Jake was dying. His wife, Becky, was maintaining candlelight vigil by his
bed. She held his fragile hand, tears running down her face. Her
praying roused him from his slumber. He looks up and his pale lips began to
move slightly. "My darling Becky," he whispered. "Hush, my love," she
said.
"Rest. Shhh, don't talk." He was insistent. "Becky," he said in his tired
voice, "I have something I must confess to you." "There's nothing
to confess," replied the weeping Becky. "Everything's all right, go to
sleep." "No, no. I must die in peace, Becky. I slept with your sister,
your best friend, her best friend, and your mother!" "I know," Becky
whispered softly. "That's why I poisoned you."