What the hell am I doing?
I take a deep breath and lean myself up against the wall, trying to process what I just did. I start to feel a pit in my stomach as I glance at her again, remembering the photo I saw earlier. A wave of guilt and regret suddenly started to rush through me

Jesus, what AM I doing?  I thought to myself.

Maybe I am crossing the line, but there is no going back. I had to pull myself together and stick to the plan, or else I am going to see myself in handcuffs pretty soon.
I had no clue who was home, or who heard me, and I was not going to let myself be caught red handed.

Now, I didn't quite think this part through. There was no way my husband would fall for me dressing up as his mistress- or, would he? We weren't that much different physically, maybe I could pull it off?
She shared the same facial structures as me, and we looked about the same size. Well, it's worth a shot. As I said, there's no going back now.

I grabbed the makeup kit she had been using, and got to work. I made sure everything was the exact same: eyeshadow, lipstick, blush, you name it.

I checked her closet to see if there was anything that I could wear. Sure enough, a stunning, dark red dress was hanging perfectly in front of me, ready to wear. It was perfect. I squeezed myself into it,  zipped it up, and to my surprise, it fit like a glove.

I finished the outfit with some silver pumps that were slightly big but not too bad, white gloves, and a hat to hide my hair.

I didn't even recognize myself in the mirror, it was far from my style and who I was. The pit in my stomach slowly returned as I thought of the real and final test: would my husband fall for it?

I grabbed my purse from up off the floor and hurried to make my way out of the door as fast as possible. On the way out, I noticed that picture again. But, I don't feel guilty or upset this time. This time, I felt anger, a rage that was slowly coming on to me as I thought about what me and him used to be. How happy we were, and how we were almost a happy family. But, I guess all good things must come to an end, and this end will be his last.

I grabbed the frame and slammed it to the ground, watching the glass slowly shatter into pieces. I felt a smirk form on my face, and I turned to walk out of the house.

The bar we would be meeting up at was only a few blocks down, so I ended up getting there in a relatively short amount of time. I slowly made my way through the door, trying to make my way around and spot him through the crowd.

It was dark, and the overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke was so strong it felt cancerous just breathing it in.

My good friend, Alice Foster, was performing on stage. She used to be my dance partner years ago, but we ended up both going our own separate paths after a while. I decided to go into teaching, while she kept up the dancing gig solo. We still kept our friendship going, however, and I had told her all  about my idea. She wasn't completely on board with it, but still decided to help me plan it all out.

I also got some support from one of my students, Lucielle Williams. Although she makes me want to pull my hair out sometimes, she has always stuck out from everyone else.

Not always in a good way though , she's rebellious and didn't care much for paying attention during school, but something about her stuck with me.
She wasn't completely an idiot, and did have a soft spot in her. I offered to let her babysit Cynthia at times, and she willingly did it. We got along pretty well, and she is only just now graduating from the Catholic school.

I also told her about the idea I had, considering she's committed some pretty scandalous acts herself, and she also agreed to help me plan things and give me additional support.

I made my way towards the front of the crowd and near to the stage, grabbing Alice's attention. She crouched down to meet eye level with me, and I slid her a $50 bill I snuck in my bag.

"Thanks a lot, Al. Couldn't have done it without you."

She takes the money out of my hand with a grin on her face.

"True friends help you get away with murder, am I right?" She replied, jokingly. "You're welcome."

I turned my head over slightly, trying to see if I could spot him standing somewhere from the front. I sighed and looked back at her.

"Where is he at?' I ask.

"In the corner on your left, smoking a cigarette.
You'll see him, let me know how things go."

She quickly turned to get back up, about to go back to the stage, but I stopped her right before she took off.

"One more thing: take my purse. I don't want him recognizing it as soon as I walk in. Not that he's that observant, but just give it back before I leave. I'll come to you."

She nods, takes my bag, tosses it backstage, and goes back to performing.

I look over at the corner, and there he was. He was blended in with the crowd, but now all I see is him. I brace myself as he notices me walking towards him. 

Next thing I know, I'm standing right in front of my love of my life and my worst enemy. We lock eyes, and I don't know wether to feel embarrassed, ashamed, or angry. I felt a little bit of everything. He smiles and looks at me with a look I haven't seen or felt from him in a long time.

"Wow, Cath. You look amazing."

He's falling for it. God, he's stupid. I don't understand how he's just walking right into my trap so blindly.
Not that I'm complaining, just caught off guard. I didn't quite think about how I was supposed to sound like her, so I just pulled the best 'I don't feel like talking' attitude that I could as an excuse not to talk.

"Thanks... you too."

I can't even look him in the eye right now. My heart aches as memories of our relationship flood through my mind again. But now is not the time.

He continued to admire me as I tried to think about what I should say or do. He grabbed my hand to pull me in closer.

"Would you like a drink?"

I can't risk getting drunk. If I do, I'll forget all about the plan. Once I have one, I can't stop myself.

"No, thanks. I'm fine."

"How come? I thought you said you could 'never go to a bar without getting black out drunk'? Is there something wrong, Catherine?" He said, confused.

