My husband died in the bushes along the park strip. The police's initial assessment was that he froze to death while drunk. They asked me to identify the body. I recognized his face instantly. I turned and shook the officer's hand. "Sorry to trouble you all!" The officer said they needed to confirm the exact cause of death further. I assured them I would cooperate fully. Leaving the police station, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. I tightened the scarf around my neck and gave a silent nod toward the frozen corpse inside the station. "Rick Hanson… Rick Hanson, you finally did something good!" 1 Middle-aged, a well-behaved daughter, financially independent, and now, the eyesore of a husband finally gone. A happy life was beckoning. Feeling cheerful, I quickly called my brother-in-law to let them know. No more excuses to keep my in-laws living with me. In a few days, I'd send them packing over to his place. Armed with Rick's ID, I went to the bank and checked all the accounts solely in his name. Just as I expected: wiped clean. Practically penniless, from my perspective. Looking at the bank statements, seeing the regular transfers to that one specific account, I managed a small smile. He always claimed he and his mistress were soulmates. I suppose I agreed. Why else would he constantly try to drain me dry to support her? Gathering all the paperwork, I hummed a tune on my way home. Just as I reached my front door, I saw Rick's precious little darling, Monica Vance. Even in the dead of winter, she was rocking a tight dress and thigh-high boots. Honestly, Monica was quite attractive; if I were a man, I'd probably fall for her too. Such a waste for her to be the other woman, though. Monica saw me, her face a mask of disdain. "Hey, where's Rick?" "What do you want him for?" She probably thought I was still the same jealous, easily angered Sarah Miller. Smugly, she announced, "Rick promised me ten thousand dollars to open my shop. I'm here to collect!" I almost couldn't contain my smile. Clearing my throat, I said, "Well, sorry, but I'm afraid you won't be getting that money." "You think he listens to you? Don't overestimate yourself!" Monica retorted, still full of arrogance. "Oh, he certainly doesn't listen to me anymore. But he won't be hearing you either." "Because Rick… he's dead." "I just got back from identifying his body at the police station." 2 Monica barely reacted to the news of Rick's death. I thought she'd at least put on a show, maybe squeeze out a tear or two. Instead, after a brief moment of surprise, she snapped, "I don't care if he's dead or not! He promised me ten grand, and he even wrote me an IOU. I want the money!" I inwardly scoffed at Rick. This was the woman you called your true love? She doesn't even care that you're dead; she just wants your cash. She thrust the IOU in my face. I took it, examined it carefully, then casually handed it back. "This thing barely says anything specific. You expect this to hold up? Isn't this just some lovey-dovey 'promise' you coaxed out of him when things were hot and heavy?" I couldn't be bothered with her. Monica got desperate. "I've already talked to the landlord for the shop space, even paid the deposit! Now that he's dead, I'm going to lose a ton of money! You have to give me this money, or I'll call the cops!" I laughed out loud. Talk about Rick dying at the perfect time! "Go ahead, call the cops. But let me remind you: as far as I know, you don't have a job, so there's no way you had money to lend Rick in the first place. This IOU is basically fake. You think the police will take you seriously?" "Besides," I continued, "I have records of all the money he transferred to you over the past few years, photos of you two checking into hotels, receipts for things he bought you… it's all right here. Every cent he spent on you was clearly marital property, and I have the right to demand it back!" I slapped a stack of papers and photos onto the table, looking at her like she was an idiot. Her expression shifted several times – anger, resentment – before she finally stomped her foot and stormed out. She didn't even close the door behind her. So rude. I disinfected the spot where she'd stood, mopping it twice. Monica wasn't Rick's only affair. Just thinking about it made me feel dirty. Just as I was about to close the door, a large man squeezed his way in, a fake smile plastered on his face. "Hey, Sarah. Heard Rick ain't around anymore?" 3 I recognized him immediately: "Fat Tony" Morelli, the owner of the bar where Rick ran up his gambling debts. No doubt about it, he was here to collect. Look at his professional dedication – always keeping tabs on his debtors. I'd barely finished identifying the body, and he'd already gotten the news and shown up at my door. I silently applauded his business acumen. I didn't even bother pretending to be grieving. "Yeah, he's gone. What can I do for you?" "Heh heh, well, Rick owed me a little something. Thought maybe you'd wanna settle up, you know? Save me the trouble of comin' around too often." That forced smile was sickening. And he was threatening me. "Tony, when Rick was alive, his debts were between you and him. Now that he's dead, they still have nothing to do with me. I told you this before." About a month ago, after paying off Rick's gambling debts for the last time, I went to Fat Tony's place and told him point-blank: any money Rick borrowed from then on was his problem. If they lent him more money to gamble, I wouldn't be responsible for paying it back. At the time, they – including Rick – all thought I was just blowing hot air. Nobody paid any attention. Now he's dead, and they expect me to pay? Not a chance. "You two were married! He dies, you pay his debts! Can't afford it? Sell the house! Otherwise, I'll have guys over here makin' noise every single day!" The moment I refused, Fat Tony's face hardened, his expression turning menacing. "The money he owed was for gambling. I didn't know about it, it wasn't spent on our family, and it doesn't qualify as marital debt. I'm not paying it. As for the house, it's in my name, bought before the marriage. If you try to force me to sell it, I'll call the police." With that, I pushed him towards the door. All these years, Rick took money to gamble, lost it, and then forced me to pay it back. Fat Tony and his cronies took my hard-earned money, yet they looked down on me for being a pushover. Fat Tony wouldn't give up, bracing himself against the doorframe, cursing loudly in the hallway. "What's going on here?" Two police officers appeared outside the door. Running an illegal gambling operation is, well, illegal. Under the officers' stern gaze, Fat Tony mumbled something unintelligible and quickly scurried away. I invited the officers in, but one said, "No need for formalities, Ma'am. We need you to come back to the station with us." "Rick Hanson's parents have filed a report, accusing you of murdering him."
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