Freedom's Price

She knew she was in trouble the day her husband died.  She hadn't planned on that unexpected twist. If anyone knew her life, REALLY knew her life...on first observation they would see his death as a welcome event.  A relief of sorts.  And to be quite honest, she had dreamed of his demise for some time. 

In her dreams, someone usually killed him...either herself, a hitman, or one of his many enemies.  A car wreck was always a possibility as well since the poor man was a horrible driver.  Falling off a ladder had never been an ending she had envisioned for him, because, well...he rarely did any work requiring a ladder.  Manual labor had never been Harry's thing...so when she found him lying on the ground in a pool of blood with a 12 foot ladder on top of him, she was shocked.  And when she checked for a pulse, a twinge of sadness ran through her like static electricity...there one moment and gone the next.

She pulled her cell phone out of her cleavage and dialed 9-1-1, trying hard to work up a tear.

***

A week later, the details and rituals were over and dear Harry was blessing either the Lord or Satan with his company.  And she was perusing her phone book wondering who to call first to share her good news.  She was free.  How many sleepless nights she had dreamed of this moment...

But freedom comes with a price, and she would soon realize how steep of a price that would be...