Life took a turn for the better the day the parachute failed to open.

Not your parachute of course, Brads. Your asshole of an ex-husband hadn’t updated his will.

[Flash back: “Paperwork Susie? I’m too busy for that shit, I expect you to take care of that”. So you ticked some boxes on his life insurance and mailed it in.]

You were still listed as his next of kin, a little shocking as it has been 32 years (and 4 months, who’s counting?), but perhaps building relationships with people, to have your back when you need them, was admin to Brad too.

You did the right thing – funeral, sorted his crap out, closed his social media accounts, put his flat on the market – then you heard from the insurance people.

After establishing that you had no idea he was planning a skydive that day, and further that you hadn’t had contact for approximately 32 years (and 4 months!), things started to look up.

You figure it equates to about $50 for every insult, dent to your self confidence and broken bone he’d given you over the 8 years of your relationship. $1.6M sounded fair to you.