Jake was dying.

His wife, Becky, was maintaining candlelight vigil by his side. She held
his fragile hand, tears running down her face.

Her praying roused him from his slumber.

He looked up and his pale lips began to move slightly, "My darling Becky,"
he whispered.

"Hush, my love," she said. "Rest. Shhh, don't talk."

He was insistent. "Becky," he said in his tired voice, "I have something I
must confess to you."

"There's nothing to confess," replied the weeping Becky.
"Everything's all right. Go to sleep."

"No, no, I must die in peace, Becky. I slept with your sister,
your best friend, her best friend, and your mother!"

"I know," Becky whispered softly; "That's why I poisoned you."

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