“Cold? It’s strategic,” David replied. “Her dad’s worth nine figures. And her sister is single and a lot more fun. Sophia’s sweet, but boring.”

Something inside me, something that had been bending for two years, finally broke. A memory surfaced: David casually suggesting we go skydiving, mountain climbing, scuba diving—all activities that could end tragically. I thought he was being adventurous. Now I understood.

I set the bourbon down silently by the door, removing the gift tag with my name. My wedding ring caught the porch light, its diamond suddenly seeming gaudy and false. I backed away, my designer suitcase forgotten. Through the window, I saw them: David and his friends, cards and cash on the table, my husband smiling while discussing my death.

My wedding ring felt like it was burning my skin. I twisted it off as I walked back to my rental car, my mind racing. I considered confronting him, but self-preservation won. If he was willing to contemplate my death for money, what else might he do when cornered?