Yes, Dear

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         She glanced at him across the table, the same table that she had glanced across at him for the last 30 years. She hated this table. It was old and ugly and utterly boring, much like the man who sat at it. Much like my life, she mused.
         She looked back to her plate and smiled a secret smile as she shoveled five peas onto her spoon. He commented on the weather, and she supplied the proper response, "Yes, dear." The same ritual was performed every night, and regardless of the weather she always supplied the same answer, "Yes, dear."
         They slipped into a routine silence. She counted the seconds and minutes off in her head, mentally calculating the moment that was rapidly approaching.
         Suddenly, he made a strangled, choking sound. Her spoon stilled on her plate, and she lifted her head to watch as he struggled in his seat. In a faint whisper, he finally spoke.
         "Emma?" He gasped.
         "Yes, dear?" She asked.
         "You poisoned me, didn't you?"
         "Yes, dear."
         With one last, wheezing breath, he slumped in his chair, his face landing in his mashed potatoes. She smiled again and went back to eating her peas.