Paper cuts

Paper cuts.

Turning the absolute over in her hands she looked at the back of the sheet of paper as though something more interesting may be written there.

She threw the paper on the coffee table and glared at it bitterly.

“You had the last laugh didn’t you, you ironic bastard,” she said aloud.

Today should have been a day of celebration. She’d done well and was currently sitting in opulent luxury in Knightsbridge rented accommodation until the sale of the five bedroom house that he’d bought for her was complete. She drove a new sports car. Her settlement had been more than she’d hoped for, she wouldn’t need to worry about being ‘comfortable’ until she found another rich man to woo and marry, but God she hated anybody getting one up on her.

The irony was that she should have hung on just a little longer. She’d wanted this divorce so badly. For fifteen years she’d put up with a man who disgusted her, doing her own thing and biding her time until she could be assured of a good ‘pay day’.

She picked up the second sheet of paper … the letter. If only she’d hung on she could have had the lot. Her decree absolute had been awarded five days ago declaring her a free woman with no further claim on her ex-husband.

The bastard had died the following day.