After eighteen cell phone messages alternating between threats and pleas for me to come home last night, each one drunker than the next, I knew I had him where I wanted him. You see, Owen was a deep sleeper to begin with, but after a couple of drinks he slept like the dead. I knew he’d turn to alcohol after I left and didn’t immediately return. It was his crutch when he couldn’t cope.

I didn’t get home until after three in the morning. Not wanting to be seen out in public, I had parked at the empty Monroeville Mall parking lot, just sitting and thinking and conjuring up a simple plan—so simple I didn’t think it would work. When I got home, it didn’t take long to stage the house without waking everyone, and before the blush of dawn I had finished my ultimate masterpiece. It looked perfect, from the broken glass of the back door, to the missing wallets, and even the stolen jewelry and other small valuables. The perfect staging for the perfect crime. And Owen’s precious Lexus that kept us car-rich but savings-poor was long gone, dropped off in the middle of the ghetto with the key in the ignition, where some lucky thug would be enjoying a free joyride this morning.

All that was left was to complete the mission. Maybe I was a coward for plotting it like this, for waiting until Owen was defenseless and asleep, but I knew my limitations and I knew his strengths. This was the only way.

The barking of the next-door neighbor’s dog prodded me with sudden urgency. Standing over him, I gently moved the covers just enough to reveal his neck. Hot tears burned my eyes, and I swallowed the knot in my throat. I’d miss him. I’d spent half of my life with him. I’d probably never find someone who could love me again, not with the way I looked . . . But that was Owen talking, wasn’t it? He was the one who told me I was too ugly to find love elsewhere. He was the one who constantly reminded me how much I needed him. He was the one who stole pieces of me until there was nothing left. Manipulating. Controlling. Gaslighting. Owen was getting what he deserved.

You think I’m ugly? I’ll show you ugly. The thought was bitter but satisfying.

One . . . two . . . three, I counted in my head.