I like this story for its psychology. Mrs. Mallard, the woman in the story, feels absolutely liberated when she learns of her husband's death, even though there is no evidence to suggest that he ever mistreated her. She realizes that, with her husband gone (God rest his soul), she can live her life any way she chooses; she can do the things she thought--and perhaps feared--she'd never get the chance to do. Though she loved her husband very much, and did in fact weep at his passing, she realizes that there is a sort of blessing gained in his death. It's like that old adage: "All things work together for good." I think that's in the Bible or something... Anyway, it's like a tally mark on the 19th century women's side of the scoreboard.
On the other hand, I feel that if the same story had been written by a man, we might get a different impression. It would change from a story about feminine freedom to a masogynistic story about how fickle women can be. After all, she grieves for what, twenty minutes? One could argue that she was happier to be rid of Mr. Mallard than to live a pleasant life with him. I never read the story this way, but I think one could construe it as such.
My favorite part of the story, without a doubt, is the last line. "When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease--of the joy that kills." Brilliant! The irony of it. Not joy over her husband returning home, but of watching the joy of her newfound freedom come spiraling down and crashing around her. One of the best lines in any short story I've read, other than that line in Poe's "Cask of Amontillado," where he's like "No, it won't be the cold that kills you," or something to that effect. But anyway, one of the best.
