Micro horror story

Joanna washed the pot and put it to drain.  Two hours until he’s home, she mused.  She stepped outside, her fingers grasping at the cigarettes in her pocket.  Mike would have said nothing and everything with his reproachful glances.  She sighed at the thought and idly gazed into the twilight and the quiet; their home was two miles from the main roads.  
  
At the sound of tires on the gravel she jerked her head up.  A cruel emptiness twisted in her chest and she steadied herself against the bare oak as the police officer approached her.  It was Mike’s rookie partner, back early, and without him.  
 
“Mrs Goulman?”  
 
He looked at her pale face, mute and staring.  He led her gently to the car, and helped her into the back seat.  Numbly, she waited to hear the words.  
 
The last sounds she heard were his grunts and her own sobs.