A letter arrived in the morning post. It was from his mother, telling me he had died.

I should have felt some sort of pain, sorrow, regret, something ...but I felt nothing. Not even relief, or a sense of freedom.

For years he had controlled me. He and the company lawyer had sewn my life up so tightly that there was no escape ...short of deserting my family, abandoning my children, and leaving with nothing ...having to start again from scratch.

I didn't mind the idea of starting over so much, but it riled me that he alone would benefit from all the hard work I had put in over the years. The children, I knew, would get nothing. That was his way. His life was all about himself. It was my Will that provided for the children, from my half of the business.

No. I couldn't walk away and leave them high and dry. I would not give him everything!

At some point our lives had become separated. He, spending much of his time with some young floozy that took his fancy, and me at home, holding it all together, trying to ignore the fact that, each month, there was less and less money going into the bank account, on which I relied.

My thoughts rambled as I, with letter in hand, stared out of the window, reluctant to read on.

At about this point, I realised that I had not wondered how he died. Didn't I want to know? Had I become so hardened that it didn't matter any more? It shocked me that I apparently didn't care. Who, or what, had I become!

Throwing the unread letter down on the sofa, I stepped into the garden. There was an ominous growl of thunder, which reflected my mood perfectly. As fat raindrops began to fall, I became angrier and angrier. How dare he die! How dare he escape from the living hell that his selfish, cheating ways had created!

Lightning scarred the now blackened sky, followed by a deafening roar. The rain hurled itself against the ground, accompanied by a sudden howling wind. I heard my name being faintly called and turned towards the house, an impulsive reaction. Realising there was no one home, I looked around. By now the storm was in full force. My hair and clothes were plastered to my skin and water seeped into my shoes.

I heard my name again. It seemed to come from the shrubbery. I moved closer and listened. There it was again. Pushing the foliage aside, I stepped through, snagging my jumper on the hawthorn. There he was, curled up naked in the mud ...the man I'd married.

I stared in disbelief. Had the letter been some kind of joke? He whimpered and gazed up at me with imploring eyes and whispered, "They won't let me in." I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all. "They won't let me in! He whispered again, "You have to forgive me." By now he was shivering violently, his skin turning an ugly shade of grey. I stepped back in horror and stumbled over the hawthorn's roots, landing back on the wet grass.

Scrambling over the wet turf, I peered back through the shrubbery. There was nothing there. The storm abruptly abated and the heavy clouds cleared. I crept back into the house, picked up the letter and locked it in the desk.

Sunlight sparkled on the key, as though in approval.