My Uncle Shot His Wife.

In the early hours of the morning, my aunt, exhausted from a sleepless night, retreated upstairs to catch up on some much-needed rest. Meanwhile, my uncle and I were immersed in a fierce game of Monopoly when his phone suddenly buzzed with a text message. Without a word, he rose from the table, leaving his phone behind, unlocked and unattended. Assuming he was simply tired and uninterested in continuing the game, I didn’t think much of it.

As I reached for his phone to return it to him, a message from our next-door neighbor, Bob, caught my attention. The text read: “I have a confession to make. I’ve been spending time with your wife behind your back—more than you probably realize. It’s been incredible, but I feel guilty. I know it’s no excuse, but things haven’t been great at home. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me because it won’t happen again.”

My heart raced as I tried to process the shocking revelation. Suddenly, a deafening gunshot echoed through the house from upstairs. Overcome with panic, I sprinted up the stairs, dreading what I might find. In the bedroom, my uncle stood clutching a gun, his gaze fixed on my aunt, who lay in bed, blood seeping from her wounds.

Paralyzed with shock and disbelief, I struggled to comprehend the gruesome scene before me. My uncle turned to face me, his expression twisted with pain and betrayal. “The neighbor sent me a text,” he choked out, his voice trembling. “He confessed to being with my wife.”

Before I could respond, another message came through on my uncle’s phone, still gripped tightly in my shaking hand. I glanced down to read the latest text from Bob: “I’m so sorry; that was autocorrect. I meant to say ‘WiFi’—not ‘wife.’ I’ve been using your WiFi without permission.”

END.

By StoryOga.