Becky was on her deathbed with her husband Jake at her side. He
held her cold hand and tears silently streamed down his face.
Her pale lips moved. “Jake…” she said. “Hush,” he quickly
interrupted, “don’t talk.” But she insisted. “Jake,” she said in
her tired voice, “I have to talk. I must confess….” “There is
nothing to confess…” said the weeping Jake. “It’s alright.
Everything’s alright” “No, no. I must die in peace. I must
confess, Jake, that I have been unfaithful to you.” Jake stroked
her hand. “Now, Becky, don’t be concerned. I know all about it,”
he sobbed, “Why else would I poison you?”