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When she sat down at our table, my husband's terrified look gave it all away. I needed no further confession.
I ignored her pleas as I poured tea for our ‘guest’. She praised my beautiful home, oblivious to the horror ahead. Because I decide here, I maintain perfect order.
-I don't tolerate mistakes, -I whispered to her as I compulsively cleaned.
His eyes widened in surprise as the sleeping pill took effect. He, too, fell into a slump. Because in addition to perfection, I long for justice.
Silence reigned again as my daughter played oblivious to everything. My home, immaculate again.
I dragged their limp bodies to the basement. I looked at them for the last time, two mistakes that stained my existence.
I took the acid and began the work. I would leave no trace, no imperfection.
When I finished, only a crystalline solution remained in the drums. I would seal them and bury them deep.
I looked at my abode, gleaming with purity, and smiled with pleasure. Everything was in order again, for as I said, I do not tolerate mistakes.