The light clicked on as he entered the room, a bright flare against the darkness. He blinked and stepped back, startled.

Marie sat at the table, a swath of papers on the wood table in front of her. She sat stiffly, her skin sallow in the warm light. A brightly patterned scarf covered her head, almost as bright as the fire in her eyes.

“What’re you doing in the dark?” Frank loosened his tie and tossed his messenger bag on the floor.

“That’s funny - that phrase ‘in the dark’.” She leans forward, her stick thin elbows on her knees. “Seems apt given the situation.”

“What situation, Marie?” Frank hung his tie on the rack. “Jeez, you’re acting weird. Did you eat to today?”

She stood and stalked towards him, closing the distance, single piece of paper fluttering in her fingers.

“I mean in the dark as stupid, duped, unaware.” Every word was sharp, like glass. “You’re the professor, you shouldn’t need a thesaurus. You know exactly no no what I mean.”

“I assure you I don’t. You should be resting. How long have you been out of bed?” He reached up to stroke her shoulders but she shrugged him off, slapping at his hands.

“Caring and concerned now? So interesting!”

She laughed, the sound low and harsh. “Where was the concern when I needed the procedure last year?”

Blood drained from his face, but he side stepped her, tidying the papers on the table. “You know Dr. Titus said something about side effects from the medicine. I can call Nurse Jackie if that helps.”

“The only person you need to call is a divorce attorney.” She threw the paper at him. It swooped up before landing gracefully at his feet. He stepped back as if it was a bomb.

“Marie . . .”

“Marie nothing,” she said drawing herself up to her full height. “I had a chance. One chance. You stole that from me.”

“You still have a chance . . . The last report was good . . .” He circled the table as she moved closer.

“Cut the shit Frank. Where did all this money come from?”

“I won the lottery.”

“When?”

He swallowed. “In February,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“How much? And don’t lie!” She glared at him.

“$250,000 after taxes.”

Marie crossed her arms, anger the only thing keeping her upright. “Just enough for one life saving procedure in March.” Pain twisted her face. “Guess you were leaning hard on the till death part. What about in sickness and health?”

He held his hands up. “The surgery was experimental. They there was only a 20% chance they could get it all. You could be paralyzed right now.”

“So I should be thankful to be a walking corpse? Instead of a wheeled one? I’m still your wife! You should have told me!”

He fumbled with the words. “You were in such a delicate state — I, umm, I”

“Spit it out Frank. You wanted to keep it all for yourself once I died.” She pointed to the paper on the floor. “There’s 103,000 in that account. Where’s the rest?”

“It’s gone.”

Marie snorted. “Just gone. You don’t think to tell your sick wife. I don’t even know who you are.”

“Don’t say that! I was wrong—“

“You were wrong. But that’s not my problem anymore,” she hissed. “Get that bag and get out.”

“But you need me.”

“Not anymore.”

“Marie . . .”

“You’ll hear from my representative tomorrow.”

“And Frank?”

He lifted his head, pausing by the door.

“I’m telling the kids.”

Like a balloon, he deflated further, sagging out of the doorway, shutting the door behind him.

She collapsed into the low settee by the window, dry heaves rippling through her, the shudder of a heart being rent into two. I would welcome death in this moment.

She heard as the engine turned over and watched the sweep of his headlights as they washed over the ceiling. She cried until she felt as dry as ash, broken and loose, floating in the ether.

One wondering broke through as she laid there, too weak to make it back into bed. Was there any way possible for him to feel the pain, the gutting, annihilating pain, she felt and how can she make that happen with the time she had left?