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 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.

A sharp pain stabbed through me. I gritted my teeth and turned away. Jason, worried about his precious Anya, would have to come see me tonight.

He stormed in during afternoon tea, furious. He flung my freshly brewed Earl Grey across the room; the scalding liquid splashed my leg, leaving a red mark.

"You've gotten bold, harassing Anya at the office."

I calmly dabbed the tea from my leg with a napkin. "It's not the first time. What's the big deal?"

His anger burned me. He knew exactly where to strike. "Anya is sweet and understanding. You'll never be. It’s no wonder everyone’s abandoned you.”

“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, "...