Bill Chance

Anya POV

The Uber had just dropped me off. I slipped off my heels and snuck quietly into the house, trying not to wake up Bill. God, it’s two-thirty already. What have I done? I tiptoed up the stairs and slipped into the guest bedroom. I was exhausted and lay down on the guest bed for just a second, but didn’t wake up for hours. When I finally opened my eyes and looked at the clock, it was almost ten.

I’ve gotta pee. I shuffled into the guest bathroom and pulled down my panties. They were a mess. Full of Jamie’s semen. I can’t let my husband Bill find them; he’ll be hurt and angry. After I peed, I took off my dress and bra. I stood in front of the mirror and looked at my reflection. I was shocked. There were hickies on my breasts, my neck, and mons. I also had several bite marks on me. I thought back to what Bill had said yesterday when he told me my date, James, isn’t the man you think he is. I stood looking at myself in the mirror and realized these were not marks of the passion we shared last night. Jamie had marked me to humiliate Bill and to claim me. I started crying hard.

I heard a groan. Bill was standing there in the doorway, staring at me. His eyes were glassy. He took a deep breath and picked up my dirty clothes.

He said, “I’ll put these in the wash, and I’ve moved all your things from our bedroom to the guest room. Amy is at Trish’s. I’ll let you explain to her why you’re in the guest room.”

I dropped to the floor, sobbing. Oh, God, what have I done? No, please, no, don’t leave me. I’ll do anything, but don’t leave me. I love you.

I finally stood up and got in the shower. I turned the water on as hot as I could stand and tried to scrub the marks off me until the water ran cold. After I dried off, I looked in the dresser for my old sweats to cover up the markings Jamie had left me with.

Bill kicked me out of our bedroom; he didn’t want me to be with him anymore, and I couldn’t blame him.

I went downstairs in a pair of my old sweats. I didn’t see Bill, so I went into the kitchen, poured myself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the kitchen table.

Bill walked in and made himself a cup of coffee, then turned around and left.

I called out to him, “Bill, I’m sorry. It was just a mistake; it didn’t mean anything; it was just sex.”

Then I heard him say, “No, I made the mistake seventeen years ago. You knew how I felt about infidelity, adultery. You knew it was my red line.”

I started sobbing.

I followed him into his office. “Please talk to me.”

He stared at me and said. “ You told me yesterday, ‘I’m a grown woman, and I can take care of myself. I’m doing this.’ Now you get to do just that: take care of yourself. I said everything I had to say yesterday evening. You didn’t listen to what I said then, I don’t expect it to be any different now, and I wouldn’t believe you anyway because you’re a liar.”

I started sobbing, “I’m sorry, I should have listened. Please, please. I’m sorry.”

He left me there, went upstairs into our bedroom, and locked the door.

I thought back to all he had said Friday and all the stupid bullshit I’d answered with.

That Friday afternoon, Bill got home from work around five-thirty; I’d been waiting for him in the living room.

He took one look at me and said, “I’ll run upstairs and change; it’ll only take me a few minutes.”

I said, “Bill, wait a minute, come here and sit down. We need to talk.”

Bill looked at me. “What?”

I took a deep breath and started. “I have a date with my boss, Jamie Carter, tonight. It’s just dinner. I still love you. I don’t want you to be hurt. I’m not leaving you. This is about me, not you. I need to do this. I’ll be back by nine or so.” All the usual bullshit.

Bill asked, “Do you expect me to sit here, to worry and wonder if you’ve left me or are ever coming back?”

“Bill, I’m not leaving you. It’s just dinner. I’ll be home around nine. It’s not a big deal.”

Bill had the saddest, hurt look and said, “I love you, and I’ll miss you tonight. James Carter is not the man you think he is. This evening will not turn out how you expect, and our life together will never be the same. Please don’t go, please.”

“Bill, I’m a grown woman, and I can take care of myself; it’s only dinner, and I’m doing this. You’re just being dramatic. This is only dinner, and I’ll be home in a few hours.” The Uber honked, and I went to give Bill a kiss, but he turned his face away, so I kissed his cheek.

“Go ahead, pout. I love you, and I’ll be home in a few hours,” as I left for the Uber.

Only it wasn’t just dinner and a few hours.

Oh, my God, what have I done?

Bill’s POV

After Anya left yesterday, I got on the phone and called J. Flores Investigations. Mine and Phil’s IT Solutions have done a lot of work for them, assisting them with their investigations.

“Good evening, Joe. This is Bill Chantz.”

“Hi, Bill, I’m usually the one calling you. What’s up?”

“Joe, I need you to do a job for me, and I’m afraid I need it tonight.”

“Okay, what can I do for you, Bill?”

“When I came home this afternoon, Anya told me she was going out this evening with her boss, James Carter. She’s headed downtown in an Uber, and I’m tracking her on our 365-phone program now. Knowing her and James, they’ll probably start with dinner at someplace like Kris Steakhouse, but I’ll let you know for sure when she gets there. I’ll need everything you can get: photos, video, sound, anything you can get.”

Joe said, “I can’t believe she’s going out with James fucking Carter. That slimeball’s been involved in two of our investigations in the past three years. I won’t be on it myself because your wife knows me, but I’ll have a good crew on them. I’m sorry, Bill, but I don’t think this’ll turn out well for you. I’ll only charge you for costs because you’ve done so much for us.”

“Thanks, Joe. I’ll text you as soon as the Uber drops her off.”

I texted Joe. ‘I was right; they’re at Kris.’

Got a thumbs-up emoji back.

At eight, I got a text from someone on his crew saying they’re in the lounge dancing.

By nine, she hadn’t come home.

I went upstairs and started moving all her things into the guest bedroom.

After moving all her things, I went to bed, closed my eyes, and tried to rest.

About nine thirty, I got a text saying they just went into room 414 together; we’re using a drone and getting it all down. Photos, sound, and videos.

I went to bed and just lay there, tossing and turning. My guts are churning. I heard her come in at two-thirty. God, I hurt. I finally drifted off.

I woke up around eight thirty and got ready for the day. I trudged downstairs and made a pot of coffee, sitting at the island feeling like crap. When I heard footsteps upstairs and went in to see Anya. She was standing naked in the guest bathroom, looking at her reflection in the mirror. There were hickies on her neck, breasts, and by her pussy. I groaned, then bent down to pick up her dirty clothes. I let her know I’d put her clothes in the laundry and had moved her things into the guest room. I’d let her explain why to our daughter Amy.

I got another coffee and called Joe. He told me they got everything- photos, video, sound, even into room 414- and would have a notebook put together by Tuesday afternoon.

I asked if he could make ten copies for me to deliver to everyone who would be involved.

I went over the list in my head. Me, my lawyer, Anya, her parents, my parents, James Carter, Beth Carter, their HR, and the CEO of their company. That’s nine with one extra.

This was a clusterfuck in the making.

When Amy got home, she went upstairs to see her mom. After a few minutes, I heard Amy scream, “I hate you!” And her door slam.

I went up and tapped on her door, saying, “Honey, it’s me.”

“Come in, Dad.” While she was crying.

I sat next to her and put my arm around her.

She asked, “Why, why’d you let her go?”

“I didn’t. I pleaded with her not to go. I even told her Jamie wasn’t the man she thought he was. She told me the usual crap. ‘It’s only dinner. This is about me, not you. I’ll be home by nine. I’m a grown woman; I can take care of myself, and I’m doing this. I love you, bla, bla, bla. It didn’t work out that way, and her life is about to change.”

“Are you going to divorce her, Dad?

“Yes, but she’s still your mother, and it’s up to you how you deal with her. She misjudged something badly, but she still loves you. I love you too, baby. Try to get some rest.”

Sunday, I continued to avoid Anya. She continued to try to talk to me.

Monday, I was able to leave for work before she got up, and came home after dinner.

I talked to our company lawyer, explaining everything. I asked him to put divorce papers together, citing adultery as the reason. He explained that if it were adultery, the prenup could be invoked. I’d forgotten about the prenup.

Seventeen years ago, when Ron and I started IT Solutions, we each put up a hundred thousand dollars for our startup. Our lawyer at the time said that, to protect us and the company, both our fiancés needed to sign a prenup. They both signed one each. Ron and I signed, and they were signed, witnessed, and notarized. Each contained an adultery clause. If there were to be a divorce because of adultery, the guilty party would receive a check in the amount of what their bank account contained at the time of the marriage, plus a thousand dollars a year for each year of the marriage. They couldn’t claim the house, any other income, the business, or even custody of children. They were out on their ear, period. It was the same for Ron and me; we’d lose the business and everything we owned.

I told Ron what had happened and asked if he knew a good divorce lawyer. He said our lawyer would be fine for a divorce. He told me to take the week off, but I explained I didn’t want to be home to deal with Anya.

On Tuesday afternoon, I drove over to J. Flores’ offices to pick up the notebooks. I also asked Joe if he had a company that did DNA testing.

He said, “Yes, what have you got?”

I handed him a plastic bag with her panties in it, marked James and Anya. Then two more, marked Anya: one with her hair from her hairbrush and one with a used tissue.

I asked if he could do one for me.

He got out a swab, rubbed it on the inside of my cheek, and put it in a bag he marked Bill.

He said, “It’ll be a few weeks before I get the tests back.

On the front of each notebook was a picture of Anya and James kissing, her arms around his neck, holding him tight. He was fondling her breast. His other hand was down between her legs. They were clothed at the time. Joe said it was taken while they were dancing. I opened the notebook. It started with photos of them at dinner, a section of them dancing, then photos of them having sex in room 414, and even on the balcony. After that, there was a section of their texts, emails, and DMs. Lastly was a thumb drive with all the videos. Joe told me they used a drone for the pictures in the room and on the balcony.

Joe said, “For your peace of mind, Bill, do not watch the videos.”

Yeah, right, like that’s going to happen, I thought.

I gave one of the notebooks to Jack, our lawyer, when I got back to the office. I told him I’d like everything put together so they could be served at their work on Friday afternoon. Also, could he include James Carter for whatever he could think of- sexual harassment, violation of their non-fraternization policy, anything- one for HR and one for the president of their company, a lawsuit for all of them. Jack said he’d take care of it.

Anya’s POV

The Saturday after Bill walked upstairs and locked the door, I sat down at the kitchen table and started thinking about what had happened last night.

I met Jamie at Kris’s. We were seated at a booth in the back. I slid in, and instead of sitting across from me, Jamie sat down next to me. I ordered the stuffed flounder; he had a ribeye. We laughed and talked. He would pat me or put his arm around me, but it was just friendly and affectionate. We even exchanged bites of dinner off each other’s forks. We were having fun, and I didn’t want it to stop. After dinner, he said, “Let’s go on up to the lounge; we can have a few dances and drinks before you head home.

We went up to the lounge and started dancing. I had a few daiquiris and was feeling them. The fast dances were fun; the slow dances were exciting. We were dancing, pressed closely together. During several of the slow dances, we were hugging and kissing, and he was fondling me. I felt his hard dick pressing against my belly.

We went up to his room. I was so excited and horney I wanted him right now; I didn’t even think of Bill or Amy or what I was doing.

When we got to the elevator, he pushed me against the wall and started rubbing me through my panties. We barely made it to the room where we started tearing off each other’s clothes. Even naked, the room was still too hot. I pulled open the drapes and pushed open the doors to the balcony, letting in some fresh air. Jamie started kissing me and worked down my body. Ending between my legs. That’s when I had my first climax. I dropped to my knees and sucked on him until he came in my mouth. He laid me down on the bed and pushed inside me and pumped till we had another climax. Then we just kept going, trying different positions. One time, when he went to the bathroom, I went out on the balcony for some fresh air, leaning on the railing. He came up behind me and entered me from behind. With one hand, he started pinching my nipple; with the other, he reached around me and was rubbing my clit till we climaxed again.

We went back to enjoying sex several more times.

We were taking a breather, and when I glanced at the clock, it was nearing two o’clock. I said, “Oh shit, it’s almost two; I have to get home.

Jamie tried to get me to stay, saying, “The cuck’s asleep; he won’t even know.”

I threw on my clothes while calling Uber. I couldn’t believe what he said; he called Bill a cuck.

Oh, God no. I’d made my husband a cuckold.

I got off the elevator and waited outside. As I was waiting, I began to wonder if Bill wasn’t right about him. The Uber arrived in a few minutes and drove me home. I snuck inside and passed out on the guest bed. Oh, God, what have I done?

Bill and Amy avoided me for the whole week. I kept trying to talk to them, apologizing, saying it was a mistake.

What hurt the worst was Bill not touching me, kissing me, hugging me, or being physically affectionate.

Friday, about three, James came out and asked if the cuck had said anything.

I told him to quit calling Bill a cuck.

Jamie said, “That’s what he is, a cuckold.

I cringed; it was all my fault.

I looked up as a man and a woman came up to us, and the man asked, “Are you Anya Chantz?”

I said, “Yes, I am.”

He handed me a large envelope and said, “You’ve been served.” Taking a picture.

Then he asked, “Are you James Carter?”

Jamie said, “Yes.”

He handed him an envelope and said, “You’ve been served.” Taking another picture.

The lady reached into her briefcase, pulling out two notebooks, handing one to each of us. The picture on the front was Jamie and me kissing, and him fondling me. Underneath were J. Flores’ investigations.

I opened the envelope, and there were divorce papers.

I cried out, “Oh God, no, he’s divorcing me.” I started sobbing. Jamie opened his envelope to see that he was being sued.

The desk phone rang. It was HR saying they needed Jamie and me to meet them in the conference room immediately. Oh, my God, now what?

When we got there, James’ boss, two people from HR, and the CEO were there. They explained that a lawsuit was being brought against the company with allegations of improper behavior between Jamie and me. A supervisor and his subordinate. Someone mentioned the nonfraternization policy we’d signed. We were both suspended with pay, pending the outcome of the investigation. They each had a copy of the notebook that had been given to us. Our jobs were now at stake.

As we left, Jamie said, “Go home and talk to that goddamn cuck and have him drop the suit, or I’ll kick his ass.

His phone rang. He put it to his ear, and his face went white.

As he hung up, he said, “That was my wife; that son of a bitch you married gave her a copy of the notebook. She said she’s divorcing me. I can’t even go home. I’m gonna kill that asshole.”

I picked up the envelope, the notebook, my purse, and drove home.

I went into the kitchen and got myself a cup of tea. He didn’t even give me a chance to explain. I started going through the notebook, looking at the pictures, reading the texts, and emails. I realized that there was nothing there I could explain, nothing. It was all there in living color, timed and dated and stamped. I remembered what I’d told him. “I’m a grown woman, and I can take care of myself, and I’m doing this.” I started sobbing, putting my head down on my arms, bawling my eyes out. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I don’t want a divorce. I love him.

I took a deep breath and opened the divorce papers. The divorce decree stated that the reason for the divorce was infidelity, with photographs in the notebook being proof. The second page of the decree was a copy of the prenup I’d signed seventeen years ago. Clipped to it was a check for seventeen thousand dollars, the number of years we’d been married. Also, with a check for six thousand three hundred eighty-two and 16/100 dollars. The amount I’d had in my checking account when we got married.

I started bawling again. I didn’t want a divorce. I loved Bill with all my heart. I’d planned to spend the rest of my life with him. I’d fight for him. Maybe the judge would make us go to counseling.

I opened the notebook back up and studied the photos. They were photos of us at dinner, dancing, and during our climaxes, and under each photo was what we had said: “harder, faster, deeper, cum inside me, fill me up, but on the fifth picture from the balcony were the words that stopped me cold. Make me pregnant, Jamie, give me your baby, cum inside me, fill my pussy with your seed.” I didn’t mean that. It was just said during a moment of passion. Oh, my God, no. Not that. Please, please, God, not that.

Fifteen years ago, after Amy was born, Bill got a vasectomy because my pregnancy had been very difficult. Rather than using a condom, pills, an IUD, or getting my tubes tied, I asked Bill to have a vasectomy.

I tried to think back to when my last period was. For fifteen years, I haven’t had to think about periods. My last period was almost two weeks ago. Now I’ll have that to worry about, too.

Under the sixth photo were the words, I love you, Jamie. No, no, no. I don’t love Jamie; I may have loved the sex and climaxes, but not Jamie. What must Bill be thinking?

After the divorce papers were served, HR called us into their office. I thought we were about to be let go. We learned that Bill had talked to our CEO. If I was put into a non-sensitive position like the typing pool, or something similar, without a direct male supervisor, and Jamie was put into a job where no one was under him, Bill would hold off on suing the company. We would receive less pay but still have a job with benefits.

I found a lawyer and showed her everything I had.

The divorce papers, the prenup, and the notebook. After looking at it all, she told me she’d be happy to come to court with me, but there was little she could do. She told me, with what I had shown her, Bill had a slam-dunk case.

I asked her about the judge and the possibility of counseling. She said the judge normally orders six weeks of counseling for divorcing couples.

“Thank heavens, that was my last hope.

I signed and returned the papers.

After the divorce papers were signed, I called my parents and asked if I could move back home. They were very unhappy with me, but said I could move home; my boyfriend would not be tolerated.

A week later, the judge said we were to have six counselling sessions.

We picked out a counselor the court recommended, Sandra Stevens, and got a date and time for our first session. I was anxious to talk to Bill and tell my side of what happened and how I felt.

It was a Tuesday morning at ten o’clock. We met at her office, and her secretary took us in and introduced us to her.

Sandra was in her forties and welcomed us.

“I see Mr. Chantz is suing for a divorce, and the judge ordered six counseling sessions. Okay, Mrs Chantz, would you like to say something first?” Sandra said.

I answered, “Please call me Anya. Bill hasn’t talked to me or touched me since I did a foolish, stupid, and thoughtless thing.” Then I went on and started telling her about the dinner and dancing. I kept apologizing to Bill the whole time I was talking. I got to the part where I was dancing with Jamie. Then Jamie kissed me and said, “My beautiful lady, come with me. Let’s take this upstairs, and I’ll make you a very happy woman. I need you.”

Then Bill said, “Excuse me, but could I show you and Sandra a photo?”

I said, “Please do.” I felt sure that was the way it had gone.

Bill handed Sandra a copy of the photo, then gave me one.

I looked down at the picture. I hadn’t seen this one before. It was a picture of Jamie and me. My left arm was around his neck, holding him tightly. My right hand was rubbing his crotch, feeling his penis through his pants. The caption under the photo said, “Come on, Jamie, take me up to your room.”

Janie said, “Are you sure?”

And I said, “Yes, and hurry.”

As I sat there staring at the photo, my mouth started opening and closing. Then I remembered that it was exactly what had happened. Not what my mind had made up. I still hadn’t been able to make myself watch what was on the thumb drive. That would be like seeing me star in a porn video. I began crying again.

Sandra came over and handed me a tissue. Bill stood and walked out. Our time was up, and Sandra said: “Next week, same time.”

My work was no longer pleasant. I was no longer a secretarial aide. It was drudgery. It seemed the whole office knew what I’d done with Jamie. I saw him occasionally, and he seemed just as unhappy as me. His pay had been cut, and he was no longer in charge of the division. I missed being with Bill and Amy terribly and prayed the counselling would help. They both continued to ignore me- no texts, no emails, no phone calls, and I’d been blocked by them.

Tuesday rolled around again; we met at Sandra’s office and picked up from where we left off last week. Bill told Sandra it was okay for me to begin again.

I spent a lot of time telling Bill how much I missed Amy and him, how ashamed I was of what I had done, and how sorry I was for hurting them.

Bill then asked me what happened next.

I told them that after we got up to the room, it seemed hot and stuffy, so I pulled open the drapes and opened the sliding doors to the balcony. The doors had to be eight feet wide and let in the cool night air.

Afterwards, I went over to Jamie and started to undress him, while he undressed me. After undressing me, he told me how lovely I was and said he needed to taste me.

I said, “Bill, please, talking about this is embarrassing. Do you really want me to go into the details?”

“Yes, please, but you don’t have to get too graphic,” he said.

“Jamie lay me down on the bed, and we started kissing. Then he worked down my body, kissing and sucking everything. That may have been when Jamie marked me with all the hickies.

Then he gave me a good climax, not as good as yours, Bill, but good.”

Bill looked at me, then asked me about the climaxes he gave me.

I answered, “Yours are the most loving and the best.”

Then he handed Sandra and me another photo, showing what I’d really said: “Jamie, that was the best climax I’ve had in the last six months.

Then Jamie asked, “Better than Bill?

And I replied, “Much.”

Oh, God, please no. Not again. The words were there, printed under the picture of me climaxing for Jamie, a man I was not married to. I started crying again.

Bill, with tears in his eyes, got up and left the office.

I sat there staring at the photo, and I remembered that that was exactly what I had said. My mind had played me again into believing what I wanted, not what had happened.

Work had become hell. I was ostracized; everyone knew what I had done with Jamie, and the looks I got from the other typists froze me out. I was shunned. No one would talk to me.

A week later, we met again. I knew Bill would ask about the blow job. I thought back to that night and remembered what I had done. I still couldn’t look at the video on the thumb drive. I couldn’t bear the thought of watching myself getting fucked by Jamie. My own porn show.

I started again by telling Bill how much I missed him and Amy. How I loved them and wanted their love, and how sorry I was. How I cried myself to sleep every night, hating myself for what I had done to them.

After a while, Bill asked what we had done after James had given me the climax, which could be the Reader’s Digest version.

I said, “Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, and I got down on my knees in front of him and started sucking his dick until he climaxed in my mouth. Then I spit it in a tissue, like I always do with Bill.”

Bill sat there shaking his head. He said, “You have quite a memory.” Then he got out several more photos and handed them to Sandra and me.

There were three pictures: the first was of me with my mouth open and full of Jamie’s semen. The second was me swallowing, and the third was me with an empty, open mouth, looking all proud of myself, and saying “Delicious, now fuck me,” in the caption under the photo.

Bill looked at Sandra and asked, “Can I leave now?”

Sandra nodded at him, and he left.

