Aftermath by Michael Burns

As I approached, I noticed the door was open. I stepped into the kitchen. The table was off to one side with a chair over on the floor and another chair tipped against a counter. In the front room, I saw a couch tipped on its back, a lamp shattered on the floor, and an end table toppled over with two of its legs broken. There was a small smear, possibly blood, on the wall by the bedroom door, which was open.
From the bedroom came a woman’s sigh, “God that was wonderful! We’ve got to leave the kids with your parents more often!”
I holstered my gun and left quietly.

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