He had never really thought about killing Joanne before. They had been high school sweethearts and in the whirlwind of love that came with every teenage romance he had proposed after college. It was pleasant the first few years, but after the joy of being newly weds faded away, they became tired of each other, and sank into a dull marital complacency. The years melted into each other, each the same, every action done over so many times they were almost rituals. Joanne became predictable and uninteresting. Her quirky ways and mannerisms that had once seemed so cute now became annoying habits. Soon, the just avoided each other, each a stranger living in the same home.
Then he met Colleen. She moved in across the street and it was as if a gust of wind came with her, sweeping away the heavy air that had settled around his being.
She was beautiful, intelligent, and funny and brought with her a lust for life he had never experienced before. She was a painter, her artwork as breathtaking as her personality. He remembered standing in front of a canvas and being enthralled with the richness of its colors, its deep beauty and its fine brush strokes, and for once in his life being moved. From then on he had tried to spend as much time near her as possible, and every now and then would throw glances and smiles in her direction. It wasn't long before she noticed and those glances were returned.
They met up at a small arty restaurant on the other side of town. It was everything he had hoped for. Their words, their humour, their expressions matched exactly. They had so much in common. Many times in the conversation they would finish each other's sentences.