I went home for car papers—and overheard my husband laughing on the phone: “I messed with her brakes.” Then he added, “See you at your sister’s funeral,” and I realized the “accident” he planned wasn’t meant for me alone.

I got into the driver’s seat. I checked the mirrors. I pumped the brakes. They were solid. Firm.

I pulled out onto the highway, leaving the courthouse in the rearview mirror. The sun was setting, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and violet.

The road ahead was clear. And for the first time in three years, I didn’t have to check the blind spots for him.

Part 6: The Unsent Email
That night, after dinner, after the laughter and the wine and the feeling of being undeniably alive, I sat on my bed in the guest room of my mother’s house.

I opened my laptop.

I logged into the old email account one last time.

There it was. The confirmation email.

Subject: Service Scheduled for S. Pierce.

I hovered over the delete button. Then I stopped.

I hit Reply.

To the Whispering Pines Funeral Home.

“To whom it may concern,

Please cancel the service scheduled for November 14th. The guest of honor has decided to live. Also, please forward the bill for the cancellation fee to the inmate currently residing in Cell Block D at the State Penitentiary. I believe he has plenty of time to work it off in the laundry.

Sincerely,
Claire Pierce.”

I hit Send.

Then I deleted the account.

I walked into the living room where my sister and mom were watching a movie. They looked up and smiled.

I sat down between them. I was alive. And that was the best revenge of all.

The End.