I sat there staring at the picture, my mouth opening and closing, and I finally said, “I’m sorry.” But the only one there to hear me was Sandra. Tears started running down my face. What have I done? Why can’t I remember what I said that night?

I drudged through another week of work, alone and ignored. Tuesday afternoon already. This time, I wrote down everything I remembered and the things I wanted to say to Bill.

We greeted Sandra, and then Bill told her it would be okay if I started again.

I said, “Bill, I’m sorry for what I said last week about what I did with Jamie. I wasn’t trying to lie to you, but that is the way I remembered it. I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart for what I did and how I hurt you. I know that doesn’t excuse me for what I did, but I will spend my life trying to make up for my mistake.”

Bill said, “Spilling a glass of water is a mistake, but what you did was a choice. You chose to leave me for James. You told me, ‘I’m a grown woman, it’s only dinner, and I can take care of myself. I’m doing this.’ That is a choice, not a mistake. Now tell me about your next sex scene with James after you told him you wanted him to fuck you.”

I lay down on the bed, and Jamie rolled over on top of me. We hugged and kissed for a bit. Jamie reached down and started rubbing my clit, but I was more than ready for him to put it in. I said, “Quit teasing me and give me your cock.

Jamie reached down, lined up with me, and we had sex. It was good, and he gave me a climax. But it wasn’t any better than one with you. It was different. You make love to me. With Jamie, it was just sex.

Bill asked me if James was better than him.

I said, “No, it was just a climax.”

Bill then handed Sandra and me another photo. It was of Jamie lying on his back, with me cuddled up beside him. I read the captions.

Me: Jamie, that was great.

Jamie: Better than Bill?

Me: Much.

That isn’t how I remember it at all.

Bill asked what happened next.

I said, “Jamie asked me to get on my hands and knees.” He reached around me and got a couple of pillows and put them under my chest so I wouldn’t have to hold myself up. Then he slipped into me from behind, filling me. I felt him spit on my butt hole, and felt him reach down and start rubbing my wrinkled star with his thumb. He leaned over me and began to stroke my clit. Then he slipped his thumb into my pucker. I was overcome with all the different feelings. I climaxed again.”

Bill handed me another picture with me on my hands and knees, climaxing. The caption read, “That was wonderful. Thank you. Bill never does that with me.”

Bill said, “I’ve asked and tried to do those things with you, and you shut me down. You told me you would never do that; it was dirty, and stop trying, and yet you did them with James. I guess I know where that puts me.”

“No, Bill, I love you and only you. This thing with Jamie was exciting, thrilling, dirty, and new. I didn’t like it any better. You mean everything to me. It was just new, and with someone different. It was just sex talk. I’m sorry for what happened. I never meant to hurt you.”

Bill said, “Right. What happened next?”

“I went out on the balcony to cool off, while Jamie went to the bathroom to clean up. I leaned on the rail.

Jamie came up behind me, took hold of my hips, and entered me again. As he moved in me, he reached around me, pinching a nipple. With his other hand, he started rubbing my clit. As I climaxed, " May God forgive me,” I said, “Give me your baby. Make me pregnant. Fill me with your seed.”

Our last Tuesday Session arrived.

Bill handed us the picture of me saying Jamie, I love you.

Now, what do you have to say? Bill asked.

I took a deep breath and said, “Last week, Sandra asked why I kept calling him Jamie every time I mentioned him. Calling him that was more like talking about a boyfriend than my boss. She was right. It had become a habit, my calling him Jamie, and I hadn’t even noticed.

This thing between James and me started months before that Friday night. In the beginning, our relationship was that of boss and employee. Which it should have stayed. Then I let it grow more. We were together during coffee breaks, then lunches together, texting, emailing, and having a drink after work, until that Friday night.”

So, you were having an emotional affair for months before you decided to get fucked? Bill asked.

I realize now that James played me for the gullible fool I was.

I answered, “You were right when you told me I didn’t know him. I didn’t. I also think deep down I knew that more was going to happen that night than just a friendly dinner.

Bill, you’ve always been my best friend, my confidant, my partner, and the best lover I could ever have. You have always been my rock, my safe place, my anchor. I think your backup helped give me the strength to say those stupid words. ‘I’m a grown woman; it’s only dinner; I can take care of myself; I’m going.’ I’ve cried every night remembering what I said that night and how terribly I treated you.

I was in the wrong; I’m ashamed of myself, and I’m ashamed of the things I did. I’ll carry that to my grave. For some stupid reason, I felt entitled to do what I did. My hubris blinded me to seeing who he was and what would happen.

You have done nothing wrong. None of this was your fault. You are the best and most loving man anybody could have. You have always been there for me, and I treated you terribly. From the bottom of my thoughtless heart, I’m sorry. This was all my fault. I’m sorry.

As you have probably figured out, I’m seeing a therapist, and she is helping me understand the mess I’ve made of myself, our marriage, and our lives. I’m not happy with myself or the ugly person I’ve become.

Now, Bill, I’m going to ask you for a huge favor. A favor I do not deserve, but I desperately need your help, please.”

Being the better man, Bill said, “I’ll help if I am able. What do you need?”

I took a deep breath and explained, “Bill, when I said those terrible words, ‘Jamie, make me pregnant.’ It seems God laughed and said, ‘Okay, if that’s what you want.’”

I’m beginning the second trimester of my pregnancy. And I’m ashamed to say, with James Carter’s baby. Would you please help me through it? Allow me to live in your home, go to the Lamaze classes, take me to the OB/GYN, to the hospital, to the sonograms, and be there for the birth. Generally, help me through the pregnancy. I know I don’t deserve any of it, but you were there for Amy’s birth, and it helped me immensely. I know I’m asking a lot, especially after how badly I treated you. I’ll understand if you say no.

I don’t believe the judge will grant the divorce until after my baby is born and a DNA test is performed. Again, I’m sorry for my screw-up. I know you wanted to get this divorce over as quickly as possible.”

Crying even more, I said, “Maybe during this time, Amy will start talking to me again. God, I miss you both so much. I fucked up so bad. God, I’m sorry.”

Bill frowned at me, saying, “I’ll be over Saturday morning, and we can talk about it. Make some rules.”

Bills POV

Back home, I got out my laptop and started typing.

I will not touch Anya except as necessary.

I will not be physically affectionate.

I will sleep in the master bedroom.

Anya will sleep in the guest bedroom.

We will not sleep in the same bed.

I will share the house.

I will talk and be cordial.

I will accompany her to all OB/GYN appointments.

I will take her to the sonogram appointments.

I will attend Lamaze classes with her.

I will help her when the baby is born.

I will monitor her prescribed medication.

I will take her shopping for her maternity needs.

I will do all I can to help make her pregnancy safe.

I will not discuss reconciliation.

I will not go to counselling with her.

On Saturday I sat down with Anya. We discussed everything I’d written down. She still wanted my help. We loaded up our cars and moved her to the guest room.

It’s hard to believe how quickly the sixteen years of our marriage came back. The way we talked, acted, and sounded was the same. The only difference was I didn’t initiate any physical affection, nor would I accept Anya’s attempts at physical attention.

No touching, handholding, kissing, or lovemaking.

We sounded like an old married couple, but there was no physicality between us.

Whenever she had an OB/GYN appointment, ultrasound, Lamaze class, or whatever, I went with her. She drove to her own therapy sessions.

She still went to work every day, but they gave her maternity time for the appointments. Once a week, we attended the Lamaze classes after dinner. I also made sure she took all her vitamins and any medication the

OB/GYN prescribed.

We took turns doing the cooking and taking care of the household chores. Amy was warming up to her mom and helping where she could. This also made Anya happy. She’d missed her daughter terribly.

Another good thing to come out of her pregnancy was that her co-workers started treating her much better. She even joined them on a girls’ night occasionally. The only thing was that she couldn’t have alcohol. They even had a baby shower for her. Her work became more enjoyable.

Surprisingly, this pregnancy was very much easier on Anya than her first.

Life went on. The only difference is that we were just roommates. Breakfast, lunches, dinners, chores, general conversations, reading, watching TV. It was all there except any physical affection. Roommates.

My co-workers, in general, knew I was getting a divorce and helping Anya through her pregnancy. Once every four or five weeks, I would go out after work with the guys, have a beer, and talk for a while before heading home.

While I was at work, Margaret Houchins, a divorcee, started stopping by my desk, visiting for a bit and then heading off. During coffee breaks, I started sitting by her to talk more. It felt good to see and get to know someone new, and also to get my troubles off my chest.

When I thought about it, I realized it had been years since I felt it was alright to get to know another woman on a personal level. To share their hopes, their fears, their wants, dreams, and needs.

Margaret was a good listener, intelligent, hard-working, had a warm, loving personality, and was very attractive. In all, someone I wanted to get to know better. She was a bit gun-shy due to an acrimonious divorce from a cheating husband; we decided to move slowly and be careful. I found I enjoyed listening to her.

We started having lunch together, learning more about each other. We discussed everything. Religion, politics, health, sex, my vasectomy, our divorces- no topic was taboo. Transparency.

She knew that I was helping Anya through her pregnancy. I made it clear I would not be getting back together with Anya. We would be divorced after the paternity tests and would stay that way. I was only helping her through this pregnancy due to her previous difficulties early in our marriage. Anya was having another man’s child now. I would not raise another man’s child. After her baby was born, she would move back in with her parents.

Friday night rolled around, and I got ready for my first dinner date with Maggy. I’d told Anya I wouldn’t be home for dinner.

As I came downstairs, Anya looked at me and asked me why I was all dressed up.

I told her I had a dinner date.

She looked surprised; no, she looked amazed. I guess she was still hoping for reconciliation.

Her mouth opened and closed. Tears started running down her cheeks. She shook her head, made a moaning sound, and waddled up the stairs to her bedroom.

Amy came in and asked what was going on.

I told her I had a dinner date.

She grinned and said, “It’s about time you did something for yourself. Have fun, Dad.”

I went out and had a lovely evening with Maggie.

For the next two weekends, Maggie and I continued dating. We learned more about each other’s wants, needs, past, and future. They were warm, loving dates. We continued to get closer, and our relationship grew.

Then, early Wednesday morning around two a.m. Anya knocked on my door loudly and said, “My water broke. I think it’s time to head to the hospital.

I hopped up, threw on my clothes, helped her get dressed, grabbed her overnight case, and helped her out to the car.

I put her hand on my arm as I drove so I would know when each of her contractions came. Still about eighteen minutes apart.

After we got to the hospital, Anya had to sign a bunch of insurance forms. They wheeled her up to a room in the maternity ward. A nurse came in and gave her an examination while I waited. An anesthesiologist gave her an epidural. I came back in and pulled up a chair, sitting beside her and holding her hand. She started crying and said, “I’m so sorry, Bill. I screwed up so bad, and I only have myself to blame. My entitlement and hubris ruined a wonderful, loving marriage. I hurt an amazing, caring man. A man who even now is going the extra mile to help me.

I said, “Now isn’t the time to worry about that. Think of baby Alice and how wonderful she will be. All the love and care you both will have. You were a wonderful mother to Amy, and you will be a wonderful mother to Alice.”

Still weeping, “But you won’t be her Daddy.”

I bit my tongue and said, “Anya, you’re still young and beautiful. You’ll meet someone who can be an even better father than me, and who will be a great dad for Alice.”

I could still feel her hand clench in mine each time she had another contraction, and see her grimace.

I had to leave each time the nurse came to take her vitals and check her dilation. Her OB/GYN came in several times to check on her. The time finally came to take her into the birthing room. The contractions were coming close now, and she did the breathing thing while she did the pushing thing. She cursed James with each contraction. I wiped the sweat off her forehead and held her hand through it all.

After about forty-five minutes, a beautiful new life came into the world. The doctor asked if I wanted to cut the umbilical cord. I politely declined. It wasn’t mine to cut.

After the baby came out, they wiped her down, weighed her (seven pounds nine ounces), and checked her vitals. Then they laid her on Anya’s chest; after a moment, she stopped voicing her opinion of being born and fell asleep.

I told Anya, “She’s as beautiful as her momma.”

Anya was smiling and weeping at the same time, while she gently stroked her daughter’s back.

I took the doctor aside and requested a paternity test for Alice and me. I quietly explained the divorce.

The doctor directed me down the hall to another office where they took a cheek swab from me, then they went to Anya’s room and took a swab from Alice.

The doctor moved Anya into a semi-private room, monitoring both of them for a day. When they were released from the hospital, I took them home.

Alice took to breastfeeding like a champ. She was beautiful. I helped Anya as much as possible. Running hot baths for her, changed the bed, and brought her meals when she couldn’t come to the table. Amy helped too. Changing the baby, helping wash the baby, holding and rocking Alice. She assisted her mom when needed. Anya’s parents came over and helped too.

After two weeks, Anya was well enough to move back in with her parents.

I asked her parents to come and help load all the things we had accumulated over the last few months.

With their car full and my car full, I drove Anya and Alice back to her parents’ house. Anya cried all the way home, again saying how sorry she was. I guess she was still hoping for a reconciliation. It wasn’t going to happen.

Two weeks later, I got the report from the hospital showing I was not the father of Alice. I made several copies and gave several to my lawyer. She filed one with the court.

I received notice that my divorce would be final in sixty days.

Maggie and I continued to date for the next two months. Because of our divorces, we had several long conversations about fidelity, adultery, and lines we couldn’t cross or accept. The husband test and the wife test.

When she realized I would not be going back to Anya, she moved in with me. We didn’t make love, but we did everything else we could to relieve our frustrations.

We were deeply in love.

The day the divorce was final, I took her out to Luigi’s Italian Restaurant. When dessert came, I dropped down on one knee. I took a small, black velvet box from my pocket and opened it. I said, “I’ve loved you since the first time you stopped by my desk. I would be honored to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me, Maggie?”

She dropped down on her knees in front of me, hugging me tightly. With tears in her eyes, she said, “I love you so much; you’ve made me the happiest woman alive. Yes, yes, yes, I would love to marry you and spend the rest of my life as your wife.”

We kissed, and I managed to slip the ring on her finger without dropping it or falling over.

All the diners around us applauded. I helped Maggie up. Luigi came out and comped our meal, shaking my hand and kissing Maggie on both cheeks. Now I was embarrassed. I thanked everyone around us.

We sat back down. I don’t remember if we ate our dessert or not. I just sat there grinning, holding Maggie’s hand. A happy man.

After dinner, I took her home, and we spent the night making up for all the time we’d lost not making love. Love and lust to the fore.

Three months later, we were married in a small friends-and-family ceremony in our backyard.

We spent two weeks honeymooning in Hawaii, still trying to make up for all the sex we missed out on.

My name’s Anya, and I teach fifth grade. Bill and I have been married five years, and this is my story. I ruined a wonderful marriage and hurt a loving, caring husband.

Our friends, Jim and Ellen, were having their usual monthly party. I got there about an hour before Bill. I was teaching, and he was working a 9-to-5. When he got there, Bill gave me a passionate kiss, grabbed my ass, and whispered in my ear, “I’m ready to leave with you already, you look good enough to eat, and nipped my earlobe.”

That warmed up my panties. Grinning, I said, “Let’s make the rounds, say hi to everyone, and we can leave in a couple of hours.”

After visiting for about forty-five minutes, I was hot and it was crowded, so I started to need a breath of fresh air. I took my drink and walked out to the backyard. The air was cool, and I sat at the big table in the back of the yard. I lay down on the long bench seat and looked up at the stars. It was a lovely, cool night.

I heard someone walking up, and I dropped my legs on both sides of the bench to sit up. My head spun, and I’d definitely had more than enough to drink.

It was Jim. He sat down straddling the bench with his knees against mine, reached into the pocket of his men’s caftan, and pulled out a large hand rolled joint and lighter. Saying, “Anya, you have got to try this shit, it’s fantastic.” He lit the joint, sucking in a deep lungful, and held it out to me. After three drags, I was wasted. Then Jim leaned forward, blowing smoke. I moved forward till our lips touched, sucking in the smoke. Then I took a drag and did the same to him. After a few times back and forth, then we were kissing. I was so excited and horney I thought I’d climax right then. Jim pulled my dress and bra straps down, then started rubbing, pinching, and sucking on my nipples. We were making out like we were sixteen year olds in the back seat of Dad’s car again. I reached up under his caftan and grabbed his hard dick, stroking it.

He pushed me back so I was lying down again, lifted my legs, and slipped off my panties. He spread my legs wide, dove face first into my sweet spot, and started licking and sucking my clit. He slid two fingers inside, turning them upwards, rubbing my G-spot, and I climaxed so fast I couldn’t believe it. God, I was ripped. I squealed, moaning, groaning, and twitching all over.

Jim pulled his caftan off, lifted my legs to his shoulders, and moved forward till he slid deep inside me. Oh, god, he felt good. I never even thought of Bill. Then he leaned forward so he could move in and out. He moved slowly at first, getting wet, then he started harder and faster.

Bill started looking for Anya so they could head home. After looking around the room, he walked out back. He heard moaning and groaning and the slap of bodies coming together. Then he heard, “Oh, Jim, I’m coming again.” It was Anya’s voice. He was going to break it up, but realized it was too late, they were already fucking. As he walked towards them, he took out his phone and started taking pictures, then a video of Jim and Anya kissing, hugging, and screwing.

He knew his marriage was over. Cheating was a line in the sand for him.

On the table were the two empty glasses and the burnt stub of a joint.

As he watched, Jim had Anya roll over and get on her hands and knees, then they started doggy style.

Bill turned away, with tears running down his face, and he left the party and drove home.

He lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take him.

About eight, he was sitting at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee when he heard her car drive up.

The front door slammed open, and feet ran to the kitchen. Anya dropped to her knees, putting her head in his lap.

She was bawling and said, “Oh, god, Bill, I screwed

up so bad last night. I’m sorry. I feel so guilty for what I did. I had sex with Jim.”

I said, “What happened?”

She said, still crying hard, “I’m ashamed of what I did. I was lying on the bench seat, out back, cooling down from all the hubbub at the party. Jim came up and sat down straddling the bench like I was. I sat up, and he pulled out a large hand-rolled joint, lighting up. We passed it back and forth a few times, and then he blew the smoke towards my mouth, and I inhaled. Then I did the same. He leaned closer and blew it into my mouth, and the next time I put my mouth on his, I blew smoke into his mouth. We both were ripped by then, and we started kissing. God, I was so horney, for the next few hours I became his dirty, cheap slut. We did everything, front, back, and mouth. Things I swore were perverted, and refused to do with you. We did it all. I’m sick, I can’t believe what I did. I’m so sorry, please don’t leave me.”

By this time, I was in tears too. I said, “Go take a shower, try to clean up. Then we can talk.”

Two and a half hours later, she came back down.

Crying, she looked at him and said, “I still don’t feel clean. It must have been something in the grass that made me do it.”

I looked at her and said, “First of all, let’s stop blaming the grass and alcohol for what you did. You’ve been with me after having several drinks and being totally stoned, and you shut me down, wouldn’t even let me touch you or make love to you. This must have been something you wanted, needed, or fantasized about. You made the choice to do it with Jim and not me. You need to take responsibility for your actions and accept the consequences. You had sex with Jim and not me. No one and nothing forced you to do it. Just so you know, Jim is not noted for his sobriety or keeping it in his pants. He’s brought a few unwanted things home to Ellen. You should go to the Doctor and get an STI test this week.”

“Oh, god no. I never even thought of that.” She said.

“Last night I heard you say, ‘I’m coming again.” I saw Jim deep inside you, and I took several pictures and a video.”

She asked, “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference by then, he was fucking you, and I heard you say you’d already climaxed at least once. The damage to our marriage and our relationship was done. We are over. Anya, I know you haven’t even considered me or my feelings, and how this reflects on me. As I was getting in the car last night, I could hear you shouting ‘harder, faster, don’t stop,’ then shrieked when you climaxed. If I heard it all the way out to the street, then everyone at the party heard you. I’m furious, jealous, and crushed. I’ve lost my best friend and the love of my life to Jim. All our friends now think of me as a cuckold. They pity me. I feel like a failure as a husband. You had to have another man. I’ve lost my self-confidence, and I’m embarrassed to be around them now. I’m ashamed that you had to look elsewhere for sex. Now, Jim would be forever in our bed if I were to even have sex with you again, which I won’t. I’d always wonder if you were thinking of him and not me. I’ve given you everything I could, and I wasn’t enough.”

Bawling, she said, “You’re right, this was my fault. Oh, god, please don’t divorce me. I love you. I’d die for you. I want to spend the rest of my life by your side. It was an accident. I just made a mistake last night. I’m sorry, it’ll never happen again.”

Looking at her and shaking my head, “Anya, an accident is dropping a plate or spilling a glass of milk. It is not spending hours fucking someone every which way but loose. How do you think Ellen feels now? You cheated with her husband at her party, and every one of our friends knows.”

Anya was crying hard now, “Oh, god, no, I never even thought of Ellen or how she feels.”

“Just like you never considered me and how I feel. You’re a very empathetic woman. Now, in your mind, try to turn the tables, think about this, and how you’d feel. Imagine it was Ellen lying out there on the bench, and I went out with a big joint, and she and I did what you did with Jim. We got drunk and stoned and started making out, hugging, kissing, me undressing her, sucking on her nipples, taking her panties off, making her climax with my fingers and tongue. Me putting my penis inside her, making her climax again. Her sucking on my dick till I climaxed in her mouth. Me lubricating her backside with my semen, till I put my penis inside her until we both climaxed. Doing it over and over again. Now, considering all that, would you ever feel safe in my arms again? Would you ever trust me again? Now, imagine that all our friends know what I did. How would you feel? Could you ever look them in the eye?”

She looked shocked, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. Her head was shaking back and forth. She started sobbing, saying, “I never even…I could never…all our friends…oh, god no, I’m sorry, so sorry. You’re right about all of it. It would be over between us. Totally over. I won’t fight you on the divorce, do whatever you need to do.

Monday morning, I called the office and took a few personal days.

