At work today, I saw a book called The Husband Tree. From the look of the cover, it was probably a cheerful little western romance:
…but I couldn’t shake the idea that the book would end something like this:
Matilda held her wedding dress up to catch the light one more time. Another beautiful wedding, she thought, slipping the dress back into the closet. From further back in the closet, she retrieved her trusty length of rope. Her hands ran through the motions of their own accord now, looping around, forming the familiar form of the noose. With one last fond look at the wedding dress, she went off to find her dearly beloved and make another addition to the husband tree.