As the plane started to nose toward the ground, OP and his first wife stared at the single remaining suicide pill. The engines were ruined, fire and smoke was starting to fill the cabin, and the cockpit doors were fused shut.

“You can have it”, said OP

“No, you!” his wife shot back

“I insist baby. I don’t want to think about you burning up after all this”

She knew there was no arguing with him. They were both going to be gone soon anyway. He was old fashioned that way. She knew he would only die peacefully if she took the pill. A painless, instant chemical death. Oh well, his would be pretty quick too. The plane would emerge from the clouds in less than a minute, and plunge into the ground shortly thereafter. She swallowed the pill, and drifted quietly away.

Only when her pulse was gone did OP pull the last remaining parachute from under the seat in front of him. One the terrorists had forgotten to destroy, one he had spotted ten minutes earlier.

The emergency hatch blew open, and the cloud-filled sky whipped serenely by before him. He took one last look back into the plane. The debris from the fight. The terrorists, dead on the carpet. His wife’s graceful form, seeming to nap in the reclined seat. The eyes of the other passengers, all looking at him in hurt unison.

“That’s cold, dude” “Seriously”

He couldn’t face their judgmental stares. He turned, and he jumped.

Anyway, maybe she’d be surprised because she didn’t realize he was going to outlive her.