The Loss

THE LOSS

         Sheila knew a divorce would be long and painful. She was not strong, and Brad was a bully. He never actually hit her, but the threat of violence was always there.  She wanted out of the marriage, but she didn’t know how.

         Finally, after years of verbal abuse, she made a New Year’s Resolution. Or, Revolution, as she called it in her mind. Brad wouldn’t know what hit him. And no one would suspect dear, sweet Sheila of doing such a thing. 

         It was Christmas, and she knew where Brad was. The decorations on the tree twinkled and shone on her, as if in mockery of her pain. Presents lay beneath the tree, some of them for her. But the biggest surprise of all was going to be for him! She could hardly wait!   But first, there was something illegal she had to do.

         She swept on her coat, and pulled a scarf around her head. Her face was not easily visible, and that’s how she wanted it to be.  Her face was still pretty, even after ten years of living with an abusive husband.  Her figure was full, and she was a desirable woman. No false modesty was needed for that; many men had complimented her on her looks. In fact, some of them wondered why she stayed with such a cretin as Brad, but she had her reasons. There were no children, as neither of them wanted kids. 

         So it was that the couple lived what looked like beautiful lives in a beautiful home. They looked like the ideal couple, and only Sheila’s family and friends knew of their troubles and abuses. Their house (she refused to call it a home) was lovely, with a Victorian style veranda, and three stories of wondrous architecture. Painted a lovely shade of red, it was the marvel of the neighbourhood.  White trim set off the curtained windows, and worn but comfortable chairs were placed on the porch. 

         When they were dating, Brad and Sheila looked like the perfect couple. They were deeply in love, and married quickly. Too quickly, as it turned out. She should have got to know more about him, then she would have known. Possibly not, though; she was so deeply in love with him. The thought, even now, of living without him, hurt badly. At this point, though, she knew she could do it, and had to. 

         Her name was Candy. Brad found her one night the year before. She was gorgeous, and friendly, and good in bed. Brad’s mistress had many attributes, one of which was being able to convince him of just about anything. Thus, it was they had planned to run away, and spend the rest of their lives in South America! Life would be wonderful for both of them! And that milquetoast bitch of a wife of his would just be a bad memory! Of course, the fact that Brad was rich was the major factor in her plot; and, of course, eventually she would get rid of him! 

         Sheila left the house. The cold bit into her, but she was warmed by the knowledge of how much her success was going to mean! She met the man in the alley as he proposed, and made the purchase.  She returned home, then removed her coat and scarf, and made dinner. She laughed as she made lasagna, his favourite.  

         After dinner they sat around watching TV. Soon it was time for bed, but she stayed up a little longer. She plotted and plotted, working the whole thing out. No one would ever suspect her!

          As she lay awake in the dark, listening to Brad snore softly in the night. He would never suspect her. No one would. She told herself that over and over, making sure she would not let a hint of what she planned out. Of course, he thought he was also perfect in his secrets, especially where Candy was concerned. Sheila found out quite by accident, but it mattered not now. She would have her revenge, and it would be sweet. As sweet as candy was to him, and she chuckled. 

         Still, the pain was bad. She lay there, wishing it could be otherwise. The pattern on the ceiling, with white swirls, made her remember the first time they had lain together in this bed. They were so in love, so deeply in love. At least, she was. She began to suspect that he never really did love her, but only wanted her for, whatever. She really didn’t know. Not that it mattered at this time: it was far too late for recriminations. 

         The next morning was Christmas Day, and they ate breakfast together after opening their presents.   Then he sat her down, and told her the news. 

         “Sheila, darling, I know this is going to be hard for you to hear, but I’m leaving you. I won’t be coming back. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

         She wept genuine tears, but she knew it was coming, of course. She knew, but he had no idea what was in store for him. And she wanted to gloat, but didn’t dare. It might give her plan away.

         They fought, of course, and she played her part of a wounded wife well. She stormed upstairs, and locked the bedroom door.  She opened his already packed suitcase, and inserted her surprise into the lining she had opened earlier. She stuffed it full, and sealed it again. Sure, it had cost a fortune, but insurance was never cheap. He came up, insisted she opened the door, and she did so. Brad grabbed his luggage, said he was sorry, said goodbye, and was gone. 

         She waited, then made a phone call. 

         The next day came the return call. It was Brad. He was screaming.

         “WHAT DID YOU DO, YOU BITCH?!!!”

         “Why Brad, whatever is the matter?” she inquired innocently.

         “You put heroin in my suitcase, you BITCH! I’ll get fifty years in jail for this!”

         “My, that is awful!  I hope Candy isn’t implicated in this, too? That would be a real shame!”

         “You planned this whole thing, didn’t you? You BITCH!”

         “Why, dear husband, whatever can you mean? Maybe you should suspect your girlfriend; after all, she works for some drug dealers, doesn’t she? And she had access to said dealers, did she not? It doesn’t matter now, dear Brad. It’s over. Good luck in a Brazilian jail! Bye now!”

         She put the phone down, and made herself a well-deserved cup of tea. Yes, well-deserved. 

THE END