I can’t believe I had fallen for it. Of course his new girlfriend was out of town. Of course our children, forever split by our own two differences, were now asleep in the guest bedrooms, probably drugged by him like I am now.

“Would you want to have a drink together? Just for old times sake?” Jonathan had asked me from the beckoning warmth of the front doorway. He could tell I was dawdling on the rainy porch, umbrella meekly held in my left hand, not wanting to let the kids go for the weekend.

“Of course,” I said, slyly inviting myself in.

I now lay limp, unable to speak, unable to move, unbuckled on the floor in the back of his Raptor. He tells me not to worry, it’ll be over soon. I can tell we’re on Route 195 but the slight curves that he always took to fast, and still does. Some things never change.

My involuntary drool adds to the caked mud on the rubber floor mats peppered with McDonald’s bags and convenience store soda cups. It doesn’t make a very comfortable bed. Nor a flattering picture of my ex husband.

I end up dumped in a low, muddy place deep in the forest. He doesn’t get violent. He just tells me the kids will be okay then presses his 9mm into my chest. I got it for him for our 10th anniversary. I was always hesitant to buy it for him.

I’m already numb so the shot doesn’t hurt that bad; only the realization that this dumbfuck of a man who never knew left from right is the reaper of my souls, and now the wrong side of my chest will be left to bleed out for God knows how long. But I finally come to peace with leaving him as I leave the world.

I anticipate the coming and going of consciousness in what will become my last hours, but right before he walks away, I think I hear him say, “In a way, this is a happy ending for the both of us.”