The satisfaction turned to horror as she watched the hapless guppy’s frenzied struggle, aquarium water soaking the year-end tax documents littering her husband’s workspace. With one smooth motion she leaned forward and retrieved the net, flipping the fish back into the tank.
It wasn’t really about the guppy anyway. She watched it renew its attentions to the exhausted red Tetra, it’s singlemindedness reminding her of the way her first husband, Mark, had pursued her. They’d only been kids, really, but he’d been so sure of what he wanted. She still missed him sometimes.
No, it wasn’t about the guppy. It was about Harry. Maybe Harry was the guppy, not Mark. Harry who was trying to mate with anything that moved, nipping at all the tetras’ behinds’. It was Harry that needed to gasp and beg for another chance.
Vera rose from her seat and crossed the deep carpet to the door, pausing once to look back at the wet mess she’d made of her husband’s desk.
Tonight she would make him a special dinner.