Becky was lying on her deathbed with her husband, Jake, sitting faithfully beside her.

The room was quiet except for the ticking clock and Jake’s occasional sniffle.

He held her cold hand tightly while tears silently streamed down his face.

After nearly forty years of marriage, this was the moment he had always feared.

Becky slowly opened her eyes.

Her pale lips moved.

“Jake,” she said.

“Hush,” he quickly interrupted, “don’t talk.”

He gently pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders.

“You need to save your strength.”

But Becky shook her head.

“Jake,” she said in her tired voice. “I have to talk. I must confess.”

Jake immediately became emotional.

“There is nothing to confess,” said the weeping Jake. “It’s all right. Everything’s all right.”

But Becky wouldn’t let it go.

She had clearly been carrying something heavy on her conscience, and she was determined not to leave this world without telling him.

“No, no. I must die in peace.”

Jake squeezed her hand and prepared himself.

Becky took a weak breath.

“I must confess, Jake, that I have been unfaithful to you.”

The room fell silent.

Becky watched his face anxiously, expecting shock, anger, perhaps even outrage.

Instead, Jake calmly stroked her hand.

“Now, Becky, don’t be concerned. I know all about it”, he sobbed. “Why else would I poison you?”