The Divorce Paper He Signed Was His Death Warrant

My husband’s canary mistress burst into tears again.

All because at the shooting range I hit the target ninety– nine times, while she missed every one.

This time, as punishment, my husband made me–pregnant as I was- stand opposite her as a living target, while beside me sat the urn containing my mother’s ashes.

“You’re a trained sniper,” he said with a faint smile, “why take it so seriously against a little girl and upset her?”

Then he gave Tiffany Rose a choice: “Two options. Or we play a game of chance– let’s see if you hit Emily or the urn.”

When Tiffany raised her gun toward my mother’s ashes, panic tore through me. Instinctively, I hurled myself forward to block the shot.

The gunshot rang out. Blood splattered from my belly- my child was gone before taking a single breath.

I clung to life through surgery at St. Mary’s Medical Center. When I finally staggered out, Jonathan didn’t ask how I was. He didn’t even look at me only sighed that Tiffany was still upset.

I pulled out a freshly printed divorce agreement from my bag and handed it over. “Here. Use this to cheer her up.”

Without reading, Jonathan signed his name.

“That’s unusually generous of you. Are you sure this fake agreement will fool her?”

I smiled faintly, gentle and accommodating.

It wasn’t fake. It was the real thing. And of course, it would fool her.

“Miss Carter,” the doctor told me afterward, “the bullet pierced your uterus. I’m afraid you won’t be able to have children again.”

Even though I had expected it, the words struck like a hammer against my chest.

In that moment of crisis, I had to choose between my unborn child and my mother’s urn. Out of instinct, when Tiffany pulled the trigger, I hadn’t even hesitated.

I touched my hollow stomach. Perhaps Jonathan never intended to keep the child anyway.