tell that to the police, but I swore to myself I'd gut shoot the bastard if I ever found who it was.

Once I was out of danger, Steph went back to college. Karen stayed with me until my sister finally made her go home and get some sleep and clean up. I guess Karen was neglecting her health and personal hygiene during her vigil. She was only gone about seven hours, but she looked more like the old Karen when she came back, except her eyes had bags under them and she looked thin. I realized that acts of violence have more victims than just those actually struck by the bullets.

The cops came by several times, asking questions. I found out later that they had grilled the neighbors, my coworkers, and my family. No one seemed to be able to shed any light on the incident.

I lost track of time while I was in the hospital. It had no meaning for me until the day I was released and came home. Karen drove into the garage and closed the garage door behind us. I didn't say anything, but I was relieved that she did it that way. What if the shooter came back? I was scared about that.

I didn't say anything to Karen, but I knew she was worried, too. Hell, she and Steph were in danger as much as I was. Who knew what the shooter had in mind or who he wanted dead? The police had assured us that they would patrol the area, but I had no doubt that a determined person would have no trouble getting to us.

I walked hunched over and very slowly, but I was walking. Steph jumped out of the back seat and opened the door to the kitchen from the garage. As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, I saw a hole in the wall not far from the clock.

Karen noticed my raised eyebrows and quickly answered my unasked question. I inspected the hole as she explained it.

"The police dug the bullet out of the wall there, Kurt. It went through you, broke the front window and wound up in the wall. I had a man replace the glass in the window and I hired a man to repair the wall but he hasn't come yet," she revealed. "I wanted that hole fixed and I'm sorry it's still there."

"Shit! What the hell kind of gun did the guy use?" I wondered aloud. "It must have been a high powered rifle, at the very least. You or Stephanie could have been killed!"

"Dad, I think you're the one we need to worry about for the foreseeable future," responded Stephanie. "Mom and I are fine."

I had been pissed before, but now I was in a seething rage. The bastard didn't just take a pop at me. He came very close to killing my wife, or daughter, or both. I felt my hands shake as I contemplated life without either of them. I knew I'd never feel safe until the shooter was caught.

I went into the den and unlocked my gun cabinet. I loaded a shotgun and looked around. I carefully dropped to my knees and slid it under the sofa. Then I loaded my .38 and tucked it under my belt.

"Kurt, hasn't there been enough shooting?" asked Karen. "It isn't safe to keep a loaded gun hidden under the couch. Do you think you're going to carry that handgun every place you go?"

"I'll say this once and I want both you and Steph, to listen real close," I replied calmly. "That shotgun will not be moved unless one of you feels you need it for protection. I want it loaded and ready. This gun will go with me as much as possible. There will be no discussion or complaints about this."

Karen and Stephanie looked at each other and then back to me. Neither of them questioned my decree, however. They could tell that it was not negotiable.

"Until this nut is locked away, we'll be prepared for anything," I stated. "Tomorrow, I'll show you both how to use every gun in the house. If I feel the need, I'll get more guns. I know you've both been shown how to safely handle a gun, but I want you to both know how to shoot them. The shotgun does not need to be aimed. Just point it and pull the trigger. There is nothing more effective at close range."

I knew I was scaring them, but I'd rather have them too cautious than careless and in danger. I suddenly felt exhausted. I gingerly sat down on the couch. I felt a burning jolt in my back and grimaced when I came in contact with the back of the sofa.

"Kurt, you're in pain," worried Karen. "I'll get you a pill for that."

I hated to take those pills because I felt I needed my wits about me. I could ill afford to be high on some shit if somebody made a try for me. On the other hand, I wouldn't be worth a fuck if I was in so much pain, I couldn't move. I took the pill.

Things settled into a bit of a routine. Stephanie went back to school. I was worried about her, but logic dictated that if she had been the target, the shooter would have had numerous chances to get her. Somehow, I knew the guy, if it was a guy, was after me. Other people were only in danger when they were near me. That was why I insisted Karen go back to work as soon as I was able to get around enough to take care of myself.

Fear does strange things to a man. I carried my .38 everywhere in the house with me. I didn't turn on the TV because I was worried I wouldn't hear anyone trying to get in. I watched out the windows all the time, but never stood close to them. I never turned a light on in the room unless the curtains were drawn tightly. I don't know how many times I checked the shotgun to be sure it was loaded. I jumped a foot very time the phone rang. When the guy next door turned off his lawn mower and it backfired, I almost shit a brick!

