Disguise.

The diamond stud in her nose glistened as the rays of sunlight pecked it lightly. She narrowed her eyes, almost blinded by the sun. Her otherwise clear face bore a mole near her upper lip, visible even from a distance. Dressed in a dusty pink chiffon saree which complimented her slightly tanned complexion and allowed her collar bones to peek out above her neck line, she looked firmly composed and if it weren't for her blood stained hands, nobody could ever tell she had just stabbed her husband.

As she walked out of the house where she had left the corpse, brutally stabbed and naked, her face was expressionless. No regret, no remorse - just blank. Barefooted, she walked oblivious to the prickly pebbles knocking her feet. The shimmery sweat on her forehead trickled down the side of her face. Rubbing it away, she left a red streak of blood there. In her mind, scenes from the previous night appeared one by one, each one prolonging its existance enough to torture her delibrately, agonizingly. She winced and cringed, recalling the moment she had walked into her room. He had anticipated her to be home the next morning, as always. Being a doctor often required late-night shifts. The moment she had walked into the door, blood rushed to her eyes and every fibre in her body denied the scenario displayed in front of her. Dumbstruck as she was, horrification and realization sank in some time later.

She trembled fiercely and breathed heavily, unable to control the urge to scream her lungs out. Her blood-shot eyes stared at him, not blinking for a second. Regaining her consciousness, she walked towards her cupboard, giving him a luring chance to run away. She stood where she was and watched him storm out of the house with the car keys. The pieces began to fit together. Within minutes, all her crumpled thoughts formed one smooth surface. The missing birth control pills, the satisfied grin at her late-night shifts and the fear that lurked around the house in her absense. She swore out loud and ran up the stairs into her 13 year old daughter's room. This was the first time she had regretted getting remarried. She never knew that behind the facade of humanism and benevolence, lay a grotesque man with a filthy mind.

She waited all night, running her hands through her daughter's hair, listening to her sob and sigh, feeling her fear and raising a question after every hour of silence. The next morning, she found him where she had thought he would be. She stabbed him once for herself, twice for her daughter and thrice for who he was and then when the initial intensity of her fury returned, she stabbed him endlessly all over, smearing his blood across the four walls of the room of their beach hut.

The walk ended when she reached her car. The engine roared as she turned the key in the ignition and then curved her blood-stained palms around the steering wheel. Her eyes were dry and the blank face now bore an expression of undying satisfaction. She parked the car in her drive-way some two hours later. Once she had washed her hands, she picked up the receiver of her phone and dialled two digits. Informing the police officer on the other end of her husband's disappearance, her voice didn't shake once. Keeping the receiver down, she walked into her daughter's room again. Tears finally trickled down her face as she smoothed the bedsheet that had a doll printed on it. She paused mid-way, thought for a second and quietly removed it, leaving the mattress bare.