(prompt: 'stand' 7/12/2019)

As in all other aspects of death and dying, the Coroner's Report for the official Death Certificate coldly stated:

'The frozen body of the deceased revealed itself several weeks after his actual fall from the fifth floor window of Fathomlee Lodge, following melting of the heaviest snowfalls of the season. The body, entombed in a solid block of ice, allowed forensic tests to unequivocally establish the initial cause of death to have been a health issue causing loss of control and balance, resulting in the deceased pitching over the balcony to meet his death, impaled on a spike of the garden railing below. A verdict of Death by Misadventure is thus legally declared.'

Though her lips quivered, it was not (as most thought) in sorrow for the tragic loss and horror of her husband's final demise. It was not even a reaction to the irony of the verdict confirming her evidence he'd complained for several days beforehand about vague earaches and the odd moments of vertigo. Nobody viewing the grieving widow would have dreamed it was not actually grief at all. It was joy, threatening to bubble over. Her revenge was sweet on the bozo who'd called her the most expensive 'Miss Adventure' of his life.

Who'd have thought the final verdict would be the actual words of the insult he'd flung at her? Who'd have thought one day she'd have EVERYTHING! For years, Doris promised herself she'd take a stand... make him pay for all the self-belief and self-esteem he'd robbed from her. One day, she vowed, and clung to the forlorn hope he would change; the man she'd married would return and set her world to rights. But he never did. And her determination to solve the dilemma of losing him but not his money, grew. And grew. Until Fate stepped in.

Now she tucked her chin tightly into her neck to stop the rising chuckle, as she thanked God for the 'macho man' bravado that had made the despot climb atop the balcony rail to spread his arms and declare himself King of the World. As she pretended to kiss his feet, it had taken only the tiniest of pushes to send him to meet his Maker.

At this most triumphant moment, Doris took the opportunity to send a profuse 'thank you' to to her dearly departed (needing to clear her throat several times at that thought, though onlookers shook heads sadly at her overwhelming grief). Bizarrely, she felt deep gratitude to he who had amassed the fortune that would now buy everything HER heart desired. Not HIS. Not ever again. She knew where her first stop would be, following an acceptable period of mourning. The French Riviera? Yes! Especially after a lengthy stop at the most expensive chapeau salon in Paris. Doris knew the new hat would be big and red and worn in fine style as she supped her cappuccino and awaited... whatever.

And another 'thank you' went to God; this one for the heavy black veiling swathing her coal black hat; hiding her glee that she had finally taken a stand, though she'd never imagined it would be in the Coroner's Court.