I have always known my husband wanted me dead.
I had married him for love, but I knew he had wed me for money. Still, I had hoped he would grow to love me. A vain hope, it appeared. And the first day I came upon him trying to tamper with my car brakes, I knew I was in real danger.
I am rich. I was born from wealthy stock, and have managed to amass quite a fortune on my own. With no pre-nup to stand in his way, my husband had great motivation to end my life. But I’ve always been smart, and I was able to stay a few steps ahead of him, managing to avoid death by a couple of nefarious means. I must admit I grew to admire my husband’s diabolical ploys; homicidal tendencies apparently brought out his creative side.
What eventually saved me wasn’t my own cleverness, however. It was mere chance.
I had gone on a business trip and arrived back home in the dead of night. Weary, and a bit wary of watching out for traps on my way upstairs, I had lain on the living-room couch and fallen into a light sleep.
I woke up to guttural screams coming from our bedroom. Running upstairs nimbly, taking care not to step on the stair I knew he had partly loosened, I came upon a sight that amazed me.
My husband lay jerking on the floor, apparently in the throes of some kind of painful fit. I squatted beside him thoughtfully, and wondered which poison could have had such an effect. While I was wondering, he died. I admit I felt a bit sad I had become a widow. Then I noticed he had my fuzzy slippers on his feet. As I pondered over that, something venomous, hairy and eight-legged crawled out from between his toes. I stepped back a safe distance and threw a heavy bag over the tarantula. Then I began to laugh. My husband was lying beside my night stand. Apparently, he had slipped the deadly arachnid in my slipper, hoping I would put my feet in them when I came upstairs.
Unfortunately for my dear departed hubby, this morning, he had woken up on the wrong side of the bed…….