I gradually regained my strength, and some of my nerve. I knew my behavior was a strain on Karen, but I noticed that she stayed away from windows, too. I may have seemed paranoid for a while, but she seemed to share my fear. After all, she had seen me lying in Stephanie's arms with my blood gushing onto the pavement.

I never got to the point where I wasn't at least a little nervous, but I eventually returned the .38 to the gun cabinet. Every now and then I'd get it out and clean it. I always kept the shells where I could get to them fast.

I finally went back to work half way through the summer. Everyone was great to me and I was pretty much given easy jobs for the first few weeks. I'm an electrician and the work isn't easy if your back hurts. I didn't do much but change a lot of bulbs and wire some outlets the first month back.

I began to feel that I going to be able to put it all behind me, but I was worried about Karen. She had lost weight and never gained it back. She seldom laughed. She waited on me hand and foot when we were together. It became embarrassing and annoying.

"Karen, you have to let me do things for myself," I finally told her one day when she saw me putting my sneakers on and quickly kneeled down to tie them for me. "It's embarrassing to have a wife fawn over me like this. I'm a man and I need my pride, okay? I should be doing things for you. That's the way it's supposed to be."

She just burst into tears and gently wrapped her arms around me and cried on my healing chest. The first few times we made love were bad. I couldn't really thrust very well, so Karen climbed on me and slid my cock inside her. I thought things were going fairly well until I noticed her fingers touching the scar in my chest. Pretty soon I felt the tears dropping on me. This happened a few times until I began to wear shirts to bed, just to keep her from seeing my old bullet wound and becoming upset.

Karen began doing things for me that she seldom had done in our previous 22 years of marriage. She'd get me hard with her mouth all the time. She's offer herself to me any position, any time I indicated that I would like to make love. She wanted to please me too much, odd as that sounds.

I never thought I'd see the day where I would complain that my wife was too anxious to please me sexually. I didn't want her to treat me like I was going to die any second. I wanted her to be passionate and loving, but not fawning and stilted. I kept telling her I was doing fine and she didn't have to feel like she had to try to please me every second. I tried to explain that I'd be happier if we could just be lovers, equal in giving and receiving pleasure and love. I didn't seem to be able to get it across to her.

We didn't argue about anything, and any married man can tell you that's a strong indication of problems. Karen's will seemed to have slipped away. More than a few nights, I woke with her curled against me, crying like a baby. I was at a loss as to what to do.

Then, after not hearing anything from the police for months, they started coming around again. Detective Sarah Henderson had just been promoted, and my shooting was one of the cases she had been assigned. Her obvious desire to solve the case and enhance her career encouraged me. Her actual questions didn't seem any smarter or more insightful than the other cops', but her attitude was a lot better.

"Did you know a Ralph Williams, Mr. Lent?" she asked one day.

"Ralph Williams?" I repeated. "No, not that I can recall. I'd remember a guy with two first names. Why do you ask?"

Detective Henderson ignored my question as she turned to Karen. I swung around to listen to Karen's response. I instantly knew that she was familiar with the name. She fidgeted with her hands and looked down. She was nervous!

"He worked in the same building as me for a year or so. I haven't seen him in a long time," she replied meekly.

"Do you know if he ever met your husband, Mrs. Lent?" asked the detective. "Were they ever in the same social setting, ballgame, party, anything at all?"

"Yes, he was at a company picnic that Kurt and I attended last spring, but Kurt never actually met him," answered Karen. "He was an odd sort of man and didn't have many friends. I didn't speak to him and neither did Kurt."

Now how the hell could Karen remember that picnic so well? She even remembered who was there and who we spoke to, and who we didn't. I thought that Detective Henderson had to wonder about it, too. Surprisingly, she changed direction and asked questions about my work. Karen was flushed and beads of sweat dotted her brow. It didn't require a trained interrogator to see she was agitated at the mention of this Williams guy. I filed that information away for later.

Detective Henderson asked a few more questions, but I was hardly paying attention. Karen's behavior had set alarms off in my head. I decided to keep my eyes open and ask a few questions of my own. If this guy had anything to do with me taking lead, I wanted to know about it.

Two days later I stopped for a coffee and doughnut at a local café. I saw Jack Burns sitting on a stool and sat next to him. He wasn't in the same department as Karen, but he worked in the same building. I made small talk for a few minutes. Then I broached the subject of Ralph Williams.

"Jack, do you remember a guy named Ralph Williams?" I asked. "He used to work for your company a year or so ago?"

