If only she had the money, she could have him killed. When Marcy met John all those years ago, she couldn’t fathom wanting to kill the man. The man who made her feel those bubbles in her stomach for the first time since grade school, the man who bought her flowers every Friday and delivered them by hand to her front desk job at the library, the man who wrote her poetry spelling out her name on their anniversary. But that all slowly stopped. Each year, something new stopped, and nothing fresh replaced it. The relationship was stagnant, uninspired. Thankfully, she thought, they weren’t married, or else this would be a lot harder. And it had the potential to be a lot sloppier, too.

When she heard his boots on the driveway at 5:15pm sharply each evening, her heart dropped to her feet. She grimaced without thinking about it. She heard the front door open, his whistling, his shout of, “Hi, honey!” And it would grate against her. She wouldn’t even shout back most days, would pretend that she didn’t hear him. He would come around the kitchen corner and go in for a hug. She would placate him. They would eat dinner, and he would talk. She would feign interest. They would go to bed. She would feign being so tired. It all became so repetitive. Something she never wanted. Something that needed to be shaken up by his death.

“Free for a coffee?” Her aunt texted her. She hadn’t seen her in a few weeks.

“Sure. 3pm, Alley House?”

“See you then!”

She dressed in a way that made her feel special, which was rare nowadays. She hoped that the coffee date would go over 2 hours so that she wouldn’t have to hear her him come home.

Her aunt waved her down from inside the shop and they hugged.

“This has to be quick,” Aunt Peggy said, sitting back down at the table. “I have an appointment.” She ran her knuckles across an envelope. “Uncle Mark died a few weeks back. No, no condolences, please. I am at terms with it. I’m here because his insurance paid out more than we expected. You know we think of you, he thought of you, as our daughter, the one we never had.”

Marcy nodded, speechless.

“So I want you to have this. He would have wanted you to have this, too. It’s a considerable sum. A down payment on a house? Pay off your car? Do what you need. We hope it helps.”

Aunt Peggy stood, they hugged, Marcy thanked her and sat back down at the table, alone. She smiled.

She accepted the gift, feeling a swirl and mix of feelings inside of her.