Next, I called our family lawyer and asked who the best divorce attorney in town was. It was a woman who had divorced her husband for cheating, a

Paula Ingram.

I drove over to her office and I explained the circumstances, then asked her what the necessary steps were and if there was anything I should do immediately. I gave her secretary a check for a retainer.

Paula said, “Protect yourself financially first, finances, banking, credit cards, credit bureaus, wills, beneficiaries, trusts, insurance, house, cars, passwords, and the list seemed to never end. She printed it out for me.

I gave her copies of the pictures and video.

That afternoon, I drove back to her office and signed all the forms she asked me to, and gave her copies of all the papers she asked me to bring in.

After looking over all the paperwork I gave her, she said we might not have to give up much of anything.

When I got home, I saved everything to my cloud account and a hidden folder on my hard drive.

While Anya was at work, I moved her clothes and personals to the guest bedroom and all her cosmetics to the guest bath.

The school had to get a sub for her and sent her home from work early because she kept crying and couldn’t stop.

When she got home and saw that she was no longer sleeping with me in the master bedroom, she started sobbing. She went into the guest bedroom, curled up, wrapped herself around a pillow, and cried until she fell asleep.

The next morning, I made a pot of coffee. I was sitting at the kitchen table when she came downstairs.

I got her a cup with just the splash of cream she liked and asked if she was hungry. “I can make you an egg and some toast.”

“Just coffee for now, thanks.”

We sat across from each other at the table, she reached out to take my hand, and I pulled back.

She started crying again and asked, “What now?”

I said, “Call the school and tell them you have a family emergency and need several days off. I think you should go to your doctor and get an STI test, because like I told you, Jim’s brought some nasties home to Ellen. You need to find a lawyer for the divorce, and ask them what you need to do. You need to find a place to live, unless you want to stay here, with Jim, or at your parents’ house till the divorce is final.”

“Bill, this has all happened so fast. I’m lost.”

“Get out your phone and call school first, then your doctor, and make an appointment to get checked out,” I said.

She took out her phone and made the calls. For just a test, the nurse practitioner could see her in an hour.

I told her, “Go get ready and leave now. Make sure you tell her everything you did last night, because if his penis was in both your rectum and vagina, you could have a vaginal infection.”

She started crying again and then left.

About two hours later, she came back, saying, “That was the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever had to do. She asked me a bunch of very personal questions, then she took a blood sample and a urine sample. She took a swab from my vagina, then came back and gave me a shot and prescription for amoxicillin to take for the next ten days, along with a vaginal antibiotic cream.”

Shaking my head, I said, “Well, at least they caught it early before an infection made you miserable. Now, call our lawyer and ask for the name of a good divorce lawyer. He already gave me the name of Paula Ingram, and I’ve already been to her office. She might have a partner who can handle the divorce, so there won’t be a conflict of interest, and it might cost us less. Just call them and ask.”

She started sobbing again and said, “I love you so much, please don’t divorce me. Don’t leave me.”

Looking disgusted, I said, “Anya, damn it, you left me for Jim. I didn’t leave you. You fucked Jim every which way but loose. Did things with him you refused to share with me, your soon to be ex-husband. You destroyed me and our marriage. It can’t be saved, it’s time to say goodbye to yesterday, and you are now, yesterday!” I was nasty and not in a forgiving mood.

She put her head on the table and started sobbing again, saying, “I don’t want Jim, it was just a mistake, I’m sorry,” again.

I said, “Words are so easy to say and don’t cost anything.”

I went into my office and started going through the list of things to take care of. Four hours later, I came out of the office, mostly done. I still had to stop by the Schwab office to finish. What a pile of crap.

When I went into the kitchen, Anya was still sitting there, tears still running down her face. I asked if she’d called the lawyer, and she just shook her head no.

I gave up and called her parents asking them to come over. Anya got a panicked look on her face, as if she didn’t want to see them. She probably didn’t want to admit what she’d done.

Her parents arrived about twenty minutes later. I let them in, then led them to the kitchen, where Anya was still sitting and crying.

Anya’s mother, Carol, sat across from her and took her hands. Her father sat at the end of the table and waited.

Carol asked, “What’s going on?”

Anya started sobbing, “Bill’s divorcing me.”

Carol looked over at me. I nodded yes, saying, “Now tell her why.”

She looked down at the table and said, “I made a mistake. That’s all it was, just a mistake.”

“And what was the mistake?” I asked.

Still looking down, she said, “Please, no, please.”

“Go ahead, tell her what you did.”

Sobbing now, “It was just a mistake, it didn’t mean anything, anything at all, it was just sex.”

Carol said, “I take it the sex wasn’t with Bill. Your husband, the man you’re married to, the man you promised to be faithful to.”

“Mom, it was an accident, I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did.”

Carol, with raised eyebrows, looked at her daughter, shaking her head, “So you were just walking along, without your panties on, and tripped and fell on someone’s dick. Is that what you’re telling me?”

Mom, it wasn’t like that. I was drunk and stoned. I had sex with Jim, and I did everything I never would do with Bill because I thought he’d think I was a slut and would hate me for it.

“And how did that work out?” Mom asked.

Anya looked at Bill, saying, “Just like I thought it would. He thinks I’m a no good cheating slut.”

Mom looked at Bill, saying, “Well?”

Bill, shaking his head, answered, “Every sexual thing she shared with Jim can be beautiful, caring, giving, and loving, including the normal sex, if they’re with the person you’re married to. They’re the loving sexual relations I wanted her to share with me, her husband, not anyone else. The reason I now know that she’s a cheating slut is because she gave them all to Jim, and not me! It is not that she did those things, it’s that she didn’t do them with me. There is no excuse for what she’s done. Please take her home with you.”

Anya started sobbing, saying, “No, it has to be because I did those kinds of things, not because I did them with Jim.”

Bill looked at Anya, “No, Anya, it was because you did them with Jim and not me.”

Carol got up and walked around to Anya, putting her hands on her shoulders and helping her up. “Come on, honey, let’s get you packed up to come home with us,” and led her upstairs.

Bob, Anya’s dad, said, “I’m sorry, Bill, I know you’re hurting. We’ve tried to explain to Anya many times over the years that there should be no artificial boundaries between a husband and wife. Transparency and communication are the key, but she had some weird notions that certain sexual things were verboten with your husband. She didn’t get that from us. We tried to teach her that with consenting adults, anything you both want to share is okay.” He got up and walked upstairs to help carry her suitcases to the car.

I had the divorce papers served at her folks’ house the next week. Now the slog through the courts. It took six months. It pretty much turned out like Paula had said. I kept the house and a car. Gave her the car she used. I paid Anya some. She kept all her savings and earnings. I heard from her dad that she was seeing a counselor.

Ellen divorced Mike and took him to the cleaners.

Wasted six years, and I no longer hung out with that group of friends. I couldn’t take their pity. I started seeing a therapist, too. Trying to work through the fallout is a nightmare. The hardest thing for me to deal with is the loss of trust.

My name is Bill Chants. Anya and I have known each other for almost two years now, and have been dating for almost a year and a half. First, we’d become friends, we could talk for hours about everything, with complete transparency. She knew about me, and I knew about her. I knew her previous breakup had been very rough. She’d caught her boyfriend cheating with a close friend of hers.

After a month dating, we became exclusive. We were soulmates. Love at its finest. I love her. We’ve been together for over a year now. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and tonight I’m going to ask Anya to be my wife. The ring was burning a hole in my pocket. I’d invited several of our close friends to a party at Ted’s, without telling them I was going to ask her tonight.

We were standing by the patio doors, and I could feel the chill from outside through the glass. Anya and I were talking about the weekend to come when we were going to visit her parents. She looked around and asked what time it was.

Oh my God, why am I doing this? Pete said he wanted to see me one last time. I should say forget me. It’s over; you’re a cheater. Then he said, “Please, I just want to say goodbye. One last time. Meet me by the patio doors at nine.”

I looked at my watch, “Almost nine, babe.”

Then she asked me to get her a glass of Chablis.

I smiled, “Sure.” And walked across the room to the kitchen island, where the wine and glasses were.

Ted was there, and we started chatting. I thanked him again for hosting the party in his home. He was looking over to where Anya was waiting for her wine, and nodded his head for me to look.

She looked out the patio door, then opened it. Her ex walked in. They talked for a few minutes when he pulled her to him. They hugged each other, then they kissed. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and they played tonsil hockey. They talked again, and after a bit, her ex turned around and walked out the same door he came in.

Anya stood there in shock at what had happened. What the hell have I done? I love Bill, not Pete. How the hell can Pete make me do these stupid, fucking, thoughtless things? What’s wrong with me? Oh my god, I kissed him, damnit, I kissed him hard. Maybe there are some unfinished feelings. No, damnit, no, I’m over him. He’s a cheating prick. God, I hope no one saw that. Now I need to chat with everybody, see if they noticed. What am I going to do? God, how could I let this happen? Oh, god, I pray Bill didn’t see me. It’ll hurt him badly.

But Bill did see it.

He turned back to Ted, eyes watering. I was hurt, shocked to the core of my being. I reached into my pocket and took out the ring box. Ted looked surprised. I told him I was going to ask her tonight, sharing the joy with our close friends. I took out the ring and handed the empty box to Ted.

I said, “Please, do me a big favor. I’m going to slip out, I plan to clean my stuff out of the apartment, and disappear. Would you give her a ride home later and give her the empty box when she gets out? Tell her it was from me. If she asks, tell her what we saw. Thanks, man, bye.”

Ted said, “If you’re sure, I’ll be happy to help you out.”

I said, “I’m sure.” Then I slipped out.

I drove home. Tears were running down my face, and I started emptying my belongings from the apartment. Glad that I had a Lincoln Navigator and was on the ground floor. I carefully went through both bedrooms. Closets, dresser drawers, nightstands, and both bathrooms. The living room, dining room, and lastly the kitchen. I grabbed my favorite mug and travel mug.

The note I left just said,

“I’m no one’s second choice. I’m sorry I wasted our time. I loved you,

Bill “

When I had everything I wanted to keep, I drove across town to a hotel and checked in for the night. Two and a half hours, and I was out of her life for good.

I was saying goodnight to all our friends when Anya came up and asked where Bill was.

I told her he left a little while ago, said he had to take care of some things, and asked if I could give you a ride back to the apartment.

We were quiet as I drove her back to their apartment and dropped her off. As she got out, I told her Bill asked me to give her something.

She said, “What?”

I reached in my pocket and handed her the empty ring box. She looked puzzled as she opened it and saw it was empty.

She said, “What?” again.

I answered her, “He said to tell you, he saw you letting Pete in and kissing him.”

Anya burst into tears, sobbing, “No, oh god, no, no, but I love Bill.” As she ran into the apartment.

I could hear her scream from the street as she found their apartment empty of Bill. Calls and texts to him had been blocked, and his social accounts were closed or deleted.

I drove home.

The next day, I heard from a friend that when she’d found Bill’s note, she screamed and started sobbing again.

Maybe she’d learn.

IT WAS AN ACCIDENT

Bill got a call from the police that his wife, Anya, had been in an accident and was in the hospital. They got my number as the emergency contact from her phone. The doctors had checked her out, and she was bruised up and had been knocked unconscious or passed out, but was otherwise okay. No concussion, internal injuries, or broken bones.

Scared to death, I drove to the hospital as quickly as I could.

Anya woke up slowly. Oh, god, I ache all over. My mouth tastes like I ate out of a garbage can. I feel like I got hit by a bus. Where am I? I could hear beeping and clicking noises. I need to pee. I forced myself to open my eyes. When I looked around, I saw my husband Bill sitting in a chair across from the bed.

I was in the hospital. What in the hell am I doing in the hospital?

I finally croaked, “What happened?”

Bill looked at me, a tear running down his face, and said, “You were in an accident.”

“I have to pee, can you give me a hand to the toilet? I asked.

He came over and helped me stand, then held my elbow as I awkwardly walked to the toilet. He helped me sit, then walked to the door, with his back to me. I pulled up my hospital gown and asked, “Where are my panties?

Bill said, “You weren’t wearing any when they brought you in. I brought you a set of your sweats to wear home.” Then he set a travel-size toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash by the sink for me.

I said, “Thank god my mouth tastes like I ate a cockroach.”

Bill said, “Close.”

I was getting upset, as I stood at the sink and started brushing, “What the hell does that mean?” When I spit, it looked like my mouth had been full of blood. I ran my tongue around and didn’t feel any cuts or sores. I gargled and asked where my dress was.

Bill said, “The police took it; it was covered with blood and other stuff.”

“Bill, what the hell is going on? I don’t remember anything after leaving the house and driving to Amy’s.” Looking at him.

Bill, looking back, said, “You didn’t drive to Amy’s.”

“Damnit, then where’d I go?”

“Over to Chuck Allen’s house.” He said.

I started to say, “What the hell was I doing over…” and it all came back to me. I started crying, bawling like a baby, looking at my husband. Saying, “Oh, god no, no, no! Not…I’m sorry.” Then I threw up in the sink, and I guess I fainted because when I woke up, I was in the hospital bed again. Bill was gone, and the bag of clothes was in the chair where he’d been sitting. I started sobbing again.

A nurse came in and said my parents were waiting for me.

Bill had left me.

The nurse helped me into the bathroom, where I cleaned my mouth again and put on the clothes Bill had brought. I sucked it up and went out to my parents.

They hugged, and her Mom said, “Bill asked us to take you home with us; he said he’d bring over all your clothes and things.” Her Dad was standing back, shaking his head with an angry frown, staring at her.

She burst into tears, bawling her heart out. Bill didn’t want her back. “Bill doesn’t want me home,” I said.

Her Dad said, “What did you expect? Your accident and what caused it are all over the TV, radio, and newspapers. You’re in the news, you’re famous. Bill is a laughing stock. Chuck was in the operating room getting his penis put back together for hours.”

I looked up, letting out a plaintive, frightened moan, “Argh, oh, god, no,” crying my eyes out.

When we got back to my parents, I went up to my old room and curled up on my bed, still sobbing.

About four hours later, I heard Bill’s truck in the drive. He and my dad started unloading boxes into the garage. He set my suitcases in the yard.

I went running out back and tried to hug him, but he held his hands out to stop me. Crying, I said, “God, I’m sorry, so sorry, please forgive me.”

Then he crushed me with his furious reply, “Anya, right now, all I want to do is get in my truck and run away, leave everything, go somewhere nobody knows me. But I can’t because I have responsibilities and I take them seriously. When I said I do at the altar, I meant it for life, not I do until I change my mind, like my lying, cheating, slut, bitch, of a soon-to-be ex-wife. I’ve wasted seven years of my life on you. The only reason you’re sorry is that you got caught cheating, and of course, the reason you were caught. Why didn’t you just divorce me? You hurt me worse than anything I’ve ever felt. I’m now a laughing stock and the cuckold of our town. All our friends pity me because of you. Everybody knows you cheated. You were sucking your boyfriend’s cock when he climaxed, filling your mouth with his jism, and he drove through the stop sign, running into a car, then another car hit you in the side. The only funny thing about it was when the airbag deployed, and you nearly bit his prick off. How many times have you kissed me after sucking him off? How many times have you given me sloppy seconds after you fucked him while laughing at me behind my back? How many times did you sneak him into my home and fuck him in our bed? How many times were you thinking about Chuck when I was making love to you? How many lies? How many texts? How many phone calls and emails? You disgust me. You’re a no-good, lying, cheating bitch. I brought your vibrating rabbit over because Chuck won’t ever be able to fuck again, and I’ll never stick my dick in your rotten, stinking, used pussy again. You can go fuck yourself bitch.”

My mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish. I’d never seen Bill so enraged, and I was the cause. I had destroyed our marriage, and the only man I ever loved, and the man I had planned to spend my life with. I had hurt him in the worst possible way.

I fell to the ground and screamed.

Mom came out and helped me into the house.

On the way home, Bill stopped off at his divorce lawyer’s office. He signed several forms and gave them a deposit. Paula Ingram, his lawyer, couldn’t believe what a slam dunk case this was. Adultery proof was in the police report.

Paula was a divorcee herself. She came home early one day and caught her now ex in bed with one of her no longer good friends, who was also married. Another divorce case her partner handled.

Anyway, she gave Bill a list of things to immediately take care of, money first, then credit, banking, portfolio, insurance, beneficiaries, house, personal property, passwords, bla, bla, bla.

Getting married had seemed so much easier.

When he got home, he went to his office and started working through the list.

His phone kept ringing, and texts kept coming until he finally turned it off.

The doorbell rang. As he started to open the door, he glanced out the front window and saw that the front lawn had several news crews waiting. He stepped out and said, “No comment, now or ever. Please leave.”

He closed and locked the door. Tears started running down his face, he went around the house closing all the blinds, then he sat on the couch, and cried. His heart was broken, he was lost, and he still loved her. How could she do this? What the hell was she thinking?

When I finally got myself under control, I turned on my phone and called my boss requesting a leave of absence. My boss, Bob Stevens, had become a friend over the years and told me, “Bill. Take all the time you need. I’m sorry this happened to you. You’re a good man and don’t deserve the pile of shit she dumped on you. Again, I’m sorry.”

I said, “Thanks, Bob, I’ll let you know what’s happening.”

I turned the phone back off and finished the list Paula gave me.

That night was painful, lying in bed alone. Then I started wondering if she had fucked Chuck in our bed.

I got up the next morning after a restless night. First, coffee and a piece of toast, then I got on the phone and called Mattress Firm. The recording said they opened at ten. I was there five minutes early.

I stretched out on several king-size beds and ordered the most comfortable one. I checked the queen-size beds and ordered one for the guest bedroom along with pillows, sheets, and pillowcases for both beds. I paid extra to have them delivered and set up that afternoon. They said they’d haul off the old ones for free. Then I drove over to Haverty’s and bought a beautiful, long, brown leather couch and a matching recliner to be delivered tomorrow.

That done, I drove over to Paula’s office and gave her Ted and Carol’s address to serve the papers to Anya and asked to be notified when it was done. Then I spent about half an hour signing more papers, talking to Paula, and asking if there was anything else to do.

She said, “We need to wait and see what the other lawyer says, or if she just signs the divorce papers as is, then it’s up to the judge.”

The following Tuesday, a young lady rang the doorbell at Ted and Carol’s front door. Anya answered. The young lady asked, “Are you Anya Chants?”

Anya said, “Yes, that’s me.”

The young lady handed her an envelope and said, “You’ve been served.”

Anya carried the envelope to the kitchen table, then opened it. She puzzled over the contents for a minute before it registered that they were divorce papers. She screamed and started sobbing.

Carol came rushing in and said, “What’s wrong?”

Sobbing, “Bill’s divorcing me, but I love him, I don’t want a divorce.”

Her Dad came in with a pad of paper, sat down across from her, and asked. “Stop acting like a spoiled brat who’s lost a toy. What did you expect after what you did to him?”

“I don’t know, but I didn’t expect him to leave me. I love him.” Looking at her dad.

Her dad glanced down at the pad and asked, “How long has your affair been going on?”

“I don’t know, maybe four or five months.”

“How long before that were you just talking with Chuck, complaining about Bill and your marriage?”

I hung my head, mumbling, “Maybe a month or two.”

Then Dad really started in on me; it was brutal. He asked, “How many times have you complained about Bill to your boyfriend? How many phone calls? How many texts back and forth? How many emails? How many times did you sneak out to be with Chuck? How many times did you kiss Chuck? How many times have you had sex with Chuck? How many times did you do things with Chuck that you refuse to do with your husband? How many times did you kiss Bill after having sex with Chuck? How many times did you make love with Bill after you’d been with Chuck? How many times were you thinking of Chuck while you were making love with Bill? How many lies have you told Bill so you could be with your boyfriend? Right now, Bill is asking himself all those things and more. Anya, did propriety or guilt ever even enter your mind? And now you’re upset because Bill is divorcing you? A person who has done all those things does not love their husband. They do not care for their husband. They do not respect their husband.”

Anya looked shocked and said, “But I do love him.”

Her Dad said, “No, Anya, you may love what he’s given you, and done for you. You may love your rock, your safe place, your meal ticket. You may love your home. You may love your position in life. You do not love the man who is soon to be your ex-husband. Those are just some of the reasons he’s divorcing you.”

Anya sat there with her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, shaking her head, “No, Dad, I do, I do love him. I don’t want a divorce, and stop saying Chuck is my boyfriend.”

Her Dad looked at her, “If Chuck’s not your boyfriend, what is he? Are you some slut who jumps in bed with anybody?”

“No, Dad, No. I’d never do that!”

“Then Chuck must be your boyfriend. Anya, if Bill had done all those things I just talked about, would you still want to be married to him?”

Anya shook her head, “Oh, god, no. I could never stay married to him.”

“Well, Bill feels the same way about you.”

Anya put her head down and started sobbing again, feeling sorry for herself.

Her Dad talked her into signing the papers, and in three months, the divorce was final.

Bill kept the house, he kept his retirement, 401K plan, and they split the cash and savings.

Anya started therapy to see if she could figure out why she needed to go outside her marriage and ruin her life.

Bill began to rebuild himself and his life, a slow, painful process that would take years to get back, if ever. He also began going to a therapist, trying to find out why. Why, why, why. Does the anger and humiliation ever stop?

THE BUSINESS IS SOLD

We’ve been together for eight happy, loving years. Anya and I started dating during my senior year at the University of Missouri in St Louis. She was getting her degree in secondary education at Webster College. Dave, a friend of mine, brought her to a party at my house, and we talked for a while. Later that spring, I asked Dave if I could take her out. He said their relationship was over and to go ahead. We started dating a week later. It was love at second sight. We were married at her folks’ farm a year later. The last seven years have been heaven. We get on well, and most of our arguments have been minor. We make love several times a week, and she seems satisfied.

I told her I was working on a big project that would change our lives, but I couldn’t discuss it. She continually questioned me about it, but I could tell her nothing due to a non-disclosure statement I had to sign.

