Becky was on her deathbed. Her husband, Jake, maintained vigil by her side. He held her fragile hand, tears running down his face. His praying roused her from her slumber. She looked up, and her pale lips began to move slightly.
"My darling Jake," she whispered.
"Hush, my love," he said. "Rest. Shhh. Don't talk."
She was insistent. "Jake," she said in her tired voice, "I have something I must confess to you."
"There's nothing to confess," replied the weeping Jake. "Everything is all right, go to sleep."
"No, no. I must die in peace, Jake. I slept with your brother, your best friend and your father."
"I know," Jake whispered softly, "that's why I poisoned you."
