‘Til death do us part. That was the vow.
I knew that meant, since I died, that you should be free of me. Somehow, I thought you would be happy to see me. That I dug out. Yet as I shambled up our driveway, grave dirt trailing off my heels, I felt unreasoning rage.
Rage at the unfamiliar car in the garage.
Rage at your silhouette through the window, wrapped around someone else.
Rage that my funeral had just happened this morning.
Once I had vowed love. Now, as I opened the front door with rotting hands, I vowed revenge.
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