Betrayed Wife's Final Stand

Synopsis

The heat was suffocating, pressing down on me like a physical weight as I struggled with the last of the grocery bags. Ninety-five degrees in Portland was unusual, and our tiny bungalow, with its outdated ventilation system, had transformed into an oven. Sweat trickled down my spine, my cotton blouse clinging uncomfortably to my skin. "Marcus?" I called out, my voice echoing through the empty hallway. No response, as usual. I set the milk carton on the counter, fighting a wave of dizziness. The kitchen seemed to tilt sideways, the edges of my vision darkening. I gripped the edge of the counter, willing the sensation to pass. "Just a few more items," I whispered to myself, reaching for the frozen vegetables. The room spun violently, and suddenly the linoleum floor was rushing up to meet me.