I don’t believe in divorce

Sharon’s hands strangled the wheel, her knuckles white, as the car rumbled over the Tamar bridge. It had been another night of being humiliated. He told everyone. Barren.

She glanced at her husband, who, absorbed in his phone, didn’t notice and continued to swipe a solitary finger left and right.

The knot in her stomach twisted tighter. He was picking her replacement. He had been testing them out for months.

She gazed out at the dark abyss. ‘Till death do us part,’ she murmured, yanking the wheel left.

The tyres screeched, and confronted with the barrier, so did her husband.