The Unwanted Passenger

For my 50th birthday, my husband—ten years my junior—insisted I drive straight home for a 'huge surprise.' I did exactly as I was told. He arrived at the front door five minutes after me, looking oddly sweaty and handing me a bouquet of slightly crumpled roses. He cooked dinner, watching me with a loving, intense gaze all evening. The next morning, I died on the highway.