She looks at her darkened silhouette in the mirror. A grin lights upon her lips and with childish glee she blows a kiss to the woman in the mirror, bidding farewell to the memories of this place. Dust stirs on all the cheap nick nacks she's acquired over the years as she passes her dresser. Picking up her light suitcase she thumps down the stairs, not bothering to try and hide the noise she makes. Perhaps this is the one last chance she's giving him. If only he were to wake up and say he needed her, perhaps then she would stay.

She pauses at the entrance to the shabby living room. Offering a snort at the dignitary passed out in his moth-ridden recliner, the remote in one hand and a beer bottle clutched in the other she steps to the muted TV and tapes a note to the snow ridden picture on the screen.

Without a second glance she exits to the awaiting world outside her door.

Later that night the shabby king awakes, squinting as some object obstructs his view of the TV. With a grunt he stands, discarding his empty drink upon the floor. He stumbles to the kitchen and grabs another brew to sate his thirst. With a frown he scratches his head idly wondering where the remote. It is only after he finds it in his hand and settles himself in his chair that he remembers the object that keeps him from his recreation.

With another grunt he marches over to the TV and swipes the note into his meaty paw about to crush the intruder. Only then does he pause to read the familiar writing.

Dear Husband of Mine,

As you drink tonight three toasts you must drink:

A toast for my health

A toast for my good fortune

And a Toast for my freedom!

Good Luck Dear Husband,

I shall not miss you

Keep up your slovenly piggish ways and have a merry time drinking yourself to death.

Cheers,

Your wife.