The chair in the corner of the room.

As she sits slumped in the white reclining canvas chair in the corner of their bedroom, her glazed eyes wander over to the blood splattered sunshine yellow walls. The family photographs of smiling faces peering down through the specs of scarlet, to the figure lying sprawled on the recently laid auburn carpet, which was slowly turning crimson.

Behind her the half drawn curtains sway with the cool evening breeze. It usually would have been her favourite time of the day, but not today. Today was very different.

She had arrived home earlier than usual as she had managed to leave the office fifteen minutes earlier and the traffic was good. Her husband’s black Nissan was in the drive when she arrived.
“He must have managed to get off from work early too.” She thought to herself as she closed the door to her little red Fiat.

She walked along the square concrete paving slabs that lead to the front door, rummaging through her brown leather handbag in search of her keys. Keys in hand and standing at the white double glazed door, she noticed her husband’s key in the lock on the inside of the door. Being someone who hated having to ring her own doorbell, and hated not being able to be let into her own home, she made her way back down the paved path, and round the side alley between the two redbrick terrace houses. The back door of her house led to the kitchen, which was appropriate anyway as she hadn’t intended on walking with muddy shoes on the newly laid carpet.

Once inside the kitchen, she placed her handbag on the door handle, her keys on the black granite kitchen counter and took her black leather boots off. She hadn’t had them long and they still pinched her toes.
“That’s much better!” she exclaimed as she twiddled her toes, “I’m home.” She called out. There was no reply. He was probably upstairs in his book-lined study finishing off some paperwork as per usual. She made her way down the corridor to the landing and up the auburn carpeted passing some of the many family photos dotted about the house. The bathroom was at the end of the corridor towards the back of the house. To her right was the bedroom and to her left was the study. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and as she passed by, she heard muffled groans.

Her breathing stopped and her heart started pounding against her chest. With wide alert eyes she scanned the corridor for something to defend herself with. Her eyes fell upon a cast iron candleholder sitting on a shelf to her right just before the bedroom door. Her hands were clammy but steady, so after wiping her hand on her trousers, she wrapped her fingers around the stick of the candleholder and held it up by her shoulder.
Summoning all her courage and trying to steady her nerves, she silently pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

For a few second the image of her husband’s naked body against another that was not hers did not register.
“Surely not!” she exclaimed with shock and surprise while staring at the mass of flesh. Her husband rapidly turned his head and started uttering meek excuses, “I, I can explain…!”

Without a second’s thought and with all the strength she could muster, she brought down the heavy candleholder in one swift blow against her husband’s head. Clumsy with disorientation and pain, the man fell off the side of the bed toward the dressing table.
CRACK
The woman’s husband lay on the floor, a pool of blood spreading.

Blind with rage and fired up by anger, she brought the candleholder down again and again on her husband’s now limp body, not noticing the increase of blood both on her and on the room furnishings. The photos were drizzled on, the dressing table dripping, and her hand and face were now saturated with the viscous liquid.

The sound of her husband’s lover screaming brought her back to reality.
Slowly standing up, she stared at this person, a perfect stranger to her, but a close relation to her husband, standing petrified on the other side of the room.
“What have you done!” the stranger shouts towards the blood drenched lady, her hair dripping red.
“I did nothing!” she shrieks hysterically as she lunged for the stranger, brandishing the already bloodstained candleholder in the air. She manages to catch the person on the upper back as they turn to run out of the room.
The woman falls to the floor landing on her side, clutching her legs curled against her body with her head buried between her knees.
“What have I done? What have I done!” she wails as the tears pour, flowing down her cheeks.

With her eyes sore from crying and her throat croaky, she pushes herself from the floor and towards the white reclining canvas chair in the corner.
Sitting slumped on the chair, her mind paralysed with fear, anger and shock, she hears the sirens approaching. The blue flashing lights bounce off the walls and the footsteps surround the house. It was too late to go back now

He must have been the one that called the police.