Chapter 3

This time, I was ready.

As Mark tensed to push, I sidestepped.

A quick, small movement.

His momentum carried him forward, his eyes wide with shock as he pitched over the railing.

He screamed, a raw, terrified sound that was music to my ears.

He didn't fall all the way.

He landed on a narrow ledge, a few feet below, out of sight from the path but visible if you leaned over.

I heard a sickening thud, then a groan.

"Mark!" I screamed, my voice a perfect imitation of a horrified wife.

Brenda and Jessica rushed to the railing.

"Oh my God! Mark!" Brenda shrieked, clutching her chest.

Jessica just stared, her face pale.

"Call 911!" I yelled, fumbling for my phone, my hands "shaking."

I leaned over the railing, feigning panic. "Mark! Can you hear me?"

He was alive, moaning, trying to push himself up.

My heavy metal thermos was in my hand. I'd carried it specifically.

As I "stumbled" in my distress, "accidentally," the thermos slipped from my grasp.

It arced through the air, landing directly on his head with a dull crack.

Mark went silent.

Brenda wailed. Jessica looked like she was going to be sick.

"Help is on the way," I sobbed, pulling back from the railing. "He'll be okay. He has to be."

Inside, I was cold, calm.

One down, or at least, severely incapacitated.

The wait for the rescue team felt like an eternity for them, a satisfying pause for me.

Brenda kept muttering, "My boy, my poor boy."

Jessica just kept saying, "He fell? How could he just fall?"

I let them stew in their shock and fear.

When the paramedics finally arrived and rappelled down, they confirmed Mark was alive, but critical.

His fall, worsened by a "secondary impact."

No one questioned my dropped thermos. I was the distraught wife.

They loaded him onto a stretcher, a long, careful process.

I watched, my face a mask of concern.

The first part of my plan was complete.