For the last fourteen weeks, I’ve been working my ass off.

Nine tonight, and it’s finally over. All the T’s crossed and the I’s dotted. Thank god we’re done.

Three and a half months of intensive work, and my company is sold. Sixty-four million dollars in escrow, and I’m retired at thirty-two.

I’m gonna love my beautiful wife hard tonight. Seven long years of work and six short years of my loving marriage. God, it feels good to get out of the rat race.

As I walked from the garage through the kitchen, something caught my eye on the floor. It was a used condom.

My happiness and the whole world came crashing down around me. My beautiful, sweet wife has been lying and cheating. Shit, I can’t trust her anymore. My trust is destroyed. I hurt so bad, god, I’m furious. I’m in shock. What the hell?

My best friend Steve just got a divorce from Ellen last year; it’s late, but I’ll call him anyway. I need to ask what he did when he found out she was cheating. He’s a user man, but we’ve been friends since I was seven. Going on twenty years now.

I called him. “Hey Steve, I just walked into the house and found a used rubber on the floor.”

“Oh crap, it must have fallen…” He started.

I said, “Steve, you miserable son of a bitch, you dropped it on purpose. How long? Why.”

He said, “I’m sorry, Bill, about three months ago, Anya called me because she thought you were having an affair, working overtime, and not giving her any answers. That started it. I was only trying to comfort her, but it grew from there. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not sorry, I know you for the shithead you are. I know you told Dave about your affair with Pet, his wife, and you did it when she was in the hospital having Dave’s baby. Now I know why Ellen fucked every one of your so-called friends. You know, there were only three she didn’t screw: me, Mark, and Ben. You deserve every bit of the shit she dumped on you. Consider yourself dead.”

“Look, I’m sor…”

“Fuck you, asshole!”

The hurt and anger I felt were agonizing.

I hung up on him, walked into the guest bedroom, and tried to fall asleep. Now I’ve lost my oldest friend and my beautiful wife. A two-fer.

I got up early the next morning and made a pot of coffee. I sat with my cup at the kitchen table when Anya walked in.

She asked, “Bill, where were you last night?”

I said, “I slept in the guest room, so I wouldn’t wake you when I got home. I’ve got some great news. I sold the company, and I’m now retired. I’ve been working on that for the last fourteen weeks.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked, weeping.

“Because the company that bought me out had me sign a nondisclosure contract, so we couldn’t be prosecuted for insider trading. I told you that several times. I couldn’t tell anyone, not even you, what was going on. Yesterday was my last day, and I got us tickets for a fourteen-day cruise down the Danube starting in three weeks.”

Anya started bawling. She said, “Oh god, I thought you were cheating, having an affair, and you were just pretending to work late all this time.”

I looked at her and said, “Babe, I love you, I could never cheat on you, I could never lie to you. You’re my heart and soul. I told you I was working on something important and couldn’t tell anyone, even you, about it. I did all this so we could spend the rest of our lives together.”

Anya started sobbing.

I said, “I thought you’d be happy for us.”

Sniveling, she said, “I am, I’m so happy, I love you so much.”

I shook my head, looked her in the eyes, and said,

“No, you don’t love me or care about me. I’m just your damn meal ticket who pays the bills, your safe spot, your rock, and the man who takes care of you.”

She looked at me like I was crazy, “What do you mean, of course I love you, you mean the world to me.”

I pulled out a small plastic bag with the condom in it and put it on the table in front of her. I said, “I found it on the kitchen floor when I got home last night.

Her face got red, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, and tears came to her eyes. She finally stuttered, “I, I, du, don’t know what to tell you, I have no idea how it got there or where it came from.”

I told her, “Yes, you do, you lying bitch, and I know how it got there, where it came from, who used it, and how it was used.

Her eyes got big, and she asked, “Wh, who?”

I said, “Steve, while he was fucking you. I called him last night, and he was gloating about it. He said it had been going on for the last three months. I’ll check the video files from the security cameras.”

Her face went white as she stood up and collapsed on the floor.

I picked her up and carried her to the couch, got a cold, wet washcloth, and laid it on her forehead.

While she was lying there, I went into my office and started checking the house surveillance videos for the last fourteen weeks. I also put in a call to Jack Chambers, my lawyer.

He picked up on the fifth ring and said, “What the fucking hell do you want now? I thought we were through now that the company’s been sold.”

I explained it all to him and why I wanted a divorce.

He chuckled and said, “Now, aren’t you glad I made her sign a prenup because of your startup? The bank wouldn’t loan you the money until it was signed. You argued like hell back then.”

“God, I didn’t even remember that. You were right as usual. Now what should I do?”

“Same thing I had Bob do.”

“And that was?”

“Cancel credit cards, move checking and savings to your private accounts, same with your portfolio, change beneficiaries on life insurance, change passwords, and put a freeze on the three credit bureaus. I’ll email you the list. The sale of the company is in an escrow account to pay a yearly amount to a trust in your name only, so you’re safe there. The rest is up to you.”

“Since there was a prenup, you can be my divorce lawyer if you want; there won’t be much to it. I’ll send you copies of a few of the videos to prove the adultery. If you’d start on it when you get back to work, I’d appreciate it.”

We hung up, and I went online and started doing all the things I was supposed to. The love didn’t die, but I could no longer trust her. She was a liar and a cheat. I was sick to my stomach. I hurt. Damn, it hurt.

I started putting all the video files together, then went to her email and phone accounts and started a search on them. That fucking prick Steve was telling the truth; they started about three months ago. I pulled a few of the video files of her and Steve and sent them to Chambers. I started viewing them next. She walked into my office about then and saw me watching Steve and her screw. God, I ache. Fuck I was fuming. How could she do this?

“Oh god no, please no,” she started sobbing.

I watched through her climax when she said, “Steve, I love you.” I was furious.

I said, “Since you love him, you can pack up and go to him. He’s in his apartment waiting for you.”

I went to the bedroom and got her suitcase out, and opened it on the bed she’d been fucking him on.

She started bawling, saying, “No, no, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. It was a mistake, we can work it out, it was just sex, it didn’t mean anything, bla, bla, bla, I love you.”

“Babe, I just watched a video of you having sex with Steve, and after climaxing, you said, and I quote, ‘Steve, I love you.’ Now, do you have any idea who you love or even what love is?”

“I’m sorry, I do love you. Please don’t leave me.”

“Babe, you left me. You love Steve and me. You know I can’t stand liars and cheaters. You may recall that, over the years, I’ve dropped several friends when I found out they were cheating. How many lies have you told me? How many texts, phone calls, and emails were there? How many times during the day, when I called, were you and Steve fucking? How many times did you sneak over to his apartment to fuck him when you said you were going out with friends? How often were you thinking of Steve while I was making love to you? How many times did you give me sloppy seconds? How many times did you kiss me after sucking his cock?”

She wouldn’t look at me, she just looked down at the floor, sobbing, saying, “I’m sorry, oh god I’m so sorry.” shaking her head no, no, no.

I said again, Anya, you don’t love me or care about me. I’m just your safe place, your rock, the man who pays the bills, a meal ticket who takes care of you, but no more. I’m done. Now I’m a fool and a cuckold. I’m ashamed and embarrassed, and I have you to thank for that. I’d never know if you were thinking of Steve when you were with me. Just go pack and leave me alone. Go to Steve’s or to your parents or wherever, just get your lying, cheating ass the hell out of my home.”

Anya started sobbing again, but at least she began packing.

I said, “You can take whichever car you want and keep it, but that’s the last thing you’ll get from me.”

She moved over to her parents’ house. I had all the rest of her things boxed up and sent them to her.

The divorce papers were served to her at her parents’ house. She collapsed again. I heard she finally broke down and told them about the affair.

In six months, the divorce was over. The paperwork was finalized and signed. Anya tried to fight it, but with the videos, the adultery was proven. She received a check for seven thousand and change, and that was the last I saw of her.

I’ve been seeing a therapist, and she’s helping me understand why this happened and start to rebuild my confidence. I’ve been working out at the gym and spending time on the track, running. I have now put in a garden. I started seeing friends again. Life is beginning to look less bleak. I haven’t met anyone I’m interested in dating, but I’ve started to at least think about it. Regaining my trust in others has been my main sticking point. Now to rebuild myself.

I heard Anya and Steve were together for a while, but he cheated on her, and she kicked him out.

It’s a miserable way to learn a lesson. Karma can be harsh. But sometimes, if you’re lucky, what goes around comes around.

I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

Anya

My name is Anya Chants, and this is our story. I’ve told my husband Bill, my love, my future, my rock, my safe place, that I’m going out tonight with a girlfriend. Her name is Sandy Stevenson, for dinner and a movie, not that it matters, because I’m really sneaking out to see a man I work with. His name is Pete Peterson, and we’ve been having sex for the last three months. I’m going to be his dirty slut for the evening, doing things I told my loving husband I would never do. I’m going to cheat on and lie to the man I adore, the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I don’t know why. I just know I can’t stop. Maybe it’s being seen and wanted as a sexual woman by someone else. It’s like a drug. The guilt is killing me.

At home, Bill would do something nice for me, and it would almost make me double over in pain and start sobbing. How can I be doing this to the man I love? What the hell is wrong with me?

It was eight in the morning when I got home. Shit, shit, shit, we’d fallen asleep after the sex. As I walked in, I reached into my purse, took out an unused condom, and the hotel receipt I’d picked up when I’d straightened up the hotel room. I dropped them in the garbage and tied the bag shut. I hadn’t seen Bill sitting at the table with his coffee.

Bill said, “Morning, babe, how are you?”

I jerked up and started lying; it just comes flowing out like it’s natural. I used to be so damn honest. “Oh, god, babe, I’m so hungover, I had way too much wine at Sandys after the movie. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I passed out and slept in her guest room. Now I need a shower and a nap. I’m sorry, I fell asleep and didn’t call. I’ll make it up to you.” As I walked upstairs.

Bill

When the shower started, I waited a few minutes, then went to the trash can and opened the bag. There on top was a folded piece of paper and an unopened condom. I put them in my pocket, then reclosed the bag and took it out to the trash bin.

The folded-up piece of paper was a receipt from the Empire Hotel. The name on the receipt was Pete Peterson. I knew he was a coworker, now turned her cheating, affair partner. Anya was cheating on me.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. My whole world came down, crushing me. Eight years of love, sharing, and care gone. Wiped out, destroyed in the blink of an eye. Anya had been acting a little different for the last few months, but I’d let it slide by. Red flags had popped up, but I ignored them. I would have trusted her with my life. I knew from what had happened to friends that cheating was a twisty dirt road full of texts, emails, phone calls, sneaking around, and lies to cover it all up. I’m glad we haven’t had children yet.

She must have picked the receipt and condom up as she was straightening the hotel room before she left. She always tidied up before she left a motel when we’d spent a night while traveling.

The first thing I did was call Jim Stevenson. I asked how they were, and mentioned I was going to invite him over last night. He told me he and Sandy had been out to a company party he had to attend. We chatted for a few minutes and hung up.

Lies and more lies from my spouse.

I called my boss, Robert Stevens, and asked for a couple of weeks off. When he asked why, I explained what was going on, and he gave me an ‘Oh god, I’m so sorry, no one needs that pile of shit, but here’s a list of things you need to do to protect yourself. Then he emailed me the list along with his lawyer’s phone number and the number of the PI firm he’d used. He told me his lawyer was a bulldog and she would walk me through the whole process. Also, the PI firm was honest and would have no problems getting any additional evidence I needed. Hell, I hadn’t even considered a divorce yet, but I knew now that my marriage was over and there was no way I would ever reconcile. I heard the shower stop, and a few minutes later, the bedroom door closed.

I sat at the kitchen table with my phone in my hand, staring at my laptop, and cried. Cried like I hadn’t since I was nine years old and my dog died. It took me a while before I could stop and suck it up. I changed passwords on my laptop and phone, and after I washed my face, I went for a long jog.

I came home a couple of hours later, sweating, tired, breathing hard, and limping into the kitchen. Anya was making lunch. She asked what happened, and I told her I thought I’d pulled a groin muscle. It bothered me that I’d lied to her. Bothered me, but when she did, it all looked so natural, lies just flowing out of her mouth. Without care, hesitation, or thought.

I asked her about dinner and the movie, and she spent the next half hour lying about her nonexistent evening with Sandy. I was amazed at how she could just sit there eating her lunch and lie. How do people do that?

I limped around the house that afternoon, and after dinner, I told her I was going up to bed. I heard her phone ring, and she went into the bathroom to talk. Another red flag I’d been ignoring.

When she came to bed, I said, “Not tonight, I hurt too much.” She kissed me on the cheek and said she was sorry, but she was tired too.

Monday morning, after she left for work, I called the lawyer and PI and made appointments with both.

Paula Ingram was indeed a bulldog. I gave her a copy of the hotel receipt and told her there was no hope of reconciliation. I also gave her a check for four thousand dollars as a retainer and signed several forms. She briefly led me through the whole process. I called the PI and asked if someone could stop by my house and look at what needed to be done.

A nicely dressed, middle-aged lady named Sheila Branison stopped by. I told her of my idea to be sent out of town for a week by my boss. She thought that would be a great way to make Anya and Pete feel able to use our home without being caught. She set up cameras in the living room and both bedrooms. I was amazed they were so small and unobtrusive, you’d never even know they were there. She also set up listening devices in the kitchen and bathrooms. There was a program she wanted me to install on Anya’s phone and laptop, and she installed a program on my phone and laptop to pick up all the signals and send them to the cloud. I gave her another big check before she left.

I called Robert and asked him to send me somewhere for business, explaining what the PI had done. Robert said, “How about a week in San Antonio. It’s a great little city, lots of things to do, and you can call on a few clients while you’re there.

“Sounds great, but if Anya calls, please remember to tell her it’s for work.

Anya got home at five thirty and went up to shower and change, leaving her purse and laptop on the table. After I heard the shower start, I installed the programs on her phone and laptop.

When the shower shut off, I limped to the stairs and called up, “How about I call in a pizza for dinner? Also, Robert is sending me out of town for the week on business.”

She said, “Pizza sounds great, you know what I like. I’m going to miss you being gone for a whole week.”

“I’ll miss you too, babe.” Then I limped back.

After dinner, we watched a little TV, but I turned in early, saying, “I have a long drive in the morning, and my groin still hurts.” I limped upstairs to bed. As soon as I closed the bedroom door, I checked my phone. Anya waited less than a minute before she sent Pete a text telling him I’d be out of town for a week. My god, that hurt! How could she do that to me? Why?

I packed my suitcase so I could leave early in the morning and tried to sleep.

Anya came in a few minutes later and tried to snuggle up.

I told her I was still hurting too much and kissed her goodnight. The next morning, I said, “I love you, I’ll text and call every day. Back in a week, I’ll miss you.”

Then limped out to the car and drove down to San Antonio. Janice, Robert’s secretary, had me booked into the top floor of a great hotel overlooking the river walk. I checked in a few hours early and unpacked.

For dinner, I asked the lady at the front desk where a good Mexican restaurant was. She told me La Hacienda is about a ten-minute walk to the left down the River Walk. It was excellent. I had a Margarita, a beef and bean burrito, ensalada, frijoles, and Flan.

Back in my room, I stretched out and read till about nine thirty and booted up my laptop. I checked on the camera in the bedroom. Anya and Pete were screwing, and when it looked like they were about to climax. I picked up my phone and called Anya, telling her how much I loved, missed, and trusted her. He had to pull out when her phone rang, while she had to reach over to get it, they had to stop, while we talked. I chatted with her for a few minutes, so they had to start over. I was smiling as the tears rolled down my cheeks.

The next day, I visited clients in the morning and afternoon.

The next night, I did the same thing, interrupting them and talking to her for a while as they were about to climax. Silly, stupid, and childish, I know, but it made me feel somewhat better for messing with them.

I stopped watching after that.

I knew they had planned to be together Friday night, so I drove home early Friday. I stopped by work and asked Robert if he’d meet me in front of my house around nine. Both their cars were in the driveway.

We waited until nine fifteen and quietly entered the house. We could hear them upstairs. We both got our phones ready to take pictures, went upstairs, and quietly walked down the hall. The bedroom door was open, but they weren’t paying attention. I was taking pictures while Robert took a video.

As they were about to climax, I shouted, “You fucking, assholes, get out of my home.”

Anya screamed, and Pete pulled out, squirting all over Anya.

Anya started sobbing, saying, “Oh god, no, no. Please no. I, I, thought you were supposed to be in San Antonio.”

I hollered at them to get dressed and get their cheating asses out of my home. Right now, god damn it, now! I stood in front of the bathroom door, not letting them go in or clean up, and said again, “Get dressed and get the hell out of my home. Now!”

Robert and I watched them dress. Crying, Anya turned to say something, and I said, “Are you going to lie to me now bitch? Shut your nasty, lying, cheating mouth and get out. I don’t care where you go, just get the hell out of my home.”

We followed them down until they left. Both cars started up, and they drove away.

Robert wanted to get home, so he sent me the video before he left.

With tears running down my cheeks, I got the list out and started going through it. Banking, credit cards, credit bureaus, and all the other things on the list, finally, changing passwords on everything.

Anya

I drove over to my parents’ home, crying and saying, “No, god, please, no.” over and over.

I told Mom and Dad that Bill had kicked me out of the house. They told me that doesn’t sound like Bill. What Happened? What did you do, Anya? Bawling my eyes out, I broke down and told them about my affair with Pete.

Their disappointment in me was terrible, but no worse than my disappointment in myself.

I realized my life was about to change, but at the time, I had no idea how much.

I called work and asked for a week off due to a family emergency.

The next morning, I heard Dad’s phone ring, and he talked for several minutes. Then he talked to Mom, and they left the house.

Several hours later, they returned with their Suburban full of my belongings. All my clothes, personals, the albums of Bill, and my life together. There were also every picture from the walls, knick-knacks, and everything else I had put in our home.

Dad told me there was another load of boxes to bring over and he’d store them in the garage.

Bill had removed any reminder of me from his life.

Sobbing, I ran up to my room.

Three days later, Mom said there was someone at the door asking for me.

When I got there, a young man said, “Are you Anya Chants?”

“Yes,” I said.

He reached into his briefcase and handed me a thick envelope and said, “You’ve been served.”

I took the envelope up to my room before I opened it. Inside were half a dozen photographs of Pete and me having sex, and divorce papers stating adultery as the cause.

I started sobbing again; my life as I knew it was over.

I’d been sending texts and emails to Bill and trying to call him. I was blocked. I finally drove over to knock on the door. When Bill opened the door about a foot, he stood there and said, “What do you want?”

I started crying again, “I wanted you to know that I’m sorry. You did nothing to cause this. You’ve been nothing but a wonderful, loving husband. This was entirely my fault, and I accept full responsibility for my awful behavior. I know we will never be together again, and I will miss you, your love, and affection terribly. Again, I’m sorry.”

Bill looked at me like I was crazy, “Yeah, that apology and five dollars will buy me a cup of coffee. Please just sign the divorce papers and stay the hell away from me. You’ve wasted eight years of my life, and that’s more than enough time used up on a cheating, no-good, lying, slut. Goodbye and good riddance.”

I started sobbing as I walked back to my car. I don’t know what I expected, but that wasn’t it. I’d hurt Bill in the worst possible way, and he was furious.

I went into work after the week was up. No one greeted me as I walked to my desk.

HR called me into their office, and Robert was there and watched as HR told me I was fired, with cause. My affair was a violation of the company’s morality and fraternization policy. I signed the company forms and turned in my ID and keys. Robert and HR also signed all the forms. They gave me a check for my last month’s work, and I walked away. A security officer had a box and went with me to empty my workspace. I heard Pete was fired for the same reason.

People I’d worked with for years ignored me; they wouldn’t look at me or talk to me. I carried the box out to my car. I sat there and cried, just cried, and thought about how badly I’d screwed up my life. For what, in the end, for something that didn’t matter. A few hours of fun, thrills, secrecy, and sex. Everything I had valued was gone. There was nothing now except my memories and the miserable knowledge that I’d wasted everything that mattered to me.

I went back to my folks’ home and picked up the divorce papers. I drove them over to Bill’s attorney, crying all the way. I signed them, telling her I wouldn’t fight anything, then went back to my parents’ house. I walked up to my room and curled up on the bed, sobbing my heart out. No one to blame but me. I wanted to put the blame on Pete, but I knew I could have said no and stopped at any time, but I didn’t. I loved and needed to be desired by someone else. Why? What the hell was wrong with me?

I heard from someone that Pete’s wife was divorcing him. That made me feel even more guilty for being partly the cause. How much more could I screw up my life? I was thirty-three years old and had to start over. How messed up could I get?

I needed a therapist or someone I could talk to. Our friends disappeared into the woodwork when they found out what I’d done. Even my BFF is angry with me. Friends and even her husband thought she’d been covering for me. I could talk to my parents; they might love me, but they had no sympathy for what I’d done. I needed to find a job, too. My life was a mess.

I kept my car and half of our savings. I was on my own now. By myself. Alone. Living in a home that wasn’t mine. Responsible for all my expenses.

Six months later, the divorce was final.

I heard Bill was seeing a therapist, but was starting to date. I couldn’t even think about going out.

It’s a hard, painful lesson to learn, but with the help of my therapist, I will, I hope. Maybe.

My phone was in my hand as I walked towards Anya’s desk. I was trying to invite her and Mike to lunch. I’d tried texting and calling them, but no answer. Anya wasn’t at her desk, and I pushed Mike’s door open to see if she was there.

My world fell apart, stopped. I was crushed. Mike was balls deep in Anya, his PA and my soon to be ex-wife, she was stretched out across his desk, groaning.

Their eyes were closed, and they were making a lot of noises as they neared their climax. Which is probably why they didn’t hear the door open.

I started to rush forward to break them up, but realized I was too late. I pressed the camera button on my phone and started taking pictures, then I pushed the video button.

As they climaxed, I heard Anya say, “Oh, god, I wish Bill could make me feel this way again.”