Damnit. She's an alcoholic, I should've known. She had bottles of all types of booze scattered in her bedroom. No wonder. Now I had to come up with some random excuse and hope it's not stupid.

"I'm trying to go sober."

My voice cracks, and I try not to cringe just listening to myself. What a dumb excuse, why would she just be deciding to go sober for no reason? It was all I could come up with.  He was a bit uncertain, but went along with it somehow.

Soon, I find myself dancing with him in the crowd. He just couldn't seem to keep his eyes off of me. It felt nostalgic, I guess? Every little step and turn would remind me more and more of how I thought we were just made for each other.

For the first time, in a long time, I felt loved again. Even if it wasn't real, and I wasn't the one he was in love with, it still felt nice to be treated like his wife again.

But as soon as I snap out of my euphoria, I remember how it wasn't true. He doesn't love me anymore, his heart was set on "Catherine".

It knocked me right out of utopia, and back to reality. And every single time I was reminded, it hurt worse and worse.

After a long while, I find myself making my way back to 'his' apartment. He still hasn't caught on to anything, why am I not surprised?

Alice handed me back my purse before we left, and I made sure to keep it covered as best as I could. We head up the stairs and he unlocks the door to our apartment, gesturing me inside.

Glancing at the pictures of us and Cynthia that once brought me joy now just makes me sick. The anger and pain that I've bottled up for years is starting to overflow the more and more I get lost in my emotions and thoughts.

He notices that I've spotted the pictures, and immediately grabs my hand and pulls me away.

"Don't worry about those, she's not anything to me anymore and she won't be-"

He pauses and grabs my hand again. His lust slowly fades as he starts to look at me closer. I may have done everything else right, but I forgot to remove one thing: my ring. It's already too late to get rid of it, he noticed and recognized it instantly.

As he stares back up at me, I feel myself reaching into my purse.

"What's this and why are you wearing it?"

I laugh nervously and try to cover it up with my right hand.
"Erm, it's nothing. Don't worry about it."

He doesn't buy it. He reaches up and takes off the hat I've been wearing all night, and reveals my hair.

Well, it was pretty far from the pretty blonde he was hoping for. He just stands there in shock, horrified by the reality that just struck him. I feel a tear rolling down my cheek, soon followed by a stream of tears.

"How could you do this to me, Michelle? What did you do to her?" His voice shakes, slowly raising into a yell.

"How could I do this to you? You should be asking yourself that you pathetic, lying scumbag. You ruined everything, everything that we had... what about Cynthia, what about me, David? What about your wife that was there for you when no one else was?"

Words spill out of my mouth, some that I mean, some I don't. I can't control myself or my sanity anymore.

My hands tremble profusely and my voice breaks after every word that comes out of my rambling mouth. I grasp the gun that's been tucked away in my purse and carefully pull it out. My finger rests on the trigger as the argument grows harder and harder to bare.

"You're an absolute bitch, you know that? Maybe I would still love you if you weren't on my ass every damn day, you hag."

He continues to do what he does best: yell. I'm not even focused on the words he's saying anymore, I'm painting an image in my mind of him lying stone cold dead. He stops talking for a minute, waiting for a response from me.

I've got a damn good response for him.

I stared at him in his eyes, watching his eyes get bigger and more mortified as he notices the gun in my hand.

I can't help but laugh at him. The big tough man he tried to be is now cowering down to his own wife with a weapon pointed at him. He might be taking this seriously, but this is entertainment for me. He raises both of his hands, stiffening up.

"Michelle, put it down. This isn't funny, why don't we just talk about this?" He pleads.

God, he's pathetic.

"No, I think you and I both know that we're past that. You had your chances to just be honest.. I loved you, I really did, and you took advantage of that and betrayed me. Now you'll know how it feels like to be hurt by someone you once loved with everything you had."

He continues to plead and beg, but I've already drowned out the sound of his voice. The tears on my face dry as I look at him one last time.

"I'll see you in hell, you bastard."

I close my eyes and hold my breath, and his desperate cries are soon replaced by the sound of several rounds of gunshots.

When I open my eyes, I'm both relieved and mortified. I never imagined I would be standing in front of my husband's lifeless body, watching blood pool out of him knowing exactly what I did.

I have no time to think or grieve, Cynthia will be walking in any minute and I can't have any trace of me behind.

I put the gun back in my purse, and gathered myself; both mentally and physically. I grabbed the telephone and dialed 911, reporting a murder. But, I'm not turning myself in. What idiot would do that? I'm reporting a murder committed by my daughter.  I hang up on them so I can get rid of the evidence and change.

I turned to look at him one last time, and walked out of the door. It's no longer my problem.

I walked down to a public restroom, where I unzipped the dress and threw on my clothes I was wearing before. I stuff all of the possible evidence back inside my purse, throw it into the bottom of a trash can, and hope that nobody discovers or questions it. Now that is all that's left to do is wait until Cynthia comes back.
I get to a place where I can see her outside of the apartment complex, and wait.