Should I Stay, Or Should I Go?
The official papers were displayed in front of Filthy Rich on his kitchen table, spread out like a large deck of cards. They were completely filled in, fully authenticated, ready to go anytime. All they'd need was his signature, then he could send them off and break the 'good news' to his beloved later. Wouldn't that be fun. He'd better make sure he was wearing his earplugs for the inevitable screamfest that would ensue though, lest his drums burst yet again and he ended up having to borrow Granny Smith's old hearing aid for the umpteenth time.
At least, on this occasion, it would be the final time he'd have to subject himself to that painful, piercing pandemonium. All his life, he'd been subject to the proclivities of that wailing, whining harpy, and he wasn't just at his wit's end, he was about to jump off the edge of wit's cliff. No matter how much he tried to satisfy her, she still wanted more... and if things carried on the way they were now, he might just be found in his office dangling lifelessly from his tie one fine day, his inert cadaver going round in circles, suspended from a ceiling fan. Which would be a shame, because it really was a very nice tie...
Not the most gratifying of images to say the least, and he guiltily thought of the years of therapy the discoverer of his hanging corpse would no doubt have to endure, but still far preferable than spending one more wretched millisecond with the soul-sucking money-vacuuming ghoul he laughably called a wife, and the associated torment that came from surviving her wrath, as part of a gruesome package of undiluted misery.
Yet, even after taking all that perpetual suffering and those constant hardships into account, something made his writing hoof to linger just above the last page, causing the quill to drip ink all over the unsigned document. What's the matter with me, he frustratingly exclaimed in his head, attempting without success to maneuver his limb to commit the two magic words to paper that would forever set him free, I can finally escape this sham of a marriage and ride off into the sunset, probably adding about twenty years to my lifespan to boot, too. All I have to do is scrawl down 'Filthy Rich', and my purgatory is over. I don't even have to spend months digging an escape tunnel, while hiding my efforts behind a giant poster of Sapphire Shores. It was a stupid plan anyway, where would I have put all the dirt...
What possible reason could the unfathomably hesitant stallion have for delaying his release from perdition? Why on Equestria would he want to keep himself manacled to the belligerent she-devil for any longer than necessary? Masochism? Familiarity? Or maybe, the fact that Spoiled Rich had successfully interred every single independent thought he'd once possessed so deeply into his sub-conscience, the trauma was affecting him even now, as he stood at the gates of freedom.
Desperate for some kind of explanation behind his reluctant emancipation, he decided to mentally focus on the only precious element in this accursed life... his daughter, Diamond Tiara. Ever since he'd seen her pop out into the world from her mother, like a priceless jewel springing forth from an ugly coal mine, (Spoiled had been far too busy complaining all the way through the 'undignified' procedure to acknowledge the miraculous delivery) Filthy had been completely besotted with his little princess.
Everything she wanted, she got. Money was no object. Every time she called, he'd be there. Or at least, one of his multitude of servants would be. And whenever, on one of his rare appearances in town, he'd heard rumours about her collecting salacious gossip for a local rag she edited, or belittling disabled classmates to win trivial competitions, he'd poo-pooed the very notion. The one occasion that he'd caught his darling out, when she'd made callous remarks about Granny Smith's apparent senility, she'd been soundly punished, so surely that had taken care of matters. After all, if hopping around in a fuzzy bunny costume hadn't taught her the error of her ways, what would?
Well, maybe you actually being here and installing some proper discipline, instead of relying on Queen Chrysalis in pony form for her essential 'nurturing' might have been a start, resounded in his head, and until now he'd been able to submerge such unhelpful ruminations into the depths of his mind. But he could no longer deny the overwhelming evidence: He'd been so busy expanding Barnyard Bargains into the monster it was nationwide, he'd left his dearest treasure all alone, to put it bluntly, in the hooves of another kind of monster.
