The Night Owl

I felt a drop of rain hit my cheek and I realized the task ahead of me would be a bit more daunting than I had initially expected.

There was a strong smell of spring and thawing ground in the air, which meant I would be battling still hardened soil. That would be challenging enough and now I'd have to endure a storm that was on the way. The Weather Channel had really been off the mark lately.

I opened up the barn doors in search of the shovel I bought last week from the hardware store because it was on sale. I figured a new shovel with a softer handle than the one I had for ages might be easier on my hands.

I needed to get this done as quickly as possible before my sister brought the kids back home, so anything to make it easier would be a good thing.

I could hear the soft hoo of the barn owl and it made me wish I was warm in my bed relaxed and calming the day's stresses away. That sound was always so comforting to me.

I began to dig my shovel into the ground and felt a bit disappointed that it was already losing that new shiny look, but it was something that couldn't be avoided.

The drops of rain were growing more constant and I could feel the sweat starting to build underneath my clothes. I told myself as soon as this was over with, I would have the best shower I've ever had and enjoy the rest of my night in peace. Maybe I'd finish my book to the sound of the peaceful owl and the crackle of a log on the fire. I certainly would've earned it by then.

My muscles were aching before long. I'd been shoveling for over an hour now but the deeper I could dig, the better. It would be worth the pain I'd be feeling in the morning.

It was probably close to 8 in the evening by the time I was content with the hole in the ground. I figured that would do and, besides, I was so far beyond exhausted and I still had to cover it up afterwards.

With my wheelbarrow in tow, I moved as fast as I could. Time was ticking. The kids would be home by 10. The rain had brought thunder and lightning along with it and I rolled my eyes at the thought of how cliché this setting was starting to look.

I dropped the contents of the wheelbarrow into the hole hoping the ropes I tied around the sheet would keep the contents covered. The last thing I wanted was any reminder of the events of the evening.

I told myself I was burying Misty, our old dog who got hit by Darryl's truck the night he came home completely wasted from another night out with the guys.

I had to rush that time too. It was bad enough I had to tell the kids the dog was dead because their father was an idiot. I didn't want them to have to see it in the flesh.

For a split second, I let myself think of the handful of good times Darryl and I had together before liquor, drugs and selfishness took over.

Maybe a small part of me still loved him, but I couldn't handle the abuse anymore.

This was the absolute last straw for me. I had spent the past five years hoping he would either leave me for another woman or someone would stab him to death in a bar brawl when he reached that particular level of arrogant and obnoxious that made him believe he was invincible.

Tonight, he reached that level with me. He wouldn't let up. It was like I was listening to a broken record for years now. The accusations of infidelity, the nitpicking about every little thing, complaining about how I was raising the kids — it was never-ending. I swore he would talk just to hear the sound of his own voice.

I needed better than that for my kids, better than that for myself. We deserved that much. My feet were growing so tired of tiptoeing through the house every morning until I could gauge what type of mood he was in, so I knew whether or not we could breathe or if we had to brace ourselves for a day of pure hell.

Most of the time it was the latter.

I picked up the shovel again and started to cover his body. I don't think I had ever moved soil that quickly in my life, but it was getting late.

I had it all worked out. I'd tell the kids we fought. It was a major one this time and he just up and left saying he would never come back.

They would believe it; they had to believe it. No one could ever know what really happened. How I killed him while he slept. How I plunged my sharpest kitchen knife into his heart. He had it coming.

I couldn't be the victim to his abuse anymore. He had to go. I was tired of being bruised and bloodied because he refused to get his issues under control for me and for our kids. What kind of father puts himself before his children? No more. Now it would be time to start living the life we deserved.

The rain was coming down in buckets now and, thankfully, I was about done. I'd have enough time now to have a shower. I needed to get the smell of sweat and fear off my body. I couldn't let the kids suspect anything was out of the ordinary.

The hot water eased my sore muscles and I was finally able to enjoy my first moment of peace in this entire day. It was beautiful.

I put on my robe and made my way to the kitchen to make a cup of a tea. The rain was still relentless outside, but I could see the headlights of my sister's car pull up in the gravel.

I watched as my kids ran out of the car dodging the raindrops like it was a game of survival.

They were so happy to be home and they didn't even have a clue yet how much peace they would have now; how much happier life would be for us.

I smiled and hugged them tighter than I ever had before.

Tonight, the three of us would fall asleep to the crackle of the fire, the sweet sound of rain and the faint sound of the barn owl who saw everything but would never tell a soul.