God, that hurt. They never even knew I was there.

I stopped the recording and walked away. I didn’t even bother with closing the door, I got in my car and drove home.

My home had never felt so empty, so hollow since we’d gotten married six years ago.

My anger started to build up after I got over my pity party. What to do? My marriage was over, there was no coming back after what she’d said and done. I’d never get that out of my mind, or seeing them fucking.

I sat down and made a list.

Cause them as much pain as I could, then call the divorce lawyer.

I first saved everything from my phone to the cloud and a file on my home computer. I took the photograph of them kissing and sent a copy to my parents and hers, saying she had found a new love and I was divorcing her.

I called Ellen, Mike’s wife, and told her I was sending her a copy of her husband cheating with my soon-to-be ex-wife. We talked, and I told her I was sorry for what Anya was doing. She said it wasn’t my fault, but she was glad for the heads up and would now have the evidence to divorce Mike.

I called a divorce lawyer I’d heard would happily take revenge. Her name was Paula Ingram, she’d been cheated on by her ex and was out to extract retribution from all cheaters.

I’d talked to the secretary and gave her all my information and wired her cash for a retainer.

Paula called me back in about an hour, and I explained everything that had happened. I emailed her copies of the video and pictures. She emailed me some forms to fill out and return, along with a list of things to take care of immediately.

I cancelled all the credit cards, left the debit card with a few thousand in the bank. Moved cash and savings to my personal account. I froze my credit bureau accounts. Took care of beneficiaries, passwords, investments, IRAs, and half a dozen other pieces of crap on the list.

After all that, I smiled and wrote an email to every one of our friends that Anya and I were getting a divorce, the reason, and a racy photo of why. I also went on Facebook, marked single, said Anya’s trading up, and posted a picture of them.

I left a note with my ring on the kitchen counter.

The note said, Get out of my home. You have 24 hours. My attorney is Paula Ingram. This is her number. I put it on top of a picture of her and Mike fucking along with a letter I wrote her six years ago.

I packed up everything of mine that I wanted to keep, threw it into the back of my truck, and left.

I drove over to Paula’s office with all the signed papers she’d emailed me and a list of everything I’d taken care of.

We sat down and talked about Mike being Anya’s boss. Was there a possibility of suing the company? What was the company’s policy on fraternization? What had been done on company time or with the company credit card? Should I notify the company HR? Paula said she would handle all that.

It was a hell of an afternoon of work. Almost five o’clock when my phone started blowing up with calls, texts, and emails from Anya. I blocked the calls and texts and put all the emails in spam, blocking them, too.

I drove to a hotel to spend the night, checked in, and went up to my room. I lay there on the bed, not even taking off my shoes, and started bawling like I hadn’t since I was a little boy. My life had become a nightmare. I didn’t have anywhere or anyone to turn to. Just me and my misery.

Mom and Dad called about seven, they’d finally checked their email. They were shocked. I told them what I’d seen and heard, and there was no chance of reconciliation. A few minutes later, her parents called and told me they were ashamed of their wayward daughter and sorry for what she had done.

Six years wasted, pissed away.

After they hung up, I started thinking back to when we’d first started dating. We almost didn’t get married. We’d been together for about six months exclusively. We were at a party when I saw her kissing another man. I was talking to a friend, and he saw it too. I said to him, “If she comes looking for me, please tell her I’ve gone home, and offer her a ride.” I found out later that she got a ride home with the man who was kissing her. I didn’t see her again for two months. At another party, she was crying. She walked up to me and said she was sorry for what she had done and to please forgive her.

I said, “I forgive you,” and left.

Finally, after six months of her chasing me, begging, pleading, saying it was a mistake and she would never do anything like it again, we got back together. I wrote her a letter saying that if she disrespected me in any way, ever again, we would be over, no third chance. Now I was sorry I ever took her back.

The next day I drove home. Her car was still there, and when I went in, she was sitting crying on the couch.

I said, “You were supposed to be gone when I got home. Please leave now. If you don’t, I’ll call the police and have you removed from my home.”

She started sobbing, saying it was a mistake and she was sorry. Please don’t divorce me.

I said, “Our marriage is finished, you are no longer welcome in my home or life. Go back to your parents, or go find Mike and move in with him. I hear he is also getting a divorce. Now leave.”

Anya begged me not to divorce her again.

I said, “My only question for you would have been ‘Why?’ but then I heard what you said to Mike after you climaxed. You said ‘Oh, god, I wish Bill could make me feel this way again.’ Then I knew why. I couldn’t satisfy your needs. There is no way possible on God’s green earth I would ever take you back after that. Now, please leave.”

I took out my phone and started dialing.

She asked, “Who are you calling?”

“The police.”

“No, don’t, I’ll leave.” She got up and walked out the door, sobbing her eyes out.

She sat in her car for almost half an hour before she could get herself together enough to drive.

I called her parents to let them know she had left. I felt she’d be heading back to the safety of her family.

She hadn’t gotten any of her clothes or personal belongings out.

I got down her two suitcases and packed them up. Then I got several boxes from the garage and put everything else I could find of hers, and filled them. I called her dad and asked if he would come get them. He asked if I could bring them over in my truck.

I unloaded all my stuff back into the house, then loaded all Anya’s things into the truck and drove over to her parents’ home.

Her dad came out to help me unload my pickup. As we were working, he asked if there was any way I could take his wayward daughter back. Then I told him the words I heard her say, “Oh, god, I wish Bill could make me feel this way again.” Shaking his head, he said, “I understand, and I’m sorry for what she did to you.”

I drove back to my now empty home.

I called my boss and asked for a week of vacation time. He told me two other employees were taking vacation time and asked if I could put it off for a few weeks. I smiled and told him I’d see him in the morning.

The next morning, I took care of several work things that needed to be done. Then I got a copy of the HR rules and regulations. It was eye opening. I emailed a copy to Paula and went about my work.

On a Monday morning, two weeks later, Mike walked in. Jenna from HR met him at the door. They went into the HR office. Our CEO walked into HR, too. An hour later, Mike came out with one of our security officers. They went into Mike’s office, and half an hour later, they walked out with Mike carrying a box. Mike was gone, fired, or allowed to resign, whichever, it didn’t matter, he was gone. I smiled for the first time since I’d walked into his office to invite them to lunch.

I called Paula and told her the news. She told me to expect more.

About an hour Anya came in. Tears were running down her cheeks. She started to walk over to me, but was intercepted by Jenna and taken into the HR office. Our CEO again entered HR. This meeting only took half an hour. Anya was still crying when she left, again with a security officer. They went to her desk by Mike’s old office, filled a box with her personal belongings, and left.

I almost felt sorry for her. I later learned she just walked in and resigned, she wasn’t fired.

A week later, I got a call from Paula saying that Anya had been served the divorce papers. Now the drag through the court system, after she signed them.

Anya couldn’t contact me through phone, text, or email, so she started sending letters. I just marked them ‘Return to Sender’ and put them back in the mailbox unopened.

I’d been calling Paula weekly to see if Anya had signed the papers. Not so far.

After four weeks, Paula called. She told me Anya’s lawyer had called to say that if I would meet with Anya for a half hour and talk with her, she would sign the papers. Paula talked me into the meeting, explaining that the sooner this was done, the cheaper the divorce would be. We set it for the following Tuesday at three in the afternoon in Paula’s conference room.

I got to the conference room at two thirty. I was anxious to get this over.

Anya came in about twenty minutes later. She looked worn down, her skin pasty, her hair mussed, bags under her eyes, tears running down her cheeks, and she looked like she had lost weight.

I said, “Anya, you have to take care of yourself. I know you’re feeling bad, but don’t make yourself sick. You’ll get over this. Now what did you want to say?”

She started sobbing, putting her head down on the table. When she got herself together, she said, “After all the dirty shit I put you through, you’re still looking after me. I’m sorry for what I did to you, from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry. None of this was your fault in any way, shape, or form. You are blameless. You have been a wonderful, loving, thoughtful husband. You took care of all my wants and needs. This thing with Mike started as simple flirtations and compliments, nothing I even noticed at the time. Then little touches, pats on the back, reaching out, a squeeze on the arm, a hug. The hug turned into a kiss, and the kiss grew to sex. And it was just sex. I liked Mike, but I never felt about him the way I feel about you. I can’t explain it, but I still love you.

Again, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I’m going to a therapist to try to find out why I’m so screwed up. I know we’ll never be together again. Oh, god, that hurts.” Her head dropped to the table, and she started sobbing again.

By now, tears were running down my cheeks, and I said, “Babe, I still feel love for you, that doesn’t stop. We had some wonderful years together, and I’ll always remember the happy times. But I will never be able to forget seeing you having sex with Mike or hearing what you said to him after you climaxed, “Oh, god, I wish Bill could make me feel this way again.” That may stay with me the rest of my life. I’ll miss you, and the house is empty without you and your love. But I’ll get over it. I’ll come back and love again, it may take a while, though. Now, will you please sign the papers so we can end this?”

She said, “I’m so sorry,” again, then nodded her head yes.

I stepped into the hall and asked Paula to bring in the divorce papers. She and Anya’s lawyer came in and watched as she signed away our marriage.

Four months later, we were in court, and the judge announced the final decree. Anya didn’t look well and was crying still, but I was starting to feel at least a little peace. Our marriage was over, finished.

I was sad, feeling like I’d failed, but now to start over again. Maybe I should talk to a therapist too. It would feel weird dating again, going out with ‘not my wife’. Even thinking about it made me nervous, just like when I started dating Anya. Except now I was older and I hope wiser.

As she came into the kitchen, smiling, she said, “Well, finally I did it!”

It was just 9, and I was sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying my morning coffee and reading my Kindle.

I looked up at her, smiling, and said, “What, dear? What did you finally do, babe?”

All excited and smiling, she went on, “I went out and had sex with another man last night!”

We’ve been married twenty-two years, our kids are grown and in college. She occasionally gets a wild hair, but I wasn’t prepared for this revelation at all.

I asked, “What?... What?”

She got a coffee and sat across from me. She reached for my hand, but I pulled back.

I said, “Anya, start at the beginning and explain what happened, so I can understand it.”

Then she began her tale, “Bill, I told you yesterday that I was going to dinner and a late movie with Cindy. That was a lie that I made up. I went to Jake's Tavern and sat at the bar, like in all the movies and romance stories I read. It happened like clockwork. Several men approached me and tried to pick me up, but none of them did it for me. After I’d been there a while, another man came in. For some reason, he piqued my curiosity. He looked a lot like you, maybe younger and taller. His name was Cyrus. We talked for a bit, and he offered to take me to dinner. We went down to the Char Grill Steak House, and we had a lovely dinner and split a bottle of the red house wine. I found out he was in town for a business meeting. After dinner, we went dancing at the Club. Then, around eleven, he asked if I’d like to come up to his hotel room. We went up to his room, and for the next three hours we had sex. It was just like in all the books I’ve read. We did it in several different positions. It was just sex, and I climaxed many times. He climaxed in me, I guess, about four times. Finally, around two, I left and came home. I had to take a long shower and douched, trying to clean myself. It took almost as much time to clean my mouth. I finally came to bed around three. You were sound asleep. I didn’t want to wake you and ask you to reclaim me. There, I think I’ve told you everything I remember.”

She said it as if she had memorized a story.

I just sat there looking at her. I was in a daze, I could hardly believe it. As I started to leave, she asked again, “Aren’t you going to reclaim me?”

She followed me upstairs. I got my suitcase out

and started packing.

She started crying as I was packing and said, “Talk to me. Don’t leave me. Please make love to me.”

I looked over at her and said, “You may want to get a full STI panel at the doctor's office. I had a vasectomy, so you wouldn’t have to be on the pill anymore, and you may also want to get a pregnancy test when the time comes.”

Her eyes got big, and her mouth dropped open. She said, “Oh, god, no, oh, no. I didn’t even think… Oh, god no.”

Then she collapsed on the bed, sobbing.

I finished packing and drove over to my brother's house, and asked if I could use his guest room.

My brother and I sat in the kitchen, and I told him everything she said. He was as shocked as me. We both sat there shaking our heads, saying, “I can’t believe she would do something like that.” Over and over. We were stunned.

My phone started ringing, and text messages started coming in. I finally just shut it off.

Monday morning, I called the best divorce attorney in town and went over to see her that afternoon. We talked, and I told her everything.

She said the best-case scenario would be if I could prove adultery. I explained the only way I could prove it would be if Anya testified or turned up pregnant because of my vasectomy. I asked her to start preparing the papers.

Two days later, I drove home.

I moved all her things to the guest bedroom, unpacked, took a shower, and did my laundry.

She came home about an hour later. She ran up to me and tried to hug me. I held up my hand to stop her, and she started bawling again.

I told her I’d moved all her things to the guest room, then asked if she’d gone to the doctors.

Crying, she said, “I just got back from the doctor. That was the most embarrassing thing I've ever had to do. He asked me a bunch of very personal questions before he took my blood and urine samples. He also took a swab of my vagina. He said he should have the results back in a week. He gave me a shot and a prescription for an antibiotic pill and cream.”

“I see,” I said, “and why did he give you the shot, prescription, and cream?”

She was crying harder now and answered, “I may not have mentioned this, but I let Cyrus use my back door, and then he climaxed in my vagina. I’m sorry.”

I looked at her and said, “You gave Cyrus something you told me was filthy dirty and pervs did. Something you said only sluts and whores would do and never gave me, but you gave it to a stranger!”

Sobbing, she answered, “I’m sorry, god, I’m so sorry, but it was just in the heat of the moment. I was too excited.”

“Anything else you might have forgotten to tell me, dear?” I said,

‘Um, oh god, how do I say this? I have to tell you. Actually, it was my boss. It was really Mike Gun.” She answered.

“Is this the same Mike Gun and wife we’ve had over for dinner? The one with three children?”

Crying and looking at the floor, “Oh god, yes. I’m so sorry.” She said.

So let me get this straight: you’re a liar and a cheater. None of your original story was true. You completely set this up. You’ve hurt me as badly as you possibly could. You’ve made me a cuckold and a laughing stock. Other people know about your infidelity, and now I’ll be a cuckold to all our friends.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to hurt you. I love you.” She said.

He looked at her with all his hurt and pain in his eyes and said, “You planned all this. For how long? How many texts, calls, meetings, and emails went back and forth? I talked to my divorce lawyer and had her start doing the paperwork. The divorce papers will soon be ready, and we’ll be divorced. When Mike’s wife finds out he may be divorced too, so you two can get together.”

She started sobbing, saying, “No, please, I don’t want Mike, I want to be with you. You’re my friend, my lover, my husband, and I love you.”

I stared at her with a frown and puzzlement, “Do you even know what love is? You don’t treat a friend or someone you love like you’ve treated me. You don’t hurt them, you don’t lie to them, and you don’t cheat on them. What you have done is the opposite of love, care, and respect. I feel like I’ve wasted the last twenty-five years of my life, and now I have to start over. Please, go away, leave me alone.”

Bawling, she said, “No, it wasn’t supposed to be like this, you were supposed to forgive me, take me back, and love me. I guess I wanted something more.”

I was dumbfounded. Where does she come up with these ideas? Talk about feeling entitled.

I have to admit she did take responsibility for the divorce when she told our children.

They were both in college, and I told them I’d continue to pay for them through their schooling.

Two months later, the divorce papers were filed. I waited that long to make sure Anya was pregnant, and we could now prove adultery since I was sterile.

Anya moved back in with her parents after the papers were filed.

We met in the conference room at my attorney's office.

As her attorney looked over the papers, she asked why we were divorcing for adultery. My attorney explained that Anya was pregnant and there was no way I could be the father. I showed her my medical report that I had no sperm at all. Viable or not. If you want, have Anya get the baby a paternity test, and Bill will get one also. Her attorney looked up and said, “Anya never even told me she was pregnant. Let's meet again in a few weeks to talk this over again while I get all the facts straight. I hope.”

Anya kept crying and saying, “I’m sorry, please, please, I love you, don’t leave me.”

It took six more weeks before the tests came back.

We met again in the same conference room. The tests were conclusive, and I was not the father of her baby.

Anya looked worn out, tired, and distraught.

She was still weeping and kept saying, “I’m sorry, please don’t leave me, I miss you so much.”

Anya was in her mid-forties and was through her first trimester, with no father in sight.

She was living with her parents, who were soon to be retired, while the divorce slogged through the courts.

A judge finally took the case and immediately stated he wanted us to go to counseling for the next three months, twice a month.

It made me wonder if the judge had stock in the counseling company.

A week later the we got a call from the counselor's office, they set appointments for us each to come in for a private session.

Eleanor, the counselor, asked me to make a list of what I wanted from the meetings. We talked for a while about our marriage, children, and any problems we had.

I don’t know what she talked to Anya about.

We met together the following week.

I was already inside when Anya arrived. When she saw me, she ran up and tried to hug me. I put my hand up and said, “Please don’t, it hurts me too much.”

Anya was crying as we sat in separate chairs.

Eleanor asked Anya what she wanted to get out of these sessions.

Weeping, Anya got a list from her purse and began, “Mainly, I want Bill to know how much I still love him and how ashamed I am for what I did. In my head, I was playing some silly game. I never considered how he would feel or be affected by it. I thought I could talk my way out of any problems. It didn’t even occur to me that there would be trouble from his side. Now I realize the full extent of my actions and how much I’ve hurt the man I love. For that, I’ll never forgive myself. I accept full responsibility for the terrible things I did to our relationship and marriage. Bill’s a good man and a loving husband who did nothing to deserve what I did. This was all my stupid fault.

Eleanor then asked, “ Bill, what do you want from these sessions?

First, I’d like to understand why she had sex with her boss, how many times, and how long has this been going on? I don’t believe for a second she got pregnant the first time they had sex.

Second, I’d like to know when the emotional affair started.

Thirdly, I’d like to see her phone and read all the back-and-forth texts that they sent, what she said about me, and told him about me.

Anya started sobbing, saying, “Oh god no. Not that. Please, no.”

Eleanor then said, “Both of you promised full honesty and transparency in these sessions. I expect you both to follow through with this. If you don’t, the judge will hear about it.”

At the next session, Anya talked again about being remorseful and ashamed of what she did and put me through.

Eleanor asked me if I had any questions.

First, I asked, “Why, why did you have sex with your boss, Anya?”

Anya looked at me and said, “Honest to god, I don’t know. At first, it was fun, the drama, the hiding, the taboo sex, all of it. I knew the affair was wrong, but we couldn’t stop.

Then I asked, “How long has this been going on?”

First, Anya looked down at the floor, shaking her head, then she looked over at Eleanor.

Eleanor said, “It’s all part of the process. We all need to be truthful and transparent, or this is a waste of time, which the judge hates.”

Anya, still shaking her head and crying, said, “About six months.”

I looked at her in amazement and said, “When? You’re home most evenings, don’t work late or go out with friends at night that often.”

Crying harder, she said, “Some days I went in early, then at lunch, and some days we took off early so I’d be home on time.

Shaking my head, I said, “So for the last six months, you’ve had sex with him sometimes as much as two or three times a day? Then you came home to me for more sex, with his semen still inside you? What about when you sucked his cock, and he climaxed in your mouth, did you come home and kiss me?”

Sobbing, she said, “I tried to clean up as best I could at work. I’m sorry.”

Even Eleanor looked shocked at that, and she thought she’d heard everything.

By then, our hour was up, and we went our separate ways.

The next time we got together, Anya tried to say I’m sorry in another way, but it was the same I’m sorry.

Eleanor asked me what I wanted to get out of these sessions, and I got out my list.

I asked her when the emotional part of the cheating started. I said, “I know you had to have some feelings before you had sex with someone. When and how did it start?

Anya, crying, said, “Maybe a couple of months before the sex started. We were talking about personal stuff. What was going on at home. If we were happy or fighting, complaining about little things. Comparing how we felt about things, after a while, we started talking about sex, whether it was exciting or boring, passionate or just vanilla. We talked about our fantasies and things we wanted to try, but didn’t feel comfortable doing with our spouses. We thought they would think we were dirty. That’s when the sex started, doing things we wanted to try but were ashamed of.”

I said, “All those things I wanted to explore with you, my loving wife, and you shut me down.”

Crying, she apologized again.

I said, “Just saying you’re sorry doesn’t fix or change anything.”

We left the session on that note.

Two weeks later, we were back again.

Anya continued with her plea that she would go to counseling. She would fix things if I’d just give her a chance.

I said, “Counseling would be good for you; you should go and work on your problems, but it won’t change anything you’ve already done.”

Eleanor asked me what I wished to know today.

I said, “I’d like to see Anya’s phone.”

Finally, smiling a bit, she said, “Sure, here.”

I knew she thought making them disappear erased them. She thought swiping right got rid of them.

I looked at her messages and said, “There are very few messages.”

Anya said, “I hardly ever use it.”

I smiled and opened her archived messages. They went back months. Then I started reading them aloud.

She said, “But I deleted them.”

Smiling, I said, “No, you just moved them to the archived file.”

There was the usual when, where, and how to meet. She also complained about our sex and anything else she could think of. I was boring and not any fun. The sex with me didn’t leave her satisfied. There were photographs of them naked and having sex. Texts of them saying they couldn’t wait to be together, how much they loved each other. On and on for seven or eight months. They even continued to the present day during the divorce hearings and counseling sessions. Hundreds and hundreds of texts.

Anya was sobbing again, saying she didn’t mean it, it was just a game. She’s sorry.

Eleanor sat there looking amazed. Eyes big, eyebrows up, mouth open. Then she said, “None of this has helped at all. She’s been playing us both. I’ll send my report to the judge, telling him what’s going on and advising him to go through with the divorce.”

Then she looked at Anya and said, “You have totally wasted hours and hours of my time with your dishonesty. Please do not come back.”

Session over, game over. I guess you’d call it a win for me, but it felt like I’d lost everything. I felt like crap as I drove to my empty house, which I could no longer call my home, my refuge, my safe place.

