Jenna was the kindest, most friendly person Jacob had ever met. She was always the center of attention at any part, and not even the guests of honor ever seemed disturbed. She had a lovely smile: the kind of smile poets line up to praise. For all that the world admired her, she never seemed to notice. It had not made her proud. In fact, Jacob thought she was annoyingly humble. He had also fallen for her charms, but then he had married her. He was most likely the only man on earth who could hate her.

He hated her with a passion that it made his head ache. He hated how he seemed to disappear in a room with her. He felt like scum, or worse, whenever they went out. The worst of it was that she didn't care. She had sucked the life out of him and hadn't even noticed.

Some nights he woke up next to her and watched her sleeping so perfectly, so serenely, that it took all his effort not to smother her with his pillow. Even in her sleep still had that perfect smile.

The tension grew worse, year by year. By now she had a glimmer of an idea that something was not quite right with her husband. Perfect as she was, she could not imagine what could trouble him so. She never asked what was bothering Jacob; no, she was too polite for that. Occasionally when he would look up from the morning paper, he would see her gazing at him with a concerned, almost sad expression, accompanied by her damned gentle, perfect smile. He would shake the paper or clear his throat to make her look away. He hated it when she looked at him like that. He would think she was pitying him except he knew she didn't have that in her. Jenna would never think anyone far enough below her to feel pity.

Sitting on the subway on the way to work that morning, Jacob tried to decide what to do about her. Yesterday evening he had finally lost all patience with her. Now he couldn't even remember what she'd said, but it had made him wild. Before he quite knew what he was doing, she was lying at his feet, whimpering from pain.

He wasn't sure how long he would have stood over her, panting and seeing little besides a blurred, red haze, if the baseball bat hadn't fallen from his suddenly limp fingers. The clatter hat set her to whimpering again and he nearly kicked her.

The subway train lurched to a halt and Jacob was yanked out of his musings to see what stop he was at. In a panic, he realized it was his stop, and lurched from his seat and made a dash for the door. The solid wall of people did not move and he did not make it before the door slid smoothly shut. He cursed. If Jenna had been here, people would have parted before her like warmed butter. The crowd always parted for his wife.

Jacob elbowed his way to the door and glared meaningfully at the people around him. They paid him no notice. While he waited impatiently next to the door for the subway train to reach the next stop, his mind once again started worrying over his dilemma.

After he had struck his wife, he wasn't sure how many times, and she lay whimpering on the floor, reason came to him. He couldn't kill her, as much as he wanted to. Her family would ask questions. People would want to know where she was. Everyone would notice her absence. How could he finish her? How could he hide the body and escape suspicion? These were the questions that had kept him awake all night while his wife lay trussed and locked in the basement.

The train hissed to a stop and the doors slid open. Jacob was nearly carried back onto the train by the mass of people trying to stuff themselves into the train car he had just escaped, but with a few well-placed elbows and some stomping, Jacob managed to make his way to the street level. Once he was there, he started out at a full run. He would be hard pressed to make it to work on time now.

Had his wife been with him, they would have made their way together. She would have kept to a leisurely walk; she was never concerned about being late to work. Even if she was a few minutes late, no one cared. The whole office was under her spell and would overlook any act, minor or major. Typically, Jenna never took advantage of this special treatment. Most days she was on time, or nearly so, thanks to his efforts at keeping her moving. She liked to stop and look in windows, or buy a pastry and coffee at a cafe, or a thousand other things that only irritated him more.

When he reached the base of the two towers, Jacob was out of breath and a trickle of sweat itched his back. Adjusting his tie, Jacob approached the revolving door of his building at a slower pace. He hardly spared a glance to the other tower, where Jenna would have been going to work today. For once he was glad of her special status; no one would be overly concerned. After a while, they would call him and ask where his wife was. He would tell them she was sick today and they would make all sorts of disgusting noises of disappointment and well wishing. He would have to remember to keep his voice neutral and accept their wishes graciously.

As he waited for the elevator to arrive, Jacob once again thought over his dilemma. Could he fake her suicide? It was popular in television these days to portray the nicest ones as freaks. Perhaps they would all click their tongues and lament that it was always "her type" that went over the edge. People would admit they had noticed something was not "quite right" with her, now that they thought about it. If he did it right, soon even her own family would be agreeing that she had clearly been disturbed beneath the surface.

He remembered the bruises on her face and the blood on the floor. Certainly no one would believe she had beaten herself in the face with a bat. He was still considering the possibility of keeping her alive until she healed when the elevator arrived. He shoved his way inside and through a form of acrobatics known only to the office worker, he managed to hit the button for his floor. The elevator lurched and sped up the tower, pausing occasionally at floors along the way. By the time it reached his floor, it was nearly empty.

He checked his watch. Ten after eight. He was not as late as he thought he would be. If he were lucky, his supervisor wouldn't have noticed yet. Jacob dashed down the hallway towards his desk, heedless of the strange looks he might receive. As he got closer, he slowed to a more respectable pace. Reaching his desk, Jacob sat quickly and kept his head down. He did not want to call attention to himself. Quickly, he got to work. For a while, thoughts of his wife were pushed aside by the pile of paper that he had not finished on Monday.