Cheap Divorce

A Cheap Divorce is a creepy crime story with a twist in the tale. It’s about a man who hates his wife and plans to murder her while they are on holiday together.

I loved my wife. You’ve got to believe me. At least, I did love her when we first got married. As time went on, we grew apart. Love slowly turned to hate and affection turned to resentment. Every little thing she did began to annoy me and I grew to detest every minute I was forced to spend with her.

“Til death us do part”. That’s what we promised when we read our wedding vows. Little did I know how ironic those wedding vows would turn out to be.

Hate is a terrible thing. When there’s hate in your heart, it festers and grows like a cancer. Before you know it, the hate has taken over your mind. It clouds your better judgement. It poisons your thoughts and makes you do things you never thought possible.

I hated my wife and this hatred preyed on my mind. It followed me around like a bad smell and tormented me day after day, until I was obsessed with it. Eventually, I got to the point of no return. The point where I was plotting to kill my wife.

I wanted to be rid of her and all I could think of were ways to murder her without getting caught. I came up with an ingenius plan, a plan so cunning, I was sure nothing could go wrong.

I told my wife I was taking her on holiday. I pretended that the purpose of the trip was so we could work on our marriage and try to repair what had been irreparably broken. The place I chose for our vacation was a remote hotel, high up in the mountains.

From the balcony of our hotel room, there was a wonderful, panoramic view of the snow capped mountains that surrounded us. There was also a hiking trail that led all around the mountain and skirted the cliffs.

At one point on the trail, there was a spot where the cliff edge was crumbling away. If someone wasn’t careful, they could lose their footing and plunge to their death. It was perfect.

One glance over the edge was enough to make you dizzy. There was a sheer drop of almost 1000 feet and at the bottom, there were nothing but jagged rocks that would tear your body to pieces.

The next morning, after breakfast, I invited my wife to go for a walk with me along the mountain trail. We left the hotel together and hiked up the path, neither of us saying a word.

When we reached the spot where the cliff was crumbling away, my wife suddenly stopped in her tracks. She looked over the edge and shuddered.

This was my chance to push her off. There was nobody around. We were completely alone. I took a few steps closer to her. My hands were shaking. Then, she turned to face me. There was an odd look in her eyes.

“Do you have even the tiniest bit of love left in your heart for me?” she asked.

There was no reason to lie anymore. “No,” I replied.

“I thought so,” she said. “I just wanted to give you one last chance.”

“One last chance?” I said. “What do you mean”

“Before we left the hotel, I wrote a note and gave it to the hotel manager,” she said. “I told him that if anything happened to me, he should give it to the police. In the note, I told them I know you are planning to kill me. I told them you’re planning to push me off a cliff. I know you hate me, but you have no idea how much I hate you. Try as you might, you’ll never be able to convince anyone that this was an accident…”

I was confused. “That what was an accident?” I asked dumbly.

Before I had a chance to react, she threw herself over the edge of the cliff. I coudn’t get to her in time. I could only watch in horror as she fell, shrieking and whirling, plummeting to her death on the jagged rocks below.

She hated me so much that she killed herself, just to frame me for a murder I didn’t commit.

I tried to tell the police that it was an accident, but they didn’t believe me. They arrested me and clapped me in handcuffs. During my trial, I testified, telling the jury exactly what happened, but they ignored my story. The note my wife had written was all the evidence they needed. They found me guilty of the murder in the first degree and the judge sentenced me to death.

That’s how I came to be sitting on Death Row. As I languish in this cell, waiting for my inevitable execution, I have a lot of time to think. I can’t stop myself thinking. I have a lot of regrets, but there’s one in particular that torments me. I can’t help thinking that getting a divorce would have been so much easier.