The divorce was finalized. Anya ended up paying both our lawyers' fees. We signed the papers and were no longer married.

Anya was depressed and miserable. She thought she could talk her way out of anything.

She was called as a witness in Marva and Mike’s divorce, and then it all became public knowledge.

When all the news came out, her parents were angry at what she had done, and she lost many of her friends.

Both she and Mike were fired. Now they had to find a way to make a living, which added to their misery.

Karma.

SIX YEARS AND IT’S OVER

We were sitting in a booth towards the back, waiting, watching the front door.

I guess I need a little more lead-in than that. My name is Bill Chants, and my soon-to-be ex is Anya. We’ve been, as far as I knew, happily together for the past six years. We were going through a bit of a rough spell, but I wasn’t particularly worried about it. My work was going well, and we’d even started talking about having children. I’d bought our home before we were married.

About two weeks ago, I got a visitor at my door. It was an evening when Anya was out with her girlfriends. She told me her name was Ellen Gun and her husband, Mike, worked with my wife. She had a folder under her arm and asked if she could come in and talk. I invited her in, and we sat in the living room. Tears started running down her cheeks. She said, “I don’t even know how to say something like this, but my husband and your wife are having an affair, and they’re together right now.”

I protested, “No, Anya’s out with girlfriends.”

Crying and shaking her head, she handed me the folder, saying, “No, I have a private investigator watching them right now. That’s how I knew I could come over.”

I couldn’t believe it, shaking my head, no, I opened the folder and there in living color were photographs of Anya with another man. Kissing, hugging, and even a few of them having sex. My world crashed around me. I started crying too. My Anya, the love of my life, is lying and cheating. I didn’t know what to do; I was lost. Destroyed.

She said, “I’m so sorry my husband did this. I have my lawyer drawing up divorce papers right now. They’ll be ready in about ten days. The next time they’re together after that, I plan to give them to him.”

I asked who her lawyer was, and she told me his card was in the folder. As I searched through the folder, I saw there were lists of texts, emails, hotel visits, and phone calls. It appears this has been going on for the past several months.

She said, “I’m sorry again,” and left.

That night, I pretended to be ill when Anya got home and slept in the guest room.

After Anya left, I called my boss asking for a few personal days. I explained what was going on, then I called and made an appointment with the lawyer for that afternoon.

I showed the lawyer the folder, and he called his partner in. He said it might be considered a conflict of interest if he handled both divorces. I followed his partner into his office. He said he’d draw up the papers so they could be given to our spouses at the same time.

He gave me a list of things to take care of to protect myself financially, but not emotionally. I had to put on an act just like my soon-to-be ex. The days went by slowly, but the time came when we had the divorce papers and our spouses were going out on a date.

There, now I can tell you.

We were sitting in a booth towards the back of the restaurant, waiting, watching the front door.

Our spouses walked in laughing, holding hands. My wife looked up at him, they kissed, and then sat down at a vacant table. Still, holding hands, giggling, talking, intent on each other, oblivious to all around.

We got up and walked over to their table, stopping by the happy couple for a moment.

I laid my divorce papers in front of my soon-to-be ex-wife, and Ellen set her divorce papers in front of her soon-to-be ex-husband.

They looked up at us, startled by the interruption. We walked out, got in our cars, and drove away to our now sad, empty homes.

In all the years I knew my dad, I only saw him cry one time. When his stepfather died, he wept and said, “I never gave him a chance to know me or me to know him. I’m sorry.” Dad was a solitary man, and if he ever cried again, I never saw it.

Now, as I sat there in my lonely, unhappy home, I broke down and cried. I cried for the lost love of my life and our broken marriage. I cried for loved ones, family, and friends who had passed away. I cried for beloved pets now gone. I cried for myself and all the things I wished I’d done. My trust in her and my self-confidence was destroyed. My trust in myself was gone. I felt this was my fault, and I guess in a way it was. I’d failed.

I packed her clothes in her suitcase and filled half a dozen packing boxes with all the detritus of our six years of marriage, including the photos of our marriage. Took all the pictures of us over the years down from the walls, jewelry, cosmetics, everything I could find into the boxes, even furniture and kitchen items, and sent them to her parents’ house. I’m sad to say many of my tears were in those boxes.

It was a little after noon, a month later. The doorbell rang, and there was a knock. When I opened the door, Anya was standing there looking down with tears in her eyes. She looked at me and asked, “May I please come in? I want to talk to you and apologize.

I answered, “You may come in, though I might not believe any words you have to say.”

She took a deep breath, gathering herself, and walked into the living room, looking around, and started bawling. A home that used to be hers, too.

A home that showed no part of her having lived there, of being in my life at all. She sat in a chair rather than on the couch, trying to stop crying.

I sat down across from her.

She took another deep breath and said, “I’m sorry, I’m a liar. I’m sorry, I’m a cheater. I’m sorry, I’m the piece of crap that hurt you in the worst way possible to hurt you as a man, the man I love with all my heart.

What we had, before I destroyed it, was an amazing marriage, full of love and understanding. You were my best friend. We talked about any and everything. You never judged me, no matter what I said. You loved me implicitly, with no boundaries. I trusted you completely, and now I’ve betrayed you and destroyed your trust in me. I have no one to blame but myself. When my Dad died, you held me in your strong arms and let me cry, just being there supporting me. When I had the cancer scare, you wrapped your arms around me, holding me tight, kissed me on the top of my head, and said, ‘We’ll work it out, baby, I’m with you all the way.’ You were my rock, my safe place, my love, my home, my heart, my future.

I guess maybe I started taking for granted that you’d always be there for me. Now I’ve pissed that all away. I love you so much, and I’ve hurt you so badly, god, I’m sorry.

I want you to know none of this was your fault. None of it. This is all on me and my hubris.

At first, I loved the drama, the thrill, the secrecy, the hiding, and the taboo sex. I’d be lying to myself and everyone else if I denied the fact just because I knew the affair itself was wrong.

After I was with him, I always felt dirty, like I could never get clean enough. The guilt kept getting worse. I hated myself for what I was doing. But after we started, we couldn’t stop.

To tell the truth, he wasn’t as good a lover as you. He was not as caring as you. You saw him, he wasn’t as handsome or in as good a shape as you. We seldom talked about anything serious. He wasn’t as well-endowed as you, and yes, we did every single dirty, nasty thing you’ve ever thought about. Things I wouldn’t do with you, the man I loved, wanted to spend my life with. I was his cheap, no-good, rotten slut. I’ve thought about this for the last month, and I don’t understand the attraction other than it was new, exciting, and different. Maybe a counselor can help me understand my incredible stupidity.

The night you gave us the divorce papers, I was angry with you and his wife. I felt you were ruining our fun, but I was really angry because we’d been caught.

Then, as the days went on, I realized I was angry at myself, me, for my thoughtlessness, the terrible pain and destruction I was responsible for. The ruin of us, you and me, our love, our marriage, our life together, our future. I’d give anything to take it all back, to make it go away, to feel your strong arms around me again, holding me tight, loving me.

When I got the boxes from you and opened them, I fainted. When I woke up, I realized you’d ripped me out of your life the same way I tore you out of mine.

God, I’m so, so sorry. I know you can never trust me or anything I say or do again, and I know we’ll never be together again.

That hurts so bad, I want to curl up and die. I miss you so much. I cry every empty, lonely night, just lie there in bed and sob.”

She broke down, bawling her heart out. When she slowed down, she stood up and said, “Also, I want you to know, I won’t fight the divorce in any way or ask for anything. I’ll sign the papers as is. I guess that’s what I wanted to tell you. I’ll leave you now.”

I walked her to the door and opened it for her. As she started to walk out, I pulled her to me, wrapping my arms around her and holding her tight, and kissed the top of her head. I said, “The trust is gone, but I still love you and the wonderful memories of what we had. Goodbye, baby, I miss you too.” I was crying now.

She started sobbing again, hugging me tightly and said, “Goodbye, god, I’m sorry for what I did and how I hurt you, my love.” She knew the last goodbye was the hardest one to say.

She took another deep breath, gathering herself, then walked to her car. I stood there watching, with tears running down my face, till her car was out of sight.

As the months rolled by, our divorce was finalized, and we went our separate ways. I slowly started to recover. Visiting friends. Seeing a counselor. Working more. Exercising more at the gym, taking long walks. I went to the pound one day and got a rescue dog. After a few weeks, she got used to her new home, and I had a companion for my walks, someone to talk to and play with. I fenced in the back yard and found a person to look after her while I was at work.

I’m afraid Anya didn’t fare as well.

Mike fought his divorce from Ellen, and Anya ended up having to testify in court. The whole sordid mess was made public.

Anya lost many of our friends and work friends when it came out.

When HR found out, they had to let both Mike and Anya go.

Anya needed to find new employment. No easy thing in this job market.

I heard from acquaintances that she was doing better. I hope she finds whatever it is she’s looking for.

Ellen got full custody of her children, child support, the house, and alimony until the children reached eighteen. Mike did receive visitation rights.

I found it embarrassing, but every time friends invited me to dinner, they had a new lady there to introduce me to. I was always pleasant to the lady and tried to make her feel comfortable, but let her know I wasn’t ready to begin anew. Matchmaking at its finest. But I realized they were trying, in their way, to help me.

Two years after the divorce, I did meet a lovely woman I became interested in, and luckily, she, me. Her name is Mercy, and she’s a few years older than me. It’s slow going, and we’ll see where we end up. I do try to be there for her and her little girl. I really like them both.

She is also divorced; her husband cheated on her. So we both have trust issues. Sometimes we jointly see a counselor.

She teaches fourth grade at Tillman Elementary and has her daughter, Janet, there in the third grade. Her ex is frequently absent from their daughter, and I’ve been trying to fill in to help her out. She’s a sweet, loving child, and I believe (hope) she’s starting to accept me being with her Mom.

I’m slowly beginning to feel trust again, but I still get flashbacks. I guess Mercy does, too.

Baggage from our past. I need to leave it outside the door and not drag it around.

THE LAST GOODBYE

Amy, my lovely twenty-year-old daughter, came in the front door. She said, “Hi Dad, what’s up?”

I said, “Anya needs help packing. She’s leaving.”

Amy looked confused, asking, “What? Why’s she leaving?”

“I’m divorcing her because she wants more than I can give her. You need to pack anything you want to keep, too, take with you when you leave,” I answered.

“What’s going on, Dad?” She asked.

I looked at her and explained, “You know what’s going on, and you turned a blind eye to it. You hid it from me. Your Mom needed more than me and had sex with another man.”

“No, Dad, she loves you and only you. This was just supposed to be a one-time thing to make her feel better about herself. She was feeling old and down.”

“Once is too many times. But it was more than one time, wasn’t it, Amy? And you, knowing it was going on, continued to keep it from me. Amy, if I’m feeling old and down, can I go out and have sex with another woman?”

“No, Dad, that’s not the same.”

“I’m confused, Amy. Why is that not the same?

“Because that would be cheating.”

“But Amy, that’s exactly what your mother did, didn’t she? She went out and had sex with another man. She lied and cheated. You condoned it and did not tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t want to hurt you or Mom. I know I should have come to you, but…”

“Let’s go to the kitchen. I need a cup of coffee.”

We sat down at the table. “Amy, do you remember when you were growing up?

“Yes, Dad. So?”

“I’d get up at five to exercise, then every weekday morning, who got you up? Who made you breakfast? Who drove you to the Montessori School? Who paid for it?

“You did, Dad.”

“Why do you think I did that?”

“Because you loved me and Mom was still sleeping, thank god, ‘cause she was a bear if she woke up too early.”

“Right, and so Mom could sleep late. Then I went to work for the next eight or more hours to give you both a good life. Mom picked you up after school and took care of you till I got home. Then what did I do?”

“You and Mom worked around the house doing chores and making dinner. After that, you helped me do homework and helped Mom with supper, or more often, you made supper for us.”

“Then for the last fifteen years, I’ve hired good folks to help clean and cook so we can spend more time together, and your Mom has less to do. I still take care of things around the house. Your mother now feels entitled to do whatever she wants. She feels it’s her due. For some reason, she feels I owe it to her, and you do too. Her having an affair crushes me. I ache inside, I want to throw up. I can no longer trust the woman I thought I’d spend my life with, or you. I’m so fucking angry she did this to us. I feel like I’m less of a man, and Anya needed to find someone else who could give it to her. Now, if I make love to your mother, I’ll wonder if she’s thinking of him and not me, and I’ll never know. Now there’s another man in our bed. She’s lied to me every time she’s made a date with him, every text, call, or email. I no longer trust your Mother. She’s a liar and a cheater and has hurt me in the worst way possible. You knew this was going on and didn’t come to me about it. So you are a part of this mess, too. I’ve worked hard for the last twenty-five years, and for what? She’s made me a cuckold, a fool, a loser, and you condoned it with your silence. Now our marriage is over. Amy, I want you to understand that I’m no longer your mother's meal ticket. I’m no longer going to be your meal ticket. I no longer have to pay all the bills. The house is mine, and I want you both out of my home. Today, she got the divorce papers and a copy of the prenup she signed when I took out the quarter-million-dollar loan to start my business. I plan to sell the house and business and leave. You and she will be on your own.”

Amy was crying hard now, “No, Dad, we love you and need you. I love you. I’m sorry you're hurt. We didn’t do it to hurt you. Mom just needed someone extra.”

“What about me, Amy? What about my needs? Am I just someone you can shit on? Do you respect me at all? I don’t care why you did it. Amy, from now on, you’ll have to pay for your schooling and everything else. Same with your mother. All credit cards have been canceled. The bank accounts are empty. I closed out your 529 college plan and took back all the money I put in. You can move in with her parents or with her boyfriend. I don’t care where you go. All your other belongings will be boxed up and sent to her parents. I told your mother the same thing. You both may have to go to work.”

Amy was bawling now. I told her to go help her mother pack.

Anya was lying on the bed, sobbing. Her suitcase was next to her, but she hadn’t started to pack. She was waiting for someone to help.

Tears running down her cheeks, Amy looked at her mother and asked, “What are we going to do?”

Sniveling, Anya picked up her phone and called her mother, “Mom, Amy, and I need a place to stay for a little while. Can we move in with you?”

“Why do you need to move in, Anya? What’s going on? What happened? Where’s Bill?”

“Bill’s divorcing me, Mom, and told Amy and me to leave his home.”

“That doesn’t sound like Bill; he loves you and would do anything for you.”

“Please, Mom, we have no place else to go.”

In her ‘Mother’ voice, she said, “Anya, tell me what’s going on right now.”

“Mom, I was having an affair, Amy knew about it, and Bill found out .”

“You what?”

Sobbing, I said again, “I had an affair, and Bill found out. Now he’s divorcing me and telling us to leave his home, Mom.”

“Anya, if I did that, your father would kick me out, too. I know I didn’t raise you to be a slut or cheat and lie. I love you, and you’ll always have a roof over your head with me. Now I have to try to explain to your Dad what you’ve done. How soon will you be over?”

“Now, Mom.”

“Okay, come on over, both of you. You can share your old room.”

Amy and I were still crying when we finished packing. As we were leaving, we looked around at what used to be our safe place, our shelter, but I’d ruined it. It was no longer our home. Amy and I started bawling as we left. The last goodbye is the hardest one to say.

I had warned Anya to just sign the divorce papers, or she wouldn’t like the consequences, as I had photos and videos of her with her lover. I told her that if there were any questions, to contact Susan Cunningham, my lawyer. I’d signed everything and left all the paperwork up to Susan.

All of her and Amy’s things were boxed up and sent to her parents and stored in the garage.

Anya (now forty-seven) and Amy had decided they didn’t need me, and began very much poorer lives, with no more luxury living.

I called a realtor and put the house up for sale. It was in excellent condition and sold within a week. Goodwill came and took all the furniture.

The house was empty now, so I moved into a hotel for the time being.

All my belongings were boxed up and ready to go, so I rented one of those PODS and put everything I wanted to keep in it.

Some lovely homes along the Yaquina River outside of Newport, Oregon, caught my eye. I decided to try moving out there. Far enough away to start over, a clean slate.

The business sold quickly, and I signed the non-compete documents.

With everything sold and after taxes, I still had almost eight and a half million dollars, more than enough to begin again.

It had taken a couple of months, but everything was done. Home gone, business gone, wife and daughter gone. I felt like shit. I kept tearing up. God, it hurt.

The next morning, I began driving West. Twenty-two hundred miles to go. A life to start anew.

BUILDING TRADE

Our crew was framing a new home over on Chestnut St. when we ran out of two-by-fours, and Mack, the foreman, said, “Go home, Bill, I’ll see you in the morning. We’re supposed to get a load of lumber delivered late today.” I walked over to my truck and dropped my tool belt into the bed, then headed home. There was a strange car in the driveway, so I parked out front and then went in through the garage. I walked into the bedroom, and my cute little, blond-haired, blue-eyed wife was sound asleep, snoring gently. Next to her was a very large black man also snoring, not so gently.

God, I hurt, tears were running down my face, and I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. I sucked in a deep breath, but I’d man up and do the right thing.

I quietly took several photos with my phone, then got out my duffel and started filling it while the two of them slept.

After it was packed, I walked over to the bed and gently shook Anya’s foot. Her eyes popped open, and she looked around, startled. I looked over at the log the black man was sporting and said, “I have a good package, but I can’t compete with that. A couple of months ago, I noticed something didn’t feel right, but didn’t think anything of it. Now I know why. I’ll be staying over at Mack’s for a while. I’ll send him over to get the rest of my things.”

He was trying hard not to cry, not break down. But his eyes were tearing and his voice cracking.

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer. Just sign the papers. Love you, have a good life.”

Anya’s mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish, and tears were running down her cheeks. I walked out of her life.

I canceled our credit cards, took out half the money in our checking and savings accounts, and opened accounts in a different bank. I had my new bank issue me debit and credit cards.

I was in good shape financially. I had been able to save a good portion of my income, looking to the future, a future that was now completely different from the one I’d envisioned. Thanks to a good friend, I had also made some solid investments.

I’d bought our home as a fixer-upper, for a very reasonable price, and was able to pay cash for it. The house was in good shape after all the work I had done on it. My truck and the car were also free and clear. I’d bought them second-hand too, as they were just slightly used.

All in all, except for a failed marriage, the loss of my love, and the future I’d been planning, at least financially, things were looking good.

Mack let me crash there for a few months, and he had gone over to the house to collect the rest of my stuff for me.

Anya had tried to see me and call me several times, but I was able to avoid her and didn’t answer her calls. She sent several letters, which I kept. Maybe I’d be able to read them someday.

Our state is a community property, but I had the lawyer offer her the house and car free and clear, which would equal her half of my investments.

Anya already had half of our cash and a college degree in accounting, which I’d also paid for, so she should be set. Anya would have to go to work.

Anya signed the papers. I continued working for a few more months before I decided to move upstate. I didn’t want to see or run into her; it hurt too much.

There was a small town within an easy commute to a much larger city. I thought the building trade could take off there, and it would be a good way to invest my money.

I drove up to check out Shell Falls and fell in love with its small-town feel. All the businesses downtown were open and doing well.

I located a nice subdivision within a mile of the highway to the larger city. There were three lots left. I bought a ‘cul-de-sac’ lot that looked like a solid investment. I thought I could build a nice spec home and make a profit. I hired a couple of local boys, and that was the beginning of my company.

Six years later.

There was a new restaurant in town that I wanted to try. The greeter led me to a booth. I let her know my wife was coming. The waitress came up behind me and asked if I’d like something to drink. I recognized the voice and looked around, surprised to see Anya standing there.

I was as shocked as she was. I said, “Uh, hi, Anya, how are you?” She sort of smiled and said, “Hi, Bill, I’m fine, just working to make ends meet.”

I asked her about her accounting degree, and she said she was between jobs.

I asked for a dry white house. She went off to get it.

My wife, Beverly, walked in and saw me. She came over to the booth, smiling as she sat down across from me, reached out, and took my hand.

God, she was lovely. How could I get so lucky? Bev had long, dark brown wavy locks, past her shoulders, hazel eyes, and a turned-up nose above pouty lips. Bev was tall, almost 5’9”. She always had a twinkle in her eye, a smile on her face, and a good word for everyone.

Bev was a people person, smart, sweet, kind, and brighter than me, thank god. Everyone liked her; she was a good, honest person. God love her, she taught sixth grade at Henley Elementary. I was lucky she put up with me.

I told her I was having a white wine and slid a menu to her. She glanced at it and asked what I was having. I told her I’d heard the chicken parmesan was good and wanted to try it.

Anya came back with my wine, and I introduced them to each other. I felt kind of uncomfortable, but Bev immediately gave Anya a big smile and stuck out her hand, saying what a pleasure it was to meet her. Anya kind of flushed but smiled back and shook her hand.

I had never gone into details with Bev about my divorce from Anya. I was still uncomfortable about it. I just told her Anya had found someone else and we’d gone our separate ways.

Bev and I gave Anya our orders, and Bev asked for a dry house red. Anya said, “I’ll put your orders in and be right back with your wine.”

Bev smiled and said, “Didn’t you tell me she had an accounting degree?” “Yes, she does, she told me she was between jobs,” I said.

Then Bev reminded me that Charlie, our company accountant, wanted to retire. Maybe Anya would be interested in the job, and it would give her both better working conditions and a much better income with benefits.

My wife was amazing, constantly trying to improve the lives of those around her, always thinking of others.

I said I’d mention it to her. When Anya came back with our orders, I thanked her as she set our dinner on the table.

I then asked if she might be interested in working for our company as an accountant. Anya looked surprised and said she’d be very interested.

I asked her when she could come in and talk to Charlie, our present accountant. She smiled and asked, “Would tomorrow morning be okay?”

“Sure, about 9:00, I’ll see you then.”

I gave her my card and told her to tell the receptionist to call me when she got there.

The dinner was excellent, and the chicken parmesan was delicious. Bev enjoyed her stuffed flounder, saying it was wonderful. The salad was crisp and fresh the dressing was not overdone. The veggies were just right.

