This article is part of a series I’m writing called the “Stories Behind Songs” series. Basically, I write a story behind the lyrics of a song!
This story is based on a song called, “No Body No Crime” by Taylor Swift.
Before I tell you this, please keep in mind that the reason I am confessing to this murder is because it was decades ago. Anyone who was involved in solving this case is long gone, so I decided I would tell the story.
This is the story of how I killed my best friend's husband.
To preface this, I need to give you some insight on this man. If you could accuse anybody of being downright evil, it would be him. It all started on a cold Tuesday night, when Este told me what was wrong. Once I found out that her husband was cheating on her, I was absolutely mortified.
Este’s husband would deceive you, and then act as though you did something to him. And the saddest thing was, my Este thought she did. It would start out passive, with small moments of questioning herself. But eventually, my best friend lost her own rationale completely.
“I think he did it,” Este told me, “but I just can't prove it.”
A couple weeks went by, and Este stopped showing up for Tuesday night dinners. I heard from my other friends that she quit her job at Olive Garden.
Long story short, I found out that she was dead. I’ll spare you the gruesome details. As you can imagine I was absolutely devastated, but there was another emotion that came to light. Anger.
I was furious that I knew something was wrong and did nothing about it. I was angry that all the details about Este’s death had been twisted. Nobody in the town knew that I was capable of doing what happened next. I was going to kill him.
How, you may ask? Well, once I decided that I was going to do it, it didn’t take much time to form a plan.
Here’s what I knew
My boating license I got when I was 15 was still valid.
I had cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up any mess.
Este’s sister was incredibly loyal, meaning I didn’t have to worry about finding an alibi.
The actual murder happened on a Tuesday evening, which is pretty ironic if you ask me. I’ll spare you the gruesome details, mostly because I want to forget that night. After this confession, I don’t want to be asked about my best friend Este ever again. It simply hurts too much.
But let’s just say, I wasn’t letting up until the day he died.