"Yeah, I remember him. I was glad to see him leave, too," Jack replied. "He was always real friendly to your face, but he was a back stabbing prick when you weren't looking. Tim Shaw, one of the quietest, nicest guys you'll ever meet, knocked him on his ass one day at work. Tim wouldn't tell anyone why, but rumor was that he caught Ralphie-boy sniffing around his wife. She worked in the claims department."

"Was he a lady's man, then? Did he like to chase the skirts?" I quizzed.

"Well, he always seemed to be trying. The thing was he had this weird look about him, like Charles Manson or something. I don't think any women ever returned his interest, but it didn't stop him from trying. When Tim got out of the hospital, he was looking for Ralph pretty hard, as I recall," volunteered Jack.

"Why was Tim Shaw in the hospital? I don't remember anything about that. When and why was he in the hospital?" I quizzed.

"He was in a car crash a few days after he decked Williams. Tim insisted he was deliberately forced off the road and into Stevens Creek one night while he was driving home. He had a badly broken arm and a bunch of cuts and contusions from the accident," revealed Jack. "That was sometime in early May. Tim claimed it had to be Williams that did it, though he never saw the other driver and couldn't describe the car."

That was something to think about. This guy was trouble, or so it appeared. Maybe I would talk to Tim Shaw before too long.

"Tim swore he'd kill the bastard if he ever caught him. Williams quit his job and left town before Tim got out of the hospital. He told me that he'd only need one good arm for Williams, and I don't think anyone doubted it," chuckled Jack. "Probably Karen can tell you more about him than I can. She and Tim's wife always used to eat lunch together.

"Used to?" I asked. "They don't eat together any more? Why is that?"

"Well, right after Tim got out of the hospital, he accepted a job offer in Texas or someplace and they moved within a few weeks. Karen was probably busy taking care of you at that time. It was around the same time you were plugged in the back."

I thanked Jack, threw some money on the counter, and walked into the morning sun. My gut was in a knot. I needed to ask more questions and wondered how I'd like the answers.

All That day, I kicked the information around that Jack gave me. It could be just coincidence that the cops were asking questions about some crazy bastard, that the questions made Karen nervous, and she was in a position to know more about the guy than she admitted. I had never put any faith in coincidences.

I dialed Detective Henderson's number with my cell phone. I felt like she owed me an explanation about why she was asking about Williams. She answered on the third ring.

"Hello, Detective Henderson? Kurt Lent here. I was wondering if you've made any headway in finding out who shot me." I stated bluntly.

"Mr. Lent, I was going to call you. We think we're getting close. We have a suspect, or as we like to call them, "a person of interest." His last known address was Middletown, New York. The Police down there are trying to locate him as we speak," she confided. "We're still working on motive and the timing."

Shit, Middletown was less than a couple hours away. I felt my paranoia creeping back into my thought processes. The guy could drive up, pop me off, and drive back without ever being missed. It wasn't quitting time yet, but I tossed my stuff in the truck and headed home. Karen would be home by the time I got there and we had to talk. It was obvious she was keeping things from me and I was starting to get pissed about it.

As I drove, I kept thinking about the day I was shot in my own driveway. The guy that did it had wanted me dead. That was a certainty. Why would a guy I didn't know, but Karen did, want me dead? Somehow, I didn't think I'd like the answer to that riddle.

By the time I got home, I was almost frantic. I kept watching my mirror and studied every car that passed me. I expected something to happen any second. My hands were sweating where I gripped the steering wheel, and my right eyelid twitched. It's easy to tell yourself to relax and calm down, but once you get shot in the back, it's not easy to put the thought into action.

By the time I got home, I didn't even dare drive up my driveway. Instead, I turned a block early and parked cross lots from my house. Then I tried to sneak along a fence without acting too furtive. I didn't want any neighbors to know what a basket case I really was.

I came up on my back door and looked around to see if anyone was watching me. I was sweating profusely now and I half expected a bullet to crash into me any moment. I saw no one, but that proved nothing. I never saw the guy last time he shot me.

I quietly opened the door and stepped inside. I needed to have Karen tell me what she was hiding. That had to be the reason she was so nervous and sad all the time. I realized the term that I would use to describe her was "acting guilty" and I had to know why, or we'd never get past it.

I walked through the kitchen and then heard voices in the den! I carefully worked my way closer so I could make out what was being said.

