by Bathma M
Melisa flung the ring into the air, and followed it with her eyes as it spun and twirled; and then unable to resist the force of gravity dropped into the greenish-blue water down below. Splash! Drowned. Just like her marriage.
The marriage would have sunk long ago—when the laughters turned into cries, and the whispers turned into screams—but her refusal to let go kept it afloat. Sadly, even that came to an abrupt end.
She wasn’t surprised when he insisted on preparing dinner. She wasn’t doubtful when the ravioli tasted odd. She wasn’t suspicious when his plate remained untouched. But she was grateful her father arrived in the nick of time to rush her to the hospital.
“Never thought meek Michael is capable of something so murky,” her father was skeptical as usual. She nodded grimly as she watched him steer the motorboat back to the shore. “Could have given him another chance though,” he muttered.
“I want him to have a taste of his own ravioli, dad,” she whispered as she glanced over her shoulder to bid adieu to the ring, and to Michael.
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