I Left My Husband When He Hated Me Most
I died in the year my husband hated me most.
Unable to endure his endless silent treatment any longer, I swallowed a bottle of pills and ended my life.
At the crematorium, watching the flames roar inside the furnace, he allowed himself a rare smile.
“Someone as vile as her doesn’t deserve to be laid to rest whole.”
So when the staff handed him the urn, he flipped it over.
My ashes scattered across the floor in an instant.
All this time, he had believed I was responsible for the death of his first love.
That belief was why he had schemed and plotted for years, all for this precise moment of final desecration.
When it was over, he stepped over my ashes and walked away without looking back.
Though not long after that, he fell to his knees and begged the crematorium to give my ashes back to him.