Finally, it’s over. Sex with my husband has been bad for a long time. He came inside me after two minutes, like always. And I had to fake my orgasm, like always, so that he wouldn’t be pissed off for a week.
When was my last orgasm with him? I cannot remember. It’s also not because he cannot last longer; our sex, when we met, was magnificent. He just doesn’t care anymore, like he stopped caring about many other things.
How did I arrive here? An unsuccessful, wannabe entrepreneur husband who, as the icing on the cake, is also a disaster in bed. The problem? I have been very successful as a manager at an international company, and he has been unsuccessful with his many attempts to build his own companies. If we get divorced, half of my assets will be his.
No way. I have been working my ass off for the last twenty years, and the major contribution this person has made to our marriage has been taking out the trash.
I grab my blanket, walk out to the living room, and hit the light switch off.
While thinking about the worst decision of my life, marrying this person, I fall asleep.
Since it’s Sunday, I want to prepare breakfast for us: fried eggs with mushrooms. It’s my husband’s favorite food; mine as well, just minus the mushrooms. I’ve always despised them.
Hans is already sitting at the table and reading. I enter the kitchen; the dishes are piling up. I’m used to it.
I feel the anger rising within me, though I should know better by now.
“How long have you been sitting here?” I ask Hans, my voice getting louder. “Can you not at least do the dishes when I work my ass off for us? Instead, you are reading books about business, for what? To start another failing business?”
“You know what?” Hans shouts. “I rarely see you; you are married to your job. You are just interested in money and earning more. For what? What is our luxury house worth if we don’t see each other? Also, I work my ass off as well; you just don’t care. For you, my salary is just pocket money, I know. I just don’t see a point in working 14 hours a day to afford luxury. It’s you who wants this luxury lifestyle, not me, and you just hate me because I’m not successful, at least not in your eyes. Maybe you hate me because I have something that you, secretly, also wished you had: time.”
I cannot believe it; every time, the same story. Hans works as a sales assistant. I know his potential; otherwise, I wouldn’t have married him. He could do so much more; instead, he is rambling about having time. I give up and start cleaning the dishes myself.
“Are you going skydiving today?” Hans asks, with a calmer voice now.
“Yes, I am planning to go. At least one thing left in my bit of leisure time.”
Finally, after having washed the dishes for 30 minutes, I start preparing our food.
After we have sat down at the table, I watch him shovel the eggs into his mouth.
“It makes me happy to see you enjoy your food, darling.”
“Thank you, darling,” Hans says.
I grab my parachute from the garage, get it into my car, and leave. I always look forward to my skydiving, but today is special.
As I start the engine, I glance back at the house. In a few hours, the mushrooms that he picked yesterday and that I swapped this morning with almost identical-looking toxic ones will destroy his liver. By the time I land my jump, he’ll think he just has a stomach bug — unaware that he’s already past the point of no return. And the best thing: it’s very unlikely that anyone will ever be able to prove that I swapped them. The toxic ones look almost identical to the harmless ones, so it’s easy to pick the wrong ones by chance.
When I arrive at the small airport, I greet the pilot, Jack. An attractive man, younger than me, with muscular arms and successful. He is married, but today I feel he gazes at my legs a bit too long. I will ask him to have a drink with me soon.
“All ready to go?” Jack asks, smiling at me.
“Yes, all ready. Let’s take off.”
Before entering the plane, I perform my usual checks. Chest strap tight, leg straps secure, and both deployment handles sitting firmly in their pockets. Everything looks perfectly in place, so I put my parachute on my back.
The small plane takes off; I love flying in these small planes, how they pitch and roll in the wind. Feels like pure life. After five minutes, we have reached our target height and destination.
I have jumped so many times that it doesn’t take me any willpower to jump.
I love the feeling of flowing through the air.
Today I enjoy it especially, because a new life awaits me. I can’t wait to date again and meet new men. It cannot get any worse than it is with my soon-to-be ex-husband, anyway.
It’s time. I reach down to my hip, grip the rubber pull handle of the parachute, and yank it.
Nothing happens.
My hand flies upward, but instead of feeling the jerk of the main canopy opening, I’m holding a useless, severed piece of rubber. The cord behind it has been cleanly cut.
Panic hits my chest. I reach frantically for the emergency backup handle, pull it as hard as I can, and that grip breaks completely free in my hand, too.
There is nothing left to pull.
I realize I underestimated my husband.
How could I be so stupid? Marrying the wrong man will cost me my life. A deep sadness overcomes me. What could my life have been? And maybe Hans was right after all about having time being more important than success and money? My company will replace me within a few weeks, and nothing will indicate that I was ever there. No trace of me.
I understand now that my husband hated me as much as I hated him. Hated my lifestyle and my focus on my job, and us never seeing each other during the week.
Maybe we will get along better on the other side. I will be there in one minute; my husband still has a few days.
I just close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of my freefall for the last time. At least the last minute of my life is mine.
