The Bucket List

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I slowly opened my eyes and looked at the clock on the night table. 8:02. A genuine smile spread across my face as I remembered where I was. It’s been ages since I’ve slept that well, and it felt good to wake up happy.

I sat up on the bed and slipped the plush hotel slippers on my feet and reached for the matching plush robe. I stretched and walked over to the coffee maker. While waiting for the coffee to brew, I looked over my list. How sad is it that a thirty two year old woman has a bucket list?

My bucket list is the result of living with my rat bastard husband for the last seven years. In fairness, he wasn’t a rat bastard at first. In the beginning he was charming and sweet and funny. Not even one year into our marriage he started to show his true colors. Things have been so bad for the last eighteen months that I truly believed he’d end up killing me. Hence the bucket list. When I was finished with my list, that’s when I decided that I would leave him, and take my life back. I would no longer be his punching bag. I would no longer be his anything.

I grabbed a pen from the hotel desk and crossed off number five—stay at The Plaza in New York City. One down, nineteen more to go.

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