I paid for dinner and left Anya a good tip for her great service. We’d be back.

The next morning at 9:00, Kelly, our receptionist, called me to say Anya Roberts was there to see me. I was surprised that Anya had kept her married name.

Anya came back to my office, and I had her take a seat. I asked her about her previous employment and why she had moved up here.

She said, “First, I want to thank you for giving me this opportunity. I know it couldn’t have been easy with our history. I want to justify your faith in me by being the best accountant for your company possible.”

“Second, I want to say I’m sorry for my incredibly bad judgment six years ago. I’m sorry for all the hurt and pain I put you through. There is no excuse possible; it was all my fault. I’m just very sorry for what I did.”

I nodded and said, “What’s past is passed.”

She then explained that she had been working for a government agency as an accountant and had discovered a serious problem with their finances. A lot of money was not properly accounted for. She went to her boss, then his boss, and they glossed over the problem and said they would take care of it. She finally went to the FBI with her findings.

Both her bosses were prosecuted after the Feds went over the accounts. Her bosses had been hiding and pocketing a lot of government money.

After their trials, when she went back to work, the atmosphere around her changed dramatically. Anya was now labeled a whistleblower and became a persona non grata.

After several months of pressure, she resigned and sold her house. She packed up and moved north, hopefully, to find a better life.

Smiling, Anya explained to Bill she was a single mom and the father, not Bill, had left her the same day I left her. She had a beautiful little girl who was the light of her life. Marci was now five years old and starting kindergarten at Henley Elementary, small world.

Bill took Anya over to meet Charlie in the accounting office. Charlie was glad to see a replacement.

Charlie and Anya spent several hours going over the building business. Charlie said, “You are going to learn and hear more than you ever wanted to know about the building trade.”

He showed her the spreadsheets. Then explained how this business worked, including accounts receivable, payable, billing, payroll, and normal expenditures for the other departments.

Charlie then went over the many divisions: H.R., planning and development, architecture, bidding, home sales, advertising, materials, vendors, landscaping, cash sales, tools, machinery, rentals, and office costs. Subs: electrical, plumbing, HVAC, concrete, excavation, inspections, permits, expenditures for miscellaneous costs, credits, taxes, and profit margin, plus many other things. All that and more went into building homes, subdivisions, offices, parks, pools, and the hundreds of things that go into making Roberts Construction a good, solid, profitable company. He smiled, saying that many employees had to wear several hats.

Anya was shocked at how many different divisions there were. She started work the following Monday.

She worked with Charlie, learning all the ins and outs of his accounting system. By the end of the second month, Anya was doing the majority of the bookkeeping, and by April, she was confident she could handle the job.

Charlie was given a big farewell party with a nice bonus for his years of work, and he retired.

Charlie would be on call for any possible questions Anya might have.

Two months later, Anya had made several bookkeeping changes, streamlining some of the systems, combining like divisions, grouping similar departments, and bringing them up to present-day accounting standards.

Anya set up the bookkeeping so she was able to compare the expenditures of various salesmen, subs, building projects, and foremen to other employees, groups, and projects in the same positions.

While comparing different foremen, she found that Carl, the foreman of one of the six building crews, was running about twelve to thirteen percent higher in material costs than the others.

She also found Randy Shepherd, one of the salesmen’s costs was running as much as fifteen percent higher than the other salesmen, and a lot of his receipts were handwritten.

Anya waited a month, double-checking her figures and the receipts. After the month, she went in to see Bill. She explained her findings and showed him the figures.

Bill thanked her and said no one would know any information had come from her, and he’d check it out.

When Bill went home that night, he told Bev all about it. Bev was pleased that it was working out well for Anya.

Bev also told Bill she’d met Marci, Anya’s daughter. Marci was a sweet, hardworking, and well-behaved little girl who tried to please everyone.

The next day, Bill checked on the type and quality of homes the other foremen were building, knowing a million-dollar home would have greater material costs than a quarter-million-dollar home, both in quantity and quality.

He found out that Carl, the foreman in question, was building less expensive homes.

After checking on the materials Carl was using, he discovered the materials he was purchasing were not up to company standards, and he was buying more of them than the plans called for.

The percentage he was spending was even higher than Anya had suspected.

Bill borrowed a car and drove by the building site several times after hours. On more than one occasion, he observed Carl taking materials from the building site. He would load the materials in his truck and haul them away.

Bill changed cars and drove by the foreman’s home. As he drove by, he could see stacks of building materials in the back and side yard, also in the open garage. Bill checked Craig’s list and a local for-sale site and found that Carl was advertising and selling the stolen materials.

Bill was angry. He went to the police, explaining about the thefts and showing them how and what Carl had been doing.

The police set up a sting.

After hours, the police marked the materials on the building site.

Then they watched and photographed Carl putting materials in his truck and taking them to his home.

One of their detectives went on Craigslist and called Carl’s number. The detective said he was building a home and needed the following materials. He asked Carl if he had them. He said, “Sure, come on by, and I’ll have them ready for you.” The detective then drove to Carl’s in a large U-Haul and purchased about forty-five hundred dollars’ worth of lumber, house wrap, siding, and other home-building materials. They loaded it onto the truck, and the detective gave the cash to Carl. As soon as Carl took the cash, two squad cars pulled up and arrested Carl.

Carl was charged with felony theft and possession of stolen property. All the materials in his yard and garage were impounded.

Bill showed the police receipts for the materials that had been purchased and the lumber yard marks on all the materials.

Bill fired Carl for ‘cause’ so he couldn’t claim unemployment.

Next, Bill checked on Randy Shepherd. He knew the handwritten receipts were not authentic because Bill traveled to and ate at many of the same restaurants that the handwritten receipts said they were from. Bill had always received register receipts.

Bill had the cleaners who emptied the trash each day put Randy’s trash in a separate container for him. Every few days, Bill would go through all the papers in the trash, collecting receipts and anything else he thought might be incriminating.

Bill went through Randy’s office desk and found several different blank receipt books. He collected the receipts from the trash for two months. Then Bill compared the handwritten receipts Randy had turned in and claimed, along with all his other sales expenditures.

Over two months, the differences between the two types of receipts amounted to almost eight hundred dollars. When you multiplied that by the number of months this had been going on, it amounted to thousands of dollars.

Bill just shook his head; he couldn’t understand why someone with a good-paying job would do something this stupid.

Bill knew he had to get rid of Randy, but do it in such a way that Anya wouldn’t be involved.

Bill started going over Randy’s sales, and he was behind in sales. Bill also went over his time sheets and the times he came in and left work. Bill checked Randy's phone records and made a note of repeat phone calls, the numbers, and their length.

Bill had IT check Randy’s computer. There, he hit pay dirt, something he could fire Randy for.

IT checked the history on Randy’s computer and found he had been using the company computer for personal use and logging on to pornographic websites during work hours.

This sometimes amounted to several hours a day. It was against written company policy to use the company computers for personal use. It was also against policy to go to pornographic websites.

Randy had signed a statement stating he was aware of the company's policies and could be fired for noncompliance.

Bill called Randy into his office and started listing all the problems with Randy’s work, poor sales, phone usage, work attendance, and finally, using the computer for personal use and pornography. Bill didn’t mention the false sales receipts.

Randy wanted to know how he found out, and Bill said that IT had come across the banned usage.

Randy was fired for ‘cause’, so he couldn’t claim unemployment, and Bill would not write him a job recommendation.

Bill was pleased with how things were turning out. He was happy that two large holes had been plugged, and he was no longer losing company funds to thieves. Bill realized he had been falling down on the job. As the boss, he should have been keeping a much closer watch.

Bill called Anya into his office and quietly thanked her for her excellent work in finding the discrepancies. He called HR and put a commendation in her file.

Anya was doing a great job. Bill gave her a healthy thank you bonus. The company had a 401 (k) plan, and the company offered twelve percent matching funds. Anya put her bonus into their savings plan.

Bev was pleased when Bill told her about Anya’s bonus, saying she deserved it for all her hard work and for saving the company money.

Bev called Anya and invited her and Marcie over for dinner on Friday around five-thirty.

At five-thirty, Anya rang the doorbell. Bev answered the door and pulled them both inside, hugging Anya and taking Marcie’s hands, saying how pretty she was and how glad she came for dinner. She said, “Come on in the kitchen while I finish supper.”

Bev dropped down to her knees to talk to Marci. She said, “I hear you like unicorns. Would you like to color some?”

Marci got big-eyed and said, “Yes, please.” Bev put her at the table and gave her a unicorn coloring book with a big box of crayons. Marci was in heaven.

Anya smiled, asking Bev how she knew. Bev said she’d asked Ms. Jackson, the kindergarten teacher. Anya was impressed.

Bev asked her to help fill the glasses with ice water. Anya got out four glasses and filled them, carrying them to the table.

Bev said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t feel comfortable, but all Bill ever told me was you found someone else. I was just wondering.” Anya, eyes tearing, head down and shaking back and forth, quietly says so that Marci can’t hear, “I messed up. I was cheating on Bill. It was my fault, all my fault. Bill is a good man, honest, loving, trustworthy, hardworking, and an excellent lover. As you know, he was a great husband and took good care of me. I was young, spoiled, selfish, thoughtless, foolish, and curious; the curiosity is what cost me in the end, cost me everything. I saw something I’d heard about, and I wanted to know if it made a difference or if it made it better. I screwed up badly. It was completely my fault, and I accept responsibility for my stupidity. I threw away a good man and ruined a good marriage for sex. It was better, but not that much better. Bill was the better man; the sex was not worth it, not worth it at all. Ron, the man I was cheating with, left me the same day Bill walked out, and said he didn’t want to be tied down, as you can see, he’s Marcie’s dad.”

“The only good thing that came out of this whole mess was Marci; she’s the light in my darkness.”

“I also found out I had two good feet and I could even stand on them.”

Bev said, “Thanks, that answers a lot of questions. It took a long, long time for Bill to trust me enough to get close, and I wondered why.”

Anya said, “I’m sorry, that’s my fault too.”

Bev smiled, saying, “Water under the bridge,” and started carrying plates and silverware to the table. Bev had made a large roast with potatoes, carrots, and onions.

Bill got home and went upstairs to change.

Bev put a plate in front of Marci and said that she could color after dinner, and she could even take the coloring book and crayons home with her.

Marci beamed and said, “Thank you, I love unicorns,” to Bev.

Bill came down, and they all sat down to a lovely meal.

THE PARTY’S OVER

Life has been busy, a good, happy busy. There’s a party Friday evening at Anya’s employer’s home, and next weekend dinner with my folks at their house, and her mom and dad are coming over too. The parents will all be dropping hints about grandkids.

I looked over at Anya as she was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, smiling, “You look wonderful tonight, you’ll be the prettiest girl at the party.” Anya looked back at me, smiling, saying, “You look good, too hot stuff.” I asked her, “How long do we have to stay? I’m anxious to get you back here and have you all to myself.” They held hands as they walked out to the car, smiling, talking about who would be at the party.

I feel so lucky to be in love with this beautiful lady, to be able to hold her in my arms, to share our lives and love. I feel proud she chose me; she has an infectious love of life, and her happiness in sharing it with me. She picked me to be her one and only, her life and love mate.

Anya and I got to the party. It’s amazing how when she walks into a room, it seems to light up, everything’s brighter and happier. There are maybe fifteen employees with their spouses at the party. Everyone is getting together and visiting in smaller groups of four or five, talking, having drinks, and appetizers. I’m going from group to group smiling, chatting, and making small talk with her co-workers for about an hour, and now I have to pee.

I should have gone before we left. There was a line at the downstairs bathroom, so I headed to the upstairs bathroom.

As I was walking down the hall, I heard voices from one of the rooms. The door was open several inches, and one of the voices sounded like Anya.

Puzzled, I looked in through the opening.

Anya is naked, kneeling on a bed, her lovely breasts swinging back and forth, and Mike from her office is fucking her hard. What the hell is going on, other than the obvious?

My eyes teared up, and I felt sick to my stomach. I was going to rush in and confront them, but instead, I stopped. What the fuck? How long has this been going on? Why?

I took out my phone and snapped a few pictures. I start making a video. I felt sick. God, how can she do this? Is this just one time? Or is she having an affair? What else has she been doing behind my back? I love her, I trusted her. We made love this afternoon. We were just laughing and talking on the way over, friends and lovers.

Mike is deep in Anya’s ass, and she loves it, moaning, excited, panting, and ready to climax. Anya says, “Bill never screws me in the ass.” Mike slaps her butt hard, leaving a red handprint, and says, “Then I’ll take care of that.”

Anya moans and says, “Faster, harder.” Mike starts slamming into her harder and faster. You can hear their bodies slapping together. He reached around and started rubbing her clit.

I’m thinking, but you tell me you don’t want me to do that to you, you tell me you don’t like it, it turns you off, it hurts.

Anya climaxed, moaning, her body trembling and legs twitching, then told, “Mike, pull out and come deep in my pussy, fill me up.”

Mike groaned, pulling out of her ass, then drove back into her pussy, coming hard and deep in Anya. I can see his sperm dripping down her thighs.

After they caught their breath, Mike asked, “When can we meet again?”

Anya said, “Wednesday after work at the Kingsley. I’ll tell Bill I have to work late again.”

Now I was glad I didn’t rush in to break it up. How long has this been going on?

Anya says, “Hurry up and get dressed, we have to get back to the party before anyone notices.”

I was in shock, I didn’t know what to do. I went back downstairs, I tried to act normal like nothing had happened, I was sick to my soul. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

A few minutes later, Anya came downstairs looking for all the world like nothing had happened.

She was smiling and visiting with her friends from the office, showing nothing on the outside about what she had been doing. How can she be such an excellent actress, liar, and cheater?

About five minutes later, Mike came down smiling, visiting also acting like nothing had been going on.

I was amazed at how people could do something like that and then act like nothing had happened. I could never lie and cheat like that; I was too straight.

I continued visiting with the other employees, trying to act like my whole life hadn’t just been turned upside down.

Anya came over to me after a while and, smiling, said, “We can head home now.” We made our goodbyes and thanked our hosts.

In the car, Anya was a little flushed, rubbing my arm and thigh.

When we got home, Anya ran upstairs to shower and wash off her makeup.

Anya slipped on her bathrobe, leaving it open in front. I knew she wanted to make love.

God, this hurts, but stroked my dick hard till I was standing tall. She wanted to ride me reverse cowgirl so she could control it. I look at her lovely, round ass bobbing up and down and saw the red handprint on her right cheek.

I asked, “Are you ok? It looks like there is a handprint on your right cheek.” Anya blushed and said, “It must have come from sitting in the car; I‘m fine.”

She climaxed, twitching and moaning, and I pretended to come, groaning and thrusting. Anya hugged me, saying, “I love you so much, you make me so happy.”

Anya pulled up the covers and fell asleep.

I feel awful, I’m sick, totally lost, what the hell is going on, how can she act like nothing has happened, how did our marriage come to this?

I slipped down to my office, trying to think, trying to figure this out. What am I going to do? Over the past few months, Anya has had to work late more often than in the past. Sometimes she’ll tell me she’s working late, as often as weekly. But after hearing them talk about the Kingsley, I know there’s more going on than a one-night stand.

I’m gutted, there’s a gaping hole in my middle a mile wide, I feel rotten, tears are running down my cheeks, and I feel anger building up inside.

I thought I was giving Anya everything she needed and wanted. I loved her and was in love with her. Now I find I’m not enough.

I feel like a fool, stupid, inadequate, humiliated, and ashamed, like I’ve missed something, and I guess I have. My mind keeps going round and round in circles and not getting anywhere.

I uploaded the pictures and video to the cloud and then made several copies.

I’m tired, sad, and sick to my soul. I slid into bed without waking Anya and tried to find sleep, but it took a long time, tossing and turning.

Anya’s up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, the next morning.

I asked her if she had a good time at the party last night, and did everything go OK, did anything happen?

“No, Anya says, why?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just wondering if everything went well.”

Anya, smiling, said, “It was a great party, I had a good time.”

“Now I need to call Jess (her BFF) to see if she wants to go shopping,” she said, and asked to meet her at the store. Anya headed out, happy and smiling, not a care in the world.

I was angry as I walked back to my office. Brad, a friend from work, has just gone through a messy divorce. I called him to ask for some advice, the name and number of his lawyer, and the PI. I asked him not to mention this to anyone.

As for advice, he said, “I’m sorry, but expect the worst.”

I was still at a loss, and I needed to know more, so I called the PI and set up an appointment to see him on Monday morning. Then I called the lawyer and made an appointment for later that same morning. I called the office and told them I’d be in late.

Anya got back from shopping with Jess, and she had a few bags of clothing, and went upstairs to put them away. I went upstairs to visit and see what she got.

She said, “Nothing much, just some bras and underwear.” I asked how Jess was, “Anything new?” “Not much, just the same as always.”

Monday morning, I drove to the PI’s office and gave him copies of the files that were on my phone, then I told him about Mike and what Anya said about the Kingsley Hotel. The PI told me he’d check out Mike and the Kingsley.

The next day, while Anya and I were at work, the PI set up our home with hidden cameras, and he gave me an app. to put on Anya’s phone. The app. on my phone will be able to ghost her phone, record it to the cloud, and be able to follow her phone. The cameras will record to the cloud, so the PI and I will be able to see and hear it all.

Next, I drove to the lawyer’s office to give her copies of my video files. I also gave her copies of all my household accounts, showing what I have spent on my home, equity, maintenance, taxes, landscaping, groceries, and the cleaners that come weekly. “Please prepare whatever papers you think I’ll need for a divorce.”

The lawyer took all my information and told me that if it came down to getting a divorce, I might have to give her a little but not much, especially if the divorce isn’t contested. The lawyer said she’d start putting together the necessary files.

I explained to the lawyer and the PI that I don’t want Anya’s employer to find out because of the company policy to fire people having extramarital affairs within the company employee structure.

Wednesday, I went home after work and gave Anya a big hug and kiss. I told her I had to go out of town for business, but it would just be for one night. I packed my overnight case, drove across town, and checked into a hotel.

Later that evening, I called Uber to drive me by my house, and there it was, bigger than shit, Mike’s car was in the drive, at least now I know for sure.

God, I feel like shit, but I’m glad I had the PI wire the house. God, this hurts. How could she do this? Why?

The next morning, when I got home, Anya had already left for work.

I called my doctor and asked for a prescription for Viagra. Knowing I’ll need it if I’m going to keep pretending everything is the same.

Anya said she had worked late again a few more times. Each time she came home, she wanted sex. The phone app showed she had gone to the Kingsley.

I was hurting, but I’d take a pill, maybe that’ll help me. I have to pretend I don’t know what she’s been doing.

A week later, the PI called to tell me he had his report. I drove over to pick it up, along with the photos and videos. I told him I didn’t want to see them, but I’d give copies to my lawyer.

I asked him to keep working a little longer to make sure everything was as it appeared, but what else could it be?

Anya is having an affair with Mike; she’s lying and cheating, and you can never trust a liar.

I picked up the reports with the thumb drive that held the photographs and videos and headed home.

Thursday, Anya came home happy and smiling after working late again, gave me a passionate kiss, and said, “Dinner smells wonderful, but I need a shower.”

Anya came down wearing a light t-shirt and panties. While we ate, I told her, “I called your work, but the receptionist said she just saw you walking out the door, then I called your phone, but just got your voicemail. Anya, blushing, says, “I ran out to get a snack, and my phone was turned off for the meeting. I forgot to turn it back on.”

“What was the meeting about? Anya flushed again, not looking at me, and said, “It was about a new account we opened and how to handle it.”

I told her, “I ran into Valerie, Mike’s wife, at the Greek place.” She was getting dinner there, too. Valerie was depressed and upset. I asked her what was wrong. She told me she thinks Mike’s having an affair.

“She seems to be a sympathetic, lovely woman. Why would Mike do something like that? It could cause a divorce. You know I can’t stand lying and cheating. I just don’t understand it or know how people can lie like that, I guess I’m too honest and straight.”

Anya, not looking at me with her face flushing, said, “Who knows why people do that kind of thing?”

When Saturday rolled around, we went over to my folks and had a lovely evening.

Back in the kitchen, Mom asked me what was going on. I told her it was just some things at work were on my mind. It’s hard to slip anything past my mom. She knew something was wrong.

The next week, on Tuesday, Anya told me she had to work late again.

I waited down the street from the Kingsley, as she was walking up to the hotel, I walked up and said, “Hi honey, where you going? I thought you had to work late.”

Anya looked shocked and said, “Oh, uh, uh, oh, the meeting was called off, and I was going to pick up dinner at the Greek place.” I told her, “That’s where I was headed, too, but you already walked past it.”

Anya blushed, looked around, shook her head, and said, “My head was in the clouds, and I didn’t even notice.”

I took her hand, which was clammy, and we walked back to the restaurant. While I was ordering, Anya went to the bathroom.

I opened the PI’s app on my phone. She texted Mike to let him know what happened. God, how can someone lie like that?

We headed home to eat. When we got there, Anya was acting very affectionate. I took another blue pill. I gave her two good climaxes, then I finally had a climax.

It isn’t easy to pretend when you know the woman you loved and thought you would spend your life with is having an affair, and you’re aware of it.

It’s also difficult to pretend when you’re an honest, straightforward person. But so far, she hasn’t noticed or at least hasn’t brought it up.

I got the second set of reports and photos from the PI.

I was sick to my stomach; it had the photos from the night I wasn’t home. The photos showed they’d fucked in every room in the house.

I’ve tried talking to Anya, trying to feel her out, see if I’ve done something wrong, or if she is having problems. She always tells me everything’s great, couldn’t be better, and I love you.

Then she will ask me, “Why?” I answered, “I just want to make sure everything is okay, and you’re happy.”

Smiling Anya gives me a kiss, looks me in the eye, and tells me, “I’m very happy, and I love you. Everything’s good.”

I said sarcastically, “I’m glad you’re happy”, but Anya didn’t even notice.

