“How odd,” she thought, pulling into the driveway, “what’s Richard’s car doing here? He never eats lunch at home.”
She quietly closed her car door and went around the back of the house. The noises she heard through the open window left her in no doubt as to what—but not whom—Richard was doing there.
“Oh, dear God, not again.” Her stomach lurched and she remembered that acid would erode car paint.
Grimacing, she wiped her mouth. Her long-term problem she’d deal with another time.