Walt was a handsome Norwegian cowboy. His wife, my Aunt Pat, was a squat Native American woman with hazel eyes.

He'd cheated on her for years, and was standing before a judge asking for a divorce so he could be with Mary. When the legalities and accounts settled, the judge looked up from the papers and told Walt that without his wife he owned a horse, and nothing else.

Pat had vanity plates made for her Cadillac that read "A Horse."

They stayed married until he got enough of the assets into his name to leave. He moved Mary into the house, and filed for divorce. Pat moved out, settled her affairs, and shot herself.

Three days later Pat's grandson went to look for her. There was a note on the trailerhouse door: "John, don't come in here. Call 911." She knew Walt didn't care enough to come look for her.

They were married for 38 years before death did them part. 

My sense of fairness likes to think that she haunts him, but he's too callous to care if she did, and I'd rather believe that she's free.