When the Wind Stopped, We Were All Still Here

It wasn't until the third day after my death that I understood how catastrophically wrong I'd been. The husband I'd called a good-for-nothing for seven years killed every last person who had harmed me. And then, covered in blood, he walked to the cliff where I had fallen. He didn't hesitate. He threw himself off the edge. And the six-year-old daughter I'd beaten into silence. She climbed the cliff face until her knees were worn down to the bone. All to pick up the jade bracelet I had dropped.