“Did you get the groceries?” “Yes, dear.” “Then why don’t we have any pasta!” The wife screams, as she slams the cabinet door. “I’ll go pick some up,” The husband replies calmly. He grabs car keys and walks to the front door. “And take care of the damn lawn!” “Yes, dear.” “You’re always outside in the shed, so do some actual yard work. Don’t leave when I’m talking to you!” The husband stands in the doorway looking outside, waiting to leave. “I knew I should’ve listened to my father about you. You’re not even a real man.” A moment of silence passes between them, the husband waiting to be released. “Go,” she finally says, realizing she’s gone too far this time. She looks down to the floor, an angry tear forming in her eye. When she looks up he’s gone. She throws a plate down on the floor and screams. Time goes by as she cleans up the mess. It’s clear her husband is taking his time and that infuriates her more. She starts to clean the house but her anger is growing by the minute. She steps outside into the cold air, and begins strolling the property. It calms her as she closes her eyes for a moment, feeling the setting sun on her face. For a brief moment, a smile forms. She opens her eyes and the smile goes away. She sees the leaves scattered on the lawn. Her anger comes back in full force. “Christ,” she mutters under her breath. “I’ll do it myself.” She storms to the shed at the far end of the property and slams open the door. She finds the rake in the corner of the shed and heads to the door. She stops when she hears a noise. It’s sounds like a whimper and she can’t place if it’s coming from inside or outside the shed. She peaks outside, and then comes back in looking around. She kicks the rug aside and sees a handle on the floor. She lifts the trap door and swings it open. A lady, bound and gagged, stares back up at her from a hole underneath the shed. Tears streaming down her bruised and beaten face. “Who are-“ the wife begins. “She looks just like you, dear.” The husband says as he enters the shed. The wife is startled, grasping the rake until her knuckles go white. “How many times have you belittled me? And I’ve done nothing to you except to say ‘yes, dear’.” “You need to-“ the wife starts to say but the husband takes two quick steps forward and is inches from her face. “I don’t need to do anything.” He rips the rake out of her hand and grabs her hair. “Do you understand me, dear?” His voice is filled with seething rage. “Say ‘yes, dear’.” “Yes, dear.” She cries out. He smiles before hitting the handle of the rake against her head. Then pushes her into the hole.