The Fake-Out

I had a ticking time bomb inside me – a terminal diagnosis. To spare my husband, Mark, the heartbreak when the inevitable came, I started staging these elaborate "death" scenes around the house. Figure it was a way to desensitize him, you know? What I didn't figure was how one of these morbid performances would freak out some socialite he was driving home.

The look on his face when he snapped, "Can't you just die already instead of this crap," still stings. Little does he know, I'm getting there... fast.

1.

The sound of Mark’s SUV pulling into the driveway made me glance at myself in the mirror. My face, even with the heavy makeup, looked like death warmed over. The blood stain on my pajamas from my last coughing fit just added to the drama.

I got up, wanting to greet him, but a wave of dizziness hit, and I stumbled, falling hard onto the marble floor.

The front door burst open, flooding the entryway with harsh light.

"Eeeek!"

A shriek pierced the silence.

After a moment, I opened my eyes to see a woman clinging to Mark, practically hiding behind his chest.

“Oh my god, Mark, I was so scared!”

It was Tiffany, the heiress from some company he was doing business with.

Mark stiffened, not exactly pushing her away. He looked down at me, annoyance etched on his face. "Sarah, are you still pulling this crap? How many fake blood packs did you go through this time?"

Tiffany, still attached to Mark, finally let go as she saw me open my eyes. "Oh my gosh, Sarah, you gave me such a fright. You're such a drama queen."

"I'm fine," I said, "but Mark got a little tipsy tonight. You almost scared the life out of him." I looked at their cozy stance, my heart sinking.

Mark didn't bother to hide his impatience. "Are you gonna lay there all day, or what?"

"My legs," I muttered, "they're like jelly."

He didn’t believe me and yanked me roughly to my feet. It was the first time he’d ever gotten that angry at me, especially because of another woman.

"Sarah, you're driving me nuts!"

“I’m swamped at work, okay? You think I have time for this? I’m not asking you to be a saint, but can you stop making everything about you?!”

Tiffany held out a water glass for Mark. “Mark, honey, she’s been a stay-at-home mom for so long, she probably doesn’t know how hard it is out there.”

Mark grabbed the glass, then smashed it on the floor. Shards of glass sprayed, one nicking my wrist. Blood welled up.

“She wouldn’t know anything about it!”

Mark’s gaze locked with mine, filled with disgust. "Every single day it's the same thing! You know what? If you’re so good at pretending, why don’t you just actually die for once?"

2.

He was wrong. I knew a lot.

I knew how hard he worked to keep his business running, which is why I always made him healthy meals. I knew he was always burning the midnight oil, so I'd wait up for him every night. I knew he could hold his liquor, so why did he get drunk tonight? And why did he need Tiffany to drive him home?

Was this what it took ...