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MARILYN GIFFORD HAD been driving all night. She convinced her mom to staying with the kids so that she could travel down to Stewart, Louisiana. Marilyn wanted to see first-hand where her husband passed away. She should have divorced that bastard years ago, but she stayed with him for the kids.
She despised that every time she walked into a store or business in town, people talked about her behind her back. Dan really stuck it to her this time. Now everyone in town was speculating about the way he died. She told everyone that he had a heart attack while visiting down in Stewart, Louisiana, but no one honestly believed it.
Marilyn wanted to meet with Detective Landry to find out what information he had. She was ready to put this whole thing behind her. If it weren’t for the fact that her parents lived nearby, she would move to a different city and start her life over completely. Tears of shame flowed down her face. This couldn’t be her life, could it?
When she arrived at the Sheriff’s Department, she tried to fix her face somewhat. Everyone around town believed her recent fit of tears were from grief; instead they were from shame.
Marilyn walked up to the young officer sitting at the front desk, “I’m here to see a Detective Landry.”
He pointed her in the direction of Detective Landry’s desk.
“Detective Landry?” Landry looked up at the woman standing in front of his desk.
“Yes, can I help you?”
“My name is Marilyn Gifford. We have spoken several times.”
“Mrs. Gifford, it honestly wasn’t necessary for you to come all this way.”
She drew in a deep breath, “I realize that, but I need to bring some closure to this. I keep blaming myself for what happened.”
“Mrs. Gifford, you cannot blame yourself for any of this.”
Marilyn explained, “But I do. I wanted to accompany Dan, but our son came down with the flu, and I needed to take care of him.”
“This was not your fault. You can’t blame yourself, or the grief will consume you.”
Tears fell down her face, and her body began to tremble. Landry gave her hand a squeeze in reassurance. He sat in silence as the woman cried. Nothing he said would help to console her. “Mrs. Gifford, I am sorry for your loss. The only comfort I can give you is that time does heal all wounds.”
“Detective, I’m sorry, I should explain something. I am not crying from grief, but self-pity. I have been wallowing in it ever since I was informed of my husband’s death. I should have left that bastard years ago, but I stayed because of the kids. I didn’t want them to grow up in a broken home. Now, though, I’m not sure if I made the right choice.”
“You knew your husband was cheating on you?”
“About five years ago, I had my suspicions. He went from asking me to join him on trips, to saying he needed to have his secretary go with him. Then he began to make large withdrawals before he left. He always said that he preferred to have cash on hand with him when he went into a new city, but I knew he didn’t honestly need that much. I suspected he was paying someone to keep him company in bed while he was away from home, but I never wanted to confront him with my fears. I had two small children and the very idea of being on my own frightened me enough to keep my mouth shut. Eventually, I did confront him, but he became so outraged by my insinuation that he made me feel like a complete fool. He accused me of not trusting him and how hurt he was at the mere suggestion of him cheating on me.”
Marilyn paused and let out a slow, unsteady breath. “He then had the gall to accuse me of not taking his needs into consideration.” Marilyn scoffed, “Can you imagine that? I waited on that damn man hand and foot. I took care of his children, his house, and his laundry. I did everything for that man. He never appreciated a damn thing I ever did.”