"You'll be coming with me, as soon as I take care of that prick you married!" snarled a masculine voice. "We'll never be apart again. You'll be my woman."

"Ralph, I will not be your woman! I have a husband and I love him. Please leave here now!" begged Karen.

"You didn't act like you loved him that afternoon you fucked me, Karen. You know it was the best sex you ever had. You're just feeling a little guilty about it," insisted the male voice. "We're in love and were meant to be together. You know that."

"Ralph, I'll go with you if we leave right now, okay? There's no reason to wait for Kurt. We can be long gone before he even misses me," reasoned Karen.

"I don't think so, Karen. You'll try to come crawling back to him first chance you get. If he's dead, you'll need me. You won't have any place else to go," replied the man I know knew had to be Ralph Williams.

"Ralph, it was a horrible mistake. I had too much to drink and it must have not mixed with the cold medicine I was taking. You were very persuasive. I don't love you. I don't even like you, Ralph. I love my husband! This is just a terrible misunderstanding. Please leave now and I won't tell anyone you were here," pleaded Karen.

"I don't think so, Karen. Sure you were a little drunk, but you loved the sex! You know you did. Now, how soon before your fucking husband gets home?" demanded Williams. "The cops have started asking questions about me and I can't stick around too long."

I heard what sounded like a quick scuffle and suddenly I knew real fear for Karen. I heard what sounded like a hard slap and then Williams laughed.

"You stupid cunt! Did you really think you'd shoot me with this? Shit, it would knock you ass over tin cup if you fired it! Shotguns are made for men, Karen. Now get away from the window before I blow your cheating ass right off," threatened Williams.

I stepped around the corner. I couldn't remain hidden any longer with the bastard threatening Karen and all my goddamn guns stored in the den! I knew I'd have to act fast or it would be all over, probably for both Karen and me. Karen saw me first and Williams noticed her reaction. He quickly swung the double barrel to point at my chest.

"Here's our hero!" yelled Williams as he brought the shotgun to his shoulder. "Let's see if I can make a bigger hole this time, while you're looking at me!"

It seemed that he was done talking. He intended to blow me in half with my own 12 gauge! I'll never forget what happened next, if I last another hundred years! In what seemed like slow motion, Karen launched herself in front of me just as Williams pulled the trigger! It was like the scene from "The Bodyguard". That was not part of my half-baked plan!

I reached down and grabbed my 36 inch aluminum softball bat from its hiding place behind the drapes. I pretty much swung for the fences as Williams dropped the shotgun and clawed for the pistol tucked in his waistband. Karen was on the floor to my right by this time, so I didn't hold back.

By crouching as he tried to pull his gun out, Williams saved his life. The bat made pretty good contact, but landed much higher on his head than I had intended. It was more solid than a glancing blow, but not a skull crusher. He went over backwards and never moved.

I picked up the shotgun and pulled the handgun from his waistband. Then I picked a couple shells from the top of the trim over the window and broke open the shotgun and dropped them in and snapped it closed. Karen was curled up on the floor, sobbing loudly.

I gently took her arm and helped her stand. Her body shook as she clung to me. I was really getting worried about her by this time. The mental trauma she had gone through had been incredible. It had shaken her to her very core.

Williams was still out when the police arrived, followed immediately by the ambulance. The EMT's placed the bastard carefully on a backboard and carried him out of the house. Detective Henderson was one of the first to arrive. I explained everything to her as Karen clung to me on the couch.

"So this man had pushed himself on Karen's friend, Mary Shaw? He tried to kill Mr. Shaw by running him off the road last spring and he also shot you in the back? Why did he shoot you, Mr. Lent? What reason would he have and why didn't your wife tell us about him sooner?" quizzed the detective.

"Karen missed over a month of work and never even knew about the accident Mary Shaw's husband experienced. His accident was the day after I was shot. They had moved out of the area before Karen returned to work. They were casual workplace acquaintances and not close at all. Karen had only seen this Williams around a few times and had very little to do with him," I calmly answered. "She never even gave the guy a thought. In fact, she had forgotten all about him until you mentioned his name the other day."

"I still don't see why he shot you, Mr. Lent. What reason would he have?" prodded the detective.

"That's exactly why Karen never mentioned him! He didn't have a reason to shoot me, but he thought he had a reason to shoot Karen! He thought she had convinced Mary Shaw not to have anything to do with him. He was actually trying to shoot Karen through the kitchen window and I stepped into the line of fire. I saw a comb on the pavement and leaned ahead to pick it up. The bullet went through me but was deflected enough by my rib to miss Karen, and it lodged harmlessly in the wall. Neither of us even dreamed the shooter was after her. I don't think the police considered that possibility either, did they, Detective Henderson?" I asked with as much indignation as I could muster.

