She stood right at the very edge of the floor, a cold wind rustling her hair, as a grim smile spread across her face. Her hand resting against the exposed steel girder and looked down, seeking confirmation that she’d killed her rival for her husband’s affection. Being this high up and exposed to the element, made her head spin and her stomach churn, but she had needed to seem, to be certain. Twenty storeys were all they’d built so far, so it had to be enough. She knew twenty storeys would be enough to destroy the fucking bitch.

Her hands were scraped up a little and her knees covered in dirt from when she’d pushed her prey off the edge.

Her hands were a little scraped up, a little blood dried up in the dirt they’d collected from the floor. The same dirt now on the knees of her jeans. A sign of the close call she’d just had.

She had thought that she’d be going over the edge with her prey. That the object of her hatred would gain revenge when her momentum very nearly sent her to following after the prey she’d pushed over the edge.

Her prey had been a lot heavier than she thought. She found that out when she rolled the inanimate thing into the trailer she’d borrowed. It became more apparent getting from the trailer, to the builders elevator and then across the open floor. It had taken the last of her reserves to push her husband’s first love over the edge. That last extra effort, providing the momentum that very nearly killed her.

The shattered body, she saw far below afforded her great pleasure. He’d have her husband back now. No more would she have to compete. He wouldn’t be staring at that body anymore or caressing it lovingly. She would be able to reclaim the time that had been stolen from her. Maybe now he’d have more money to lavish on her.

Pleased with herself, she backed away from the edge and rode the elevator once more. As she crossed the building site headed for her car, she took on last look in the direction of the shattered body. Smiling with the confidence she had done the right thing for her marriage.

On the way home, she dropped off the trailer, checking carefully for no stains on the bed or traces of any kind before leaving it. She had “borrowed” the trailer from a friend who was vacationing. With it back where it came from, she returned to the car and turned for home.

He would grieve a little she figured, she would allow that. She would even be supportive because she loved him. Figuring the bond they shared would strengthen for it. He’d love her more because she stood with him in this moment, helped him through it.

She tensed up when she turned onto their street. Parked in their driveway was a police car. She knew he’d call, just like she knew he’d grieve. She had even made calculation that finding and know was better than in the long run than, say dumping the body at the bottom of the lake.

Parking on the street, she checked herself over. Wishing she’d stopped somewhere to clean her hands and maybe a change of clothes given the dirt stains on her knees. Too late now. He wouldn’t notice anyway.

In the living room, she found two uniformed police officers sat on the sofa and her husband in his favourite chair opposite them. He was hunched forward, elbows on his knees and hands to his face. She saw one of the monogrammed handkerchiefs clutched in one hand. She smiled, he had liked that Christmas gift.

“Robert, what’s going on?” she asked.

Teary eyed, turned and looked at her. “Someone has stolen my baby.”

“Your baby?” She asked, trying for a mixture of confusion and concern.

“My Ducati Desmosedici,” he stated. Inwardly, she smiled at hearing her name, but tried to show she was shocked to the world.