Becky was on her deathbed, with her husband Jake at her side. He held her cold hand and tears silently streamed down his face. Her pale lips moved. “Jake,” she said.
“Hush,” he quickly interrupted, “don’t talk.”
But she insisted. “Jake,” she said in her tired voice. “I have to talk. I must confess.”
“There is nothing to confess,” said the weeping Jake. “It’s all right. Everything’s all right.”
“No, no. I must die in peace. I must confess, Jake, that I have been unfaithful to you.”
Jake stroked her hand. “Now Becky, don’t be concerned. I know all about it,” he sobbed. “Why else would I poison you?”