"You were the one that was shot, so the investigation focused on your activities, quite naturally, Mr. Lent," replied Detective Henderson defensively. "As you know, I was zeroing in on this man. I had pulled all the police reports for the week you were shot, and I read them over several times. I noticed that there were two seemingly random acts of violence about the same time.

"The only thing I could find that linked you and Tim Shaw was the fact that your wives worked in the same place. Tim Shaw openly accused Williams, so he was questioned once regarding the incident. Since there was absolutely no proof of any involvement by him in the accident, nothing came of it. Both women would have known Williams, and Mr. Shaw had fought with him because of his unwanted attentions to Mrs. Shaw. We just couldn't figure out a motive for him to shoot you."

"Until he explained this whole thing to us in the den, we had no idea either," I assured the detective. "He's crazy, pure and simple. Don't look for real strong logic from a nut like him."

Then I continued, "I was just glad that I had unloaded that shotgun a few weeks ago. Karen's friend had dropped in a few times with her little boy and it scared me. I couldn't have lived with myself if there were some accident involving the shotgun. I forgot to tell Karen that I had unloaded it and placed the shells on top of the window trim, behind the drapes. My paranoia made me stick that bat back there, just in case. Getting shot in the back makes a man wary."

"Well, Mr. Lent, your precautions certainly seemed to have been warranted," agreed Henderson. "I can see that Mrs. Lent is feeling the worse for wear this evening, and understandably so. I would ask that you both come in tomorrow afternoon to make your statements?"

"We'll be there, Detective Henderson," I promised. "We're just glad to have this all over with,"

It took awhile, but Karen and I were finally alone. She had stopped sobbing, but she was still clinging to me. As I sat there holding her, I realized some of what she had gone through since that day I was shot. She had been consumed with guilt and fear. I had been almost killed. She had cheated on me. What would happen if I learned the truth? She knew how the way I felt about infidelity. She would be cast out. She must have believed that.

"Kurt? I don't know where you came up with the story you told the detective. You must know it wasn't exactly the way it happened. I..I slept with that man one time. It was wrong, I was drunk, but no words will make it right. I really didn't know about Mary's husband being forced off the road. I didn't know much of anything for a long time while you were recovering, except what pertained to your well-being.

"He never really bothered me after I told him I was very happily married and would never be with him again. I explained I had made a horrible mistake He seemed to take it pretty well. Then he started after Mary and it became obvious that he was a weird guy, but I never thought he might be the man that shot you until the detective asked about him the other day. It started me thinking about how odd he was," admitted Karen.

"I had been so worried about you, that I thought I'd go crazy. My sleeping with that man filled me with guilt and shame. I promised God that if he would let you live, I'd spend the rest of my life making it up to you," Karen confessed. "The problem was that no matter what I did for you, I never felt better. I never felt forgiven, Kurt. I just felt dirty and guilty."

"Karen, we'll spend the morning getting our stories straight, and then we'll stick to them. Williams has had a nasty blow to the head so no one will believe him if he gives a different version, understand?" I asked Karen.

"What are you going to do with me, Kurt? I'll tell them anything you want, but what about us? Will you divorce me after this all dies out? I won't blame you. I deserve it," sobbed Karen.

"Darling, I think you've been punished enough, don't you? I keep seeing you jumping in front of me when you thought that bastard was going to shoot me. Don't you think that told me something about how you feel about me?" I asked gently as I stroked Karen's back while I held her to my chest.

"Looking back, that must have seemed a bit melodramatic, but I really did try to save you, Kurt. I knew if you died, I'd want to die, too. Thank God you unloaded that gun!" sighed Karen.

It turned out that Williams suffered brain damage and never regained speech or cognitive thought. He's housed in a state facility for people with his criminal history, and his present medical condition. I think about him from time to time. I'm glad I didn't kill him, but on the other hand, I know it wouldn't have bothered me very much. Whether he was insane, or just mean as hell doesn't matter to me. He attacked me and my wife, and I did what I had to do.

It took a while but the old Karen is back. She doesn't tie my shoes for me, or fawn all over me any more. She gets upset and chews me out now and then. She even disagrees with me on a fairly regular basis, but she always comes to me at night and gives me all her love. That's all I ask.​