Malcolm was always sweet, in your eyes. But there was something off about him. Always. You brushed it off always, too.

But today, the police had been to see you. Telling you of his lies about his lukemia, about his dead wife and almost murdered second wife. That he wasn’t qualified for anything but money laundering and fraud. But what spun you was that he was straight. The two of you had met at a train station, he had promised he was gay and joked about it.

You stand in the kitchen, looking out the window. Malcolm walks in, knocking on the doorframe and waiting for you to turn around, noticing you’re upset.