Homemade Justice: A Dark Domestic Short Story of Love, Loss, and Liberation

WARNING: DARK THEMES (AGAIN) This short story dives into the shadows of domestic abuse, manipulation, and quiet revenge. Homemade Justice is a dark, twisty tale where a promise made at a hospice bedside becomes the spark for freedom. If you enjoy unsettling domestic suspense, morally gray choices, and endings that linger, this story is for you.

Homemade Justice

“You’re going to that stupid hospice place again?” Tony took another swig of beer, resting the bottle on his substantial belly. A glance at the floor told Caitlin he’d already had several. And that one had tipped over, dribbling the last of its foamy contents onto her beautiful carpet. It had been a wedding gift from her parents the previous year, even though they’d told her she was far too young to get married.

Tony belched long and loud, then continued his rant. “I thought that old cow only had two weeks to live.”

“Yes, I—” Caitlin tried to reply.

“It’s not like we’re family. She’s just a neighbor.” His eyes never left the huge TV. “Doesn’t she have anybody else?”

“No, Pearl’s husband passed early in their marriage. They never had any children. In fact—”

Tony interrupted her again. “All I can say is she’d better leave us her house. It’s falling apart, but the land’s gotta be worth something. I could use a new TV. That’s why you’re rushing to the old biddy’s side, right? For the inheritance?”

“Oh, no. It’s not like that. I—”

“Shut up, Caitlin! I’m watching the game.” He gestured toward the TV.

“But you asked.” Caitlin sighed and picked up the car keys. “I was only trying to answer—”

Tony grabbed the remote and raised the volume, drowning out her words.

It also drowned out the creak of cheap leather as he leaped from his recliner, careened into the side table, and rushed toward her. If the neighbors heard anything through the thin walls, it was “He shoots; he scores!” and not “I told you never to talk back to me!”

~ ~ ~

An hour later, Caitlin arrived at the hospice, scurrying to Pearl’s cubicle, head down. She couldn’t have postponed her visit. The nurse had called, saying, “Come quick if you want to say goodbye.” Pasting on a shaky smile, Caitlin stripped off her winter coat before drawing the hard plastic chair close to Pearl’s bedside. “How are you tonight?” she asked, the words catching in her throat at the sight of Pearl’s gray complexion.

Pearl licked dry lips as she peered at Caitlin, rheumy old eyes oddly bright. The hospice pamphlet had warned that just before the end, patients sometimes experienced sharpened senses. The old lady lifted a wrinkled hand, softly touching the bruise on Caitlin’s face, then touched her own withered cheek.

“Homemade preserves,” she wheezed. Her voice was aged and querulous.

“What?” Caitlin gently grasped the dark-veined hand where it now lay on the bedcover. Pearl’s mind had remained sharp even as her body failed. But with the end in sight, perhaps her mind was wandering.

“Homemade preserves.” Pearl winked. “I used tomatoes on Larry's. Tony loves pasta, doesn’t he?”

Caitlin blinked in confusion. “What do you…?” Words failed her as she grasped Pearl’s meaning.

“You deserve a better life. A glorious life.” Pearl drew in a rattling breath, squeezed Caitlin’s hand. “Promise me you’ll live a glorious life,” she rasped before closing her eyes.

When Pearl’s eyes stayed closed and her breathing ceased, Caitlin cried, tears washing away the make-up from her blackened eye. “I will,” she promised. “I will.”

~ ~ ~

“You know,” Tony said around a mouth full of noodles. “When you took up this home canning shit, I thought it was stupid.” He shoveled another forkful of pasta. “But this tomato sauce is really good. I mean, not as good as my mom’s.” He grabbed his beer, great gulps washing down his dinner. “Not eating?” he asked.

Surprised he’d even noticed, Caitlin waved her fork. “I’m just waiting to make sure you like it.”

He bobbed his head, although she wasn’t sure if it was because he was enjoying his supper or that he felt she was finally treating him with the respect he kept telling her he deserved.

“If you’re not going to eat that…” He reached across the table and grabbed her plate, scraping the contents onto his own.

~ ~ ~

The next day brought a flurry of activity to her little house. “Why did you wait so long to call 9-1-1?” The cop asked, eyeing Caitlin suspiciously.

“I thought he was sick from drinking too much.” Caitlin looked at the floor, ashamed. “It’s not the first time.”

Sergeant Fairweather checked her notebook. “Yeah. We’ve been here twice before for domestic disturbances.”

Caitlin shook her head. “Just nosy neighbors misinterpreting a passion for hockey.”

“Your black eye says otherwise.” Sergeant Fairweather adjusted her graying ponytail. She surveyed the kitchen, taking in the empty jars and canning equipment gleaming on the counter. “Tomatoes, was it? Had an aunt who married a ‘hockey enthusiast’. She favored asparagus.” The cop snapped her notebook closed. “Have a nice life,” she said, following Tony’s body out the door.

~ ~ ~

Alone now, Caitlin sat heavily at the kitchen table. She had no tears left for Tony, although she’d once loved him. Now she picked up her phone and keyed in a number she’d found on the internet.

“Heritage Real Estate. How may we help you today?”

“I have two properties to sell. Can you put me through to an agent?” Caitlin scratched at a stubborn bit of tomato sauce that had dried on the tabletop.

“Transferring you now. Have a great day,” the receptionist said, clicking off.

“I will,” Caitlin told the hold music. “Not just a great day, but a great life. A glorious one, in fact. After all, I promised.”

End

Thank you for reading Homemade Justice: A Dark Domestic Short Story of Love, Loss, and Liberation.