Her Cold Revenge, His Regret

The last thing I remembered was the cold night air and the unbearable pain as my body hit the pavement.

My husband, Mark, and his boss, Ms. Jenkins, had pushed me from the thirty-second-floor office window.

"She's just a trophy wife," Mark had sneered.

Ms. Jenkins had laughed, her arm wrapped around his waist.

I had walked in on them, entwined on his office desk, the contract he so desperately needed forgotten on the floor.

My heart shattered, my screams turned to accusations, and they, to protect their careers and their despicable affair, silenced me forever.