The fact that his daughter's errant behaviour had already begun to emulate his despicable wife's contemptuous attitude to such a corrosive extent had been a massive wake-up call for the blinkered stallion. Additionally, the startling revelation that it took a trio of Diamond Tiara's former enemies to do the parenting job that he was so clearly incapable of providing, gave him a colossal dose of humility as well. All this time, he'd thought the 'bad influence' in his child's life causing her to act out also attended Ponyville Elementary, little knowing that the corruptive source resided under his own roof, the very mare he'd entrusted to take care of his sweetheart while he was off in another country.
They'll be a lot less globetrotting from now on, that's for sure, he fumed, unable to quite believe how he could've been so naive as to what had been unfolding during his numerous absences. He generally considered himself an intelligent stallion, after all... profits were up for the tenth year in a row, worker satisfaction had never been higher, and output had reached a record peak. Apparently though, his ingenuity only extended to his business savvy, as his personal life was nothing more than a shambles. He'd allowed himself to be kowtowed cruelly by his devious spouse, while his poor daughter suffered in silence and his mansion was transformed into a boot camp for any hired help unfortunate enough to be employed there. It had been Spoiled Rich's world, he'd just been living in it.
Well, no more. No more shameless frittering away of the money that he'd earned. No more blatant mistreatment of his loyal entourage of servants. No more pathetic cowering in the corner, while a ubiquitous hook-nosed silhouette loomed ominously over him, ready to launch a fresh assault on his poor, poor ears...
And most of all, no more reprehensible brainwashing of his precious child, who would now have the opportunity to grow up in a safe environment where she'd be afforded the chance for her unique talents to be encouraged, instead of manipulated and abused by a greedy, selfish tyrant. Diamond Tiara would finally receive the kind of decent upbringing that his own father, Stinkin' Rich, had bestowed on him, and there was just one minor obstacle standing in the way of this worthy goal...
That's when, at long last, he found the strength to do it. Not for himself. Not for his excessive fortune. Not for anything or anypony else, but his own pride and joy. She, who was by far the most important star in Filthy's constellation, the very centre of his universe, could give him the power to do anything. Hold back the tide. Jump into an erupting volcano. Eat a decade-old rotting jar of Zap Apple jam...
Or, in this case, scribble down a couple of simple but oh-so-significant words, then enclose that document with lots of other papers inside a large brown envelope, ready to be posted to the requisite authorities, to finally set the seal on his... their new life together. This time, with 45% less stress, 45% less tears and 10% more time in the bathroom afterwards.
It may not sound like much, but what he was on the precipice of doing was by far the most hazardous activity of those he'd just contemplated. After all, there was the shady lawyers, an assurably astronomical financial settlement and kicking out Spoiled on her magenta rump still to come. It would be a protracted, arduous process (apart from the last part: that sounded rather fun) but he was positive the end result would be worth the countless challenges that lay ahead.
The next step would be gently explaining the situation to Diamond Tiara when she arrived home with her new friends... and informing his 'wonderful' wife it was time for her to get on her broomstick. Better have a stiff drink, he pondered, while absent-mindedly giving the large letter to Randolph in the hall to mail, en route to the wine cellar.
The veteran butler looked surprised at his master's ebullition. "You're looking rather cheerful this evening, sir. What's the occasion?"
"DING DONG, THE WITCH IS GONE!! WHICH OLD WITCH? THE WICKED WITCH!!" Filthy Rich exclaimed deliriously while leaping as if in slow motion to emphatically click his hind legs together, even before he'd touched a single drop of hard liquor.
Oh no, well it was bound to happen sooner or later, I suppose. I'd better call the hospital to see if they have a padded cell free... Randolph thought anxiously for a minute that the tycoon had finally fallen off the deep end, thanks to his unreasonably high pressure lifestyle... until he glimpsed at the envelope he now held, addressed to a certain law firm, and realised just the opposite was true.
"About bloody time..." The weathered old retainer muttered to himself, quickly shuffling his ancient bones all the way to the nearest postbox just to get the damn thing posted, before the notoriously mercurial sender had the dalliance to change his mind.