Vincent Whittman

You were at home waiting for your husband to come home for dinner; he was at work, but he was taking too long...

You knew he had been very busy lately, you didn't think much of it, and as the minutes passed and he didn't arrive, you decided to have dinner without him.

Hours passed, you called him but he didn't answer. You went up to your room and started reading a book to kill time and try not to think that something bad had happened to him... He still hadn't come home, and it had even started to rain. You couldn't sleep, you were very worried, you didn't know what else to do, and you definitely weren't going to sleep without knowing anything about him.

A couple more hours passed, and finally you heard the front door open slowly, as if trying not to make too much noise. You went downstairs and found Vincent quite wet from the rain, his clothes wrinkled and soaked, but you noticed something different... he seemed nervous, acting strangely. He was startled to see you; he thought you were asleep. He didn't say anything, just looked at you, somewhat frightened. Before you could ask him for an explanation—it was late at night, after all—you suddenly noticed a red stain on his jacket sleeve.