L
Graveyard Talk
My seventh anniversary with Jason was spent
staring at a drawer full of his photos with
another woman. I stood in a cemetery,
negotiating my divorce terms over the phone
– money in exchange for my signature. He
remained cold, insisting on the divorce first.
On the day we finalized it, he called me
difficult and unworthy of love. I retorted that
he should stay far away from me in life and
death, lest he taint my reincarnation. But
none of it mattered anymore. I wasn’t going
to live much longer…
- 1.
After selecting a suitable plot, I paid and
immediately called Jason. “When’s the money
coming through? I need it urgently.”
<
“When the divorce is final,” he replied. Seven
years of marriage, and we’d been talking
about divorce for almost three.
“The money comes through,” I took a deep
breath, feigning composure, “then I sign the
papers.”
“Hah,” he scoffed, his usual sarcastic tone.
Nothing new. I pulled this stunt every holiday
season, just to have him around. Pathetic,
really.
I waited three hours at the cemetery office,
but my account remained empty. I ended up
using my medical funds. The next day, I had
another bleeding episode that lasted half the
day. I knew if I didn’t get more money soon, my time would be up even sooner. Getting
Jason to show up wasn’t hard; I just had to
く
hit where it hurt.
“Ding! Thirty–sixth floor,” I announced,
stepping out of the elevator and bumping into
a woman in a tight skirt.
“Mrs. Walker,” she sneered, barely
acknowledging my presence.
I never had any patience for Jason’s
mistresses. “Two choices,” I said coldly.
“Either Jason comes to see me, or you’re
fired tomorrow. Don’t think I’m joking. I still
have that much power in the company.”
Her face paled. “Just you wait! Jason won’t
let you get away with this!”
Jason? That familiar endearment. It was what
I used to call him. How sickening.
<
“Keep it up and you’ll die alone with no one
to bury you!”
Slap! His hand stung my cheek.
He wasn’t wrong. I was dying. Maybe no one
would bury me. But I had a plot; I’d pay
someone to put me in the ground.
“Don’t worry,” I said with a chilling smile. “If I
die, I’ll come back to haunt you. You’ll never
have another peaceful day.”
After years of fighting, it felt pointless.
Probably because I was dying.
I tossed the printed divorce agreement at him.
“Stop pretending. Sign it. Let’s go to City
Hall.”
<
“And if I do die,” I added, “don’t show up
at
my funeral. I don’t want you polluting my path
to the afterlife.”
Jason, slapped and enraged, finally showed a
flicker of surprise at the sight of the divorce
papers.
“What’s your game?” he asked, tossing them
on the table, suspecting a trick.
I rolled my eyes. “Can’t you read? I’m signing
over all my shares. I’m walking away with
nothing.”
Perhaps my easy compliance made him even
more suspicious. The shares were a pre-
marital gift, his version of a dowry, since I
had no family. Everything else was considered
his contribution. Now, facing death and
<
divorce, it all felt like chains. After all this
suffering, I wanted to die free.
He signed without hesitation. “I’ll transfer the
money later. Then we’re done. For good. I
hope you can stick to that.”
I remembered. That money. It was for the
plot, now repurposed for my treatment.
“Fine. For good.” I feigned relief, pretending
to be eager to separate.
I signed and capped my pen. “See you
tomorrow at City Hall. Don’t make me wait.”
My unusual calmness unnerved him. He
scrutinized me. “That should be my line.”
As he walked out, I slammed the door,
<
wishing it would flatten him. “Jason, you
idiot,” I muttered.
