B.

He told her one day after eating lunch, “It’s not a matter of love, I don’t even like you anymore.” Pausing the brush through her course bushy-red hair, she looked slowly, from the ceiling to him.

He felt a pain. He’d not seen the flash of her green eyes_ that kind of green, for very long time, and it hurt. It hurt wrong. His left arm numbed, and lips... He touched his right hand to his chest and sunk down to his knees in agony.

“Yeah honey…” she mused with a smirk, after the coroner left, “but I’ll be the one collecting the checks.”