I called Valerie the next morning and asked to meet her for coffee. Valerie was puzzled but agreed to meet me.

At the coffee shop, I told Valerie all I knew. I told her, “Mike and Anya are having an affair.” I gave her a folder with copies of the photos and reports from the PI, along with the information on my divorce lawyer.

“I’m sorry, Valerie, sorry for this whole mess. I’m sorry that Anya is involved with Mike.” Crying, Valerie said, “It’s not your fault, but I’m glad I found out the truth, and I wasn’t just imagining it.”

I explained I wasn’t telling Anya and Mike’s employer about it because I didn’t want them to lose their jobs.

Valerie took a shaky breath and left, weeping.

Saturday morning, after breakfast, I took another blue pill. I lay down, and Anya climbed on top, lowering herself in the reverse cowgirl position, and started bouncing up and down. She is very wet and slippery.

I got my finger slick with her juices and started slipping my finger in her back door, then I slapped her butt hard, leaving a handprint.

Anya looks back at me and said, “Please don’t, you know I don’t like that.”

They stop, and Anya, upset, climbs off, looking back at Bill.

I said, “You seemed very excited when Mike did it at that party we went to a while back.”

Anya’s mouth drops open, and she gets red in the face and goes quiet, “What, what are you talking about? I’ve never been with Mike or anyone but you.”

“Are you lying?” I asked.

She said, “No, I’d never lie to you.”

I said, “Okay, at that party about six or seven weeks ago, you were upstairs in bed with Mike, and he slapped your butt hard, even left a handprint on your butt, which I asked you about later. He was balls deep fucking you in the ass. Then you told him to pull out and fill up your pussy.”

“The same things you’ve told me you didn’t like and won’t do with me, you told him to do to you.”

“No, not me, I would never cheat on you,” Anya says.

“But,” I say, “you’re still lying.”

I said, “I was in the hall, I saw it all.” I picked up my phone and showed her the video.

Anya’s face got white, and she started crying, shaking, rocking back and forth, saying, “Oh fuck, oh no, oh God no, no.”

I asked her, “Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt me? You made me feel worthless, humiliated, embarrassed, and ashamed. You made me a cuckold. You made me feel like I wasn’t man enough for you because you had to go out and find a better lover. You made me feel like I was a bad husband and a worse lover. I thought we were friends, we talked about everything, our future, children, everything. Now it’s all gone.”

Anya, crying, said, “No, it wasn’t like that. I had too much to drink, it was just a one-time thing, I was drunk and couldn’t find you.”

“Are you lying now?” I asked.

“No, I’m telling the truth. It was just once,” she answered

I said, “One time? How about all the times you said you were working late and you were fucking Mike at the Kingsley?”

“What about the night I wasn’t home, and Mike came over to our home and fucked you in our bed and every other room in the house?”

She looked shocked and said, “What? How do you know?”

I said, “You’re still lying, don’t you ever quit?”

“No, I’m so sorry, I love you, and you’re a wonderful husband. Please forgive me, we can work this out.” Anya was crying and moaning, rocking back and forth.

I said, “Maybe Mike will make a better husband; you seem to love him more.”

I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were unhappy?”

Anya said, “I wasn’t unhappy. I was ashamed, I was afraid, I knew it was wrong, but I just couldn’t stop.”

I said, “You treated me like shit, you betrayed our love and our vows, my trust, and you continually lied and cheated on me.”

“Don’t you feel any guilt or remorse at all, or are you just sorry you got caught?” She wouldn’t look at me.

“Was being married to me so terrible? Why didn’t you just leave? I guess you weren’t happy or contented. You’ve gutted me. I feel like I’m inferior, like I was worth nothing to you. I feel like a sucker, a jerk, a cuckold, too stupid to be bothered with. I thought you loved me and we would spend our lives together. It seems that I wasn’t enough for you.”

“Why, why did you do it, why?”

Crying, Anya said, “I don’t know why, it was exciting, dangerous, there was a thrill, it was dirty, it was fun, but it wasn’t love, it was just sex. No, please, I’m sorry, don’t leave me, I love you, I want to stay with you, please don’t do this, I’ll stop seeing him, I’m sorry. Why are you doing this?”

I said, “I haven’t done anything to you, while you, on the other hand, have done everything to hurt and humiliate me. You have used me, lied to me continually, and made me a cuckold. I used to feel happy and proud, but now I feel like a dumb jerk, a sucker, a fool. You’d fuck Mike, then come home and fuck me, it made me feel like shit, like I wasn’t good enough, didn’t give you enough, wasn’t man enough for you. I thought we were in love and we would spend our lives together. It seems that wasn’t enough for you. It may have been just sex to you, but it wasn’t just sex with me, for me, by me, on me, or to me.”

“How would you feel if it was the other way around and I was fucking another woman, and then sat there and lied about it?”

Anya looked up and screamed, “NO!”

“That’s what I thought. The way you’re talking, you need to seek help and get counseling. By the way, if you want to be with Mike, I hear he had to move out, and he has an apartment now.

Valerie kicked him out, so you can move in with him, although you may have to share him with his other lady friends.”

Anya is sobbing, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

I told Anya to get a lawyer and left the room.

Anya is stunned, crying and screeching, saying “No, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I went down to my office, canceled all our joint credit cards, moved my cash and savings to a different bank, moved our stocks to my personal account, and froze my credit with the three credit monitoring bureaus.

Anya had separate accounts.

I told her to pack her bags and get the hell out. “Maybe you can stay with Jess, or you can move back with your parents, they will be excited to have you home, or you can stay at the Kingsley, make it easy on Mike.”

Anya is screeching, crying, moaning, groaning, shaking her head, curled in the fetal position on the guest bed, and keeps saying “No, God no, no.” over and over.

Jess let Anya stay with her till she found a place to move to.

Anya had never told Jess about her affair. Jess thinks this must be all Bill's fault and wants to tell him off. Then one night, after several glasses of wine, Anya broke down and confessed to Jess what she’s done, all of it.

Jess can’t believe it; she’s disappointed in Anya and tells her so, but is still her friend and will help her.

I haven’t told any of my friends or my parents about her affair, I just say we have separated. I’m embarrassed and ashamed. I’ll bet my mother figures it out right away.

Anya found an apartment, moved out of Jess’s, and got a lawyer.

A few weeks later, the lawyers are ready for a preliminary meeting. The conference table has Bill and his lawyer on one side and Anya and her lawyer on the other.

Anya’s lawyer begins by saying, “This is a serious problem, but Anya realizes she made a mistake and would like to see if counseling could be used instead of the divorce.”

Bill’s lawyer stated, “It was much more than just a mistake, much more, and my client doesn’t feel reconciliation is possible.”

Anya’s lawyer then starts talking about the division of property, Bill having to sell the house, alimony, housing, and maintenance.

Bill’s lawyer says, “There will be no division of property,” and then shows Anya’s lawyer the property deeds and all the payments Bill has made during their years of marriage.

Anya’s lawyer is surprised and looks over at Anya.

Anya is crying and said, “I’m sorry, Bill, please forgive me. I never meant to hurt you.”

I said, “Anya, you’re still lying. You feel no remorse or guilt for what you have done. The only reason you’re upset is that I caught you, and you have to face the consequences of your lying and cheating.”

“You can never trust a liar. You knew how I felt about wives and husbands who lied and cheated. I told you many times about how awful I thought it was and how I couldn’t understand people who snuck behind their partner's back, betraying them. Hurt is too small a word. I loved you, I thought you loved me. Guess I was wrong. I thought you were my friend, we talked with each other, were affectionate, loving, and sharing, we made love frequently, and I thought I made sure you were satisfied. I guess I wasn’t enough for you because you weren’t satisfied. I’ll live through this, but I’ll miss dreaming my dreams with you. It’ll take a long time for me to get over this, and I don’t know if I will ever be able to trust again.” My eyes are glassy with tears. “I have a lot of furniture I’ll be replacing, and if you want it, you can have it for your apartment: the kitchen table and chairs, the couch and coffee table, the recliner in the den, the bed from the master bedroom, the guest bed, and several other things. They have too many memories.”

Anya looked up, saying, “What, places we made love together?”

Then I said “No” and slid over a stack of pictures showing her and Mike having sex on each of those pieces of furniture.

“I also have the videos if you want those; they’re pretty good, maybe you can sell them. Now I’m going to have to remodel the kitchen and bathrooms again.”

Anya is screeching, crying harder, saying, “Oh God no.” Her head down on the table, she’s sobbing, shaking, and just realizing how badly she has screwed up, how she has ruined her future with Bill, all for a thrill, excitement, fun, and danger. Anya started to gag, ran over to the trash can, and threw up.

Anya’s lawyer starts talking about alimony and maintenance.

Bill’s lawyer then points out that if this goes to court, Anya will lose her job. Then he slides another folder to Anya’s lawyer with the other photos and evidence the PI has collected. He said, “A non-contested divorce would be for the best.”

As Anya’s lawyer is surprised as she starts going through the file, she realizes this went a lot deeper and was much more complicated than she was led to believe. She said, “Let’s meet again in a few weeks after I go over this with Anya.”

I was sick and teary-eyed. My lawyer and I got up and walked out.

Four weeks later, Anya and Bill, along with their lawyers, meet and sign the no-fault divorce papers.

I have agreed to pay for her apartment for a year and signed over the other car to her. Anya never looked at Bill during the proceedings, keeping her eyes down, crying.

The divorce will be final in a month. Anya doesn’t look well, but then neither do I as we leave the courthouse.

I went to my empty home and continued with the remodeling and furnishing. I now spend more time at work with nothing to come home to.

The furniture that she could use has been given to Anya.

The rest I gave to Goodwill.

Anya is depressed, lonely, miserable, and trying to make a new life, one without Bill. Her apartment is close to her work, so that helped.

Anya has begun seeing a counselor and is trying to work through her problems.

Two months later, on a Saturday Morning, there was a knock on the door. I opened it, and Anya was standing there. I started to close the door, but Anya said in a soft voice, “May we talk, please?”

I looked down at the floor, shaking my head. “All right, let’s sit out on the porch.” We sat on the porch chairs. I looked over at Anya as she sat down, and there was a bump in her tummy.

“First off,” she said, “I have been seeing a counselor and have learned some things about myself, my terrible behavior, my awful choices, my lying, and my cheating.”

“I again want to tell you how very sorry I am for how badly I have behaved. I’m sorry for how I’ve hurt you and ruined our relationship and marriage. I acted like a spoiled, entitled brat. You were right, I was more upset with getting caught than for what I’d done. I am very, very sorry; it was my fault, and I accept full responsibility for what happened. None of this was because of you or caused by you.”

“I also want you to know that I’m pregnant. I don’t expect anything from you. I will take care of this myself. The baby is my responsibility, but it is probably yours, so I thought you should know. God, I hate how that sounds. There should be no question who the father is. I’m sorry again. I’ll have a paternity test done.”

“The sonogram shows that I have a baby girl, and my OBGYN says she’s healthy. I’m halfway through my second trimester.”

I was still hurting, sick, shaking my head, and looking down at the floor, now thinking about this huge change in circumstance. Now what do I do? She’s pregnant, possibly with my child.

Even though Anya was a liar and cheated on me, I feel protective and responsible for the baby. Our baby should not be made to suffer for the sins of her mother, her terrible behavior, and her bad choices. She should be loved completely and cared for.

I looked over at Anya and said, “If the child is mine, I’ll give you all the help I can. I’ll help with childcare, babysitting, child support, education through college, and help take care of the baby through joint custody. If you want, I’ll attend birthing classes with you and be there through the delivery, but that’s up to you.”

“Our past problems should not be assigned to the baby. I want our child to know she is deeply loved and wanted. I want our baby to feel cared for and to have loving, supportive parents even if we’re not together.”

“If the baby is Mike’s, I’ll expect his financial assistance. Have you told Mike?”

Anya is weeping. “No,” she said, “I haven’t seen or talked to him since the Saturday morning you showed me the video.”

“Mike told me he had a vasectomy, so I don’t think the baby is his, but he is such a liar, I just don’t know for sure.”

“God, I feel like shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect all this, but I guess I should have, you’re a good man, Bill.”

I said, “He’s not the only liar, but now our daughter is the only part of what’s left of our relationship. She needs to be our priority. Let me know what you decide.”

Anya called me a few days later and accepted my offer of help. Anya and I started birthing classes together. I was quiet, polite, distant, but kind.

I can never reach out to her or touch her unless it’s part of the class; I just can’t, it hurts too much. Anya accepts my reticence but seems glad to have me with her.

I started to remodel the third bedroom, turning it into a nursery. My job will give me maternity leave, so I’ll be able to help.

Anya’s job will allow her six months of maternity leave. She’s talked to Jess and some of her other friends and family, and they will help as they’re able.

Anya and I talked on the phone and met for coffee to discuss things as they came up. A few weeks before the baby was due, I suggested Anya might want to pack some things and move to my guest room, so that I’d be able to help and take her to the hospital when the baby came.

After she moved in, I made sure she was eating well, and I got her any food she had cravings for. She asked me if I would be willing to be in the delivery room with her.

I told her, “Of course, it would be a privilege, and I would love to see our baby born. I’ll help you any way I can.” I asked if she had chosen a name for our daughter.

Anya said, “I think she should be named after each of our mothers, Susan Marsha Henderson.”

I said, “I think they would love that.”

A month later, she was in the kitchen when her water broke. She called out, “Bill, my water just broke,” and she groaned as a strong contraction hit her.

I said, “Let’s get you changed, and we’ll head to the hospital.” We arrived at the hospital a half hour later, and her contractions had started in earnest.

She grimaced and moaned in pain about every twenty minutes. The O.B. came in and checked her progression, saying it would be a while. I asked if there was anything I could get her.

The nurse brought in a carafe of ice water. I sat next to the bed, and she took my hand, squeezing it hard with each contraction.

Anya said, “You don’t have to sit here, go get a cup of coffee or something.”

I told her, “No, I want to be with you, for our baby.”

Anya started crying again, saying, “God, I fucked up so bad, I’m sorry”.

I said, “Don’t worry about the past, just think of the future and our baby.”

Anya groaned as another contraction hit, squeezing my hand. I picked up a damp cloth and wiped the sweat off her face, and she took my hand again.

Five hours later, they said she was dilated enough and rolled her into the delivery room. I was still by her side, helping as I was able. The bed angled up, and she began using the breathing exercises she was taught. I was right with her. When the O.B. said push, she did. Anya groans and hollers, pushing hard, the pain seems to never end, and then all of a sudden, the Doctor is holding a lovely baby girl.

The doctor asked me if I would like to cut the umbilical cord after it had been clamped off.

I know I look out of it. I took the scissors and cut the cord. The Doctor took care of the afterbirth and said, “Everything is looking good.” I quietly asked the doctor for a paternity test.

The nurse then took our baby, cleaned the mucus from the baby’s nose, wiped the baby down, wrapped Sue up in a little pink blanket, and put her in Anya’s arms, saying, “You have a healthy eight-pound two-ounce daughter.”

Anya was weeping as she snuggled Susan to her breast. I reached over and gently stroked the baby’s forehead and cheek. Smiling down at them, I said, “Well done. Sue is beautiful.”

The next day, I took them to my home. Anya had started breastfeeding, and Sue took to it.

Anya stayed in the downstairs guest room, so I moved the bassinet and the changing table in for the baby.

I brought in boxes of infant diapers along with baby wipes and towels. In the bathroom, I set up towels and washcloths. I also brought in a large trash can for the dirty diapers. I put in a baby monitor so I could get up during the night to help take care of Sue.

We got a milk pump so Anya could put some of her milk in the fridge for when she couldn’t breastfeed. Anya had purchased several maternity bras designed for breastfeeding.

I came into the room while Anya was feeding the baby. I asked Anya if it bothered her with me being there, and she said, “No, I like you being here.”

I’d pick up Sue after a feeding and put her on my shoulder, walking back and forth, gently patting and rubbing her back till she burped.

I also changed her diaper anytime I was around, and it needed changing.

I ran hot baths for Anya as she was sore after the birth. I cooked meals for Anya and brought them to her when she didn’t feel comfortable coming to the kitchen.

At night, when the baby was fussing or crying, I’d go in to change her. Sometimes I just hold her, gently patting or rubbing her back, rocking her back and forth, humming to her, she’s so sweet, god I love her.

I just can’t be affectionate or unnecessarily touch Anya, but I am always loving and affectionate with Sue.

When I’d lie down to nap, Sue would fall asleep on my chest.

Anya noticed I couldn’t touch her; it hurt her, but she understood this was her doing.

A week later, it was time for their first visit to the doctor. Mother and baby are fine. Anya’s taking special vitamins and starting to exercise. Sue is doing well and is already gaining weight.

The next week, I started back to work, leaving Anya with the baby. It’ll be a lot easier to take care of and raise our child if we are living together for a while, even if we’re separate.

As I was driving to work one morning, I saw a for sale sign on a cute little two-bedroom ranch-style home about four blocks from my home.

It looked like a possible solution to raising Sue with Anya, and her not living with me.

I sat down with Anya and discussed the situation, taking into consideration all the things we could think of. I pointed out that Anya would be able to use her income for house payments and build equity.

Anya agreed to stay with Bill for the time being.

I and a few friends went to Anya’s apartment to get her belongings.

We were planning to move the furnishings to a storage unit, but decided to talk to Anya first.

It still hurts me to see that furniture again, as I remember the photos of Anya and Mike. Anya decided why pay for a storage unit just have a yard sale or sell it on Craigslist and get rid of it all.

I agreed, and we moved all her furniture into my garage for a future sale. The cars can sit in the driveway for now.

I put in a lowball offer on the house down the street, as it had been on the market for eight months, and the owners accepted. I made the down payment, and after closing, my friends and I moved the furniture that would fit in a smaller home. Anya, wearing a front sling carrying Sue, came over to supervise, making sure everything was where she wanted it.

She was weeping while she looked around her new home, realizing we would no longer be together.

That taken care of, I put the finishing touches on the nursery and prepared to move Sue.

Anya wanted to keep Sue with her for a few more weeks, though, so it can wait.

While I was at work, Anya started to take on some of the chores around the house. She put Sue in a chest sling and carried her with her while she started dusting, cleaning, and vacuuming for the first time, realizing again how little she had done to take care of the home. It brought tears to her eyes.

Jess came over, and they sat in the kitchen to make a grocery list after going through the fridge and pantry. Anya started planning meals, adding to the list of groceries she’d need. Anya, Sue, and Jess went shopping, got baby supplies, and filled the fridge and pantry.

Anya put together a nice pot roast dinner for Bill. I came home and said, “Something smells great.” Anya said, “I put on a pot roast, it’ll be ready in about half an hour, go shower and change. I’ll call when it’s ready.” Anya dished up and called Bill, “Dinner’s ready.”

I came down and sat at the table. “Wow, this looks and smells wonderful, thank you.”

Anya looked down at the table and again realized how much she took for granted, how few times she cooked, cleaned, or did anything for Bill and the home that was once theirs, and how many times he cooked for her. It made her feel terrible, and she started to weep.

I said, “No, I mean it, thank you, this looks delicious,” and then I started to eat. It looked and tasted great. Thank you for making a lovely dinner.”

Sue, still in her sling, starts to fuss, and Anya opens her bra and lets her suckle. Anya was eating, looking down at her plate, then looked up at Bill and said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I hurt you, I just didn’t realize how self-centered, selfish, and spoiled I was. I took you for granted. I took our relationship for granted. I didn’t realize how hard you worked to make my life better. Thank you for taking such good care of me. Again, I’m sorry I’m a liar and cheater. I was a spoiled brat. I always wanted to get my way. I was a selfish bitch, and I’m very sorry.” Tears are running down Anya’s cheeks, and she is sniffing. Maybe Anya is beginning to grow up and accept some responsibility for her actions, then again, maybe she’s lying. I’ll never know.

I looked at Anya and said, “Look, we can’t change the past. We can only work to make the future better, and right now we have Sue to care for. We need to give her a loving, healthy, happy life.” I still can’t reach out or touch Anya.

After Sue had fed, I picked her from Anya, put her on my shoulder, and started gently patting and rubbing her back until she burped, then I changed her diaper and brought her back to Anya. I again told Anya how good dinner was, and we talked about my day at work. I continued to be friendly, helpful, and kind to Anya, but I couldn’t touch her. I was still angry and hurting, but I internalized it, trying not to show it or take it out on Anya or Sue. I knew I needed outside help to get over my anger, my hurt, my feelings of anger, failure, and inadequacy. I had to try to get some peace of mind.

I called a counselor the next day and made an appointment. After two months of intense counseling, I knew I needed to forgive Anya. I needed to say it, mean it, and feel it for myself, not her. I couldn’t continue to internalize and suppress all the hurt, humiliation, and anger I felt; it was making me sick. The first thing I did was sell all of Anya’s leftover furniture. I gave her a check for the money I had received and told her to deposit it in her bank account.

Anya tried to refuse the money, saying it was his furniture, but I said, “No, I gave it to you; it was yours.”

Saturday, while Anya was out grocery shopping, I went into my office and shredded the unread paternity envelope, the papers, and photographs I had saved from the divorce. I wiped the divorce information from my phone, my computer, and the cloud. I took a large trash can full of the shredded paper to the backyard and burned it in the fire pit. I threw in the thumb drive, burning it up too. I stirred the ashes till everything was completely gone. With that done, I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d gotten rid of the physical baggage I was carrying; now for the hard part, giving up the emotional baggage. I was up early Sunday morning, and I made a big breakfast: pancakes, bacon, eggs, fried tomatoes, O.J., and a pot of coffee. I went down the hall to help Anya with Sue, changing the baby while Anya took a shower. We went down and had a good breakfast. After eating, I told Anya, “When we put Sue down for her nap, I need to talk with you.”

Anya looked worried, but I calmed her, saying, “No, this is something I need to get off my chest.”

Later that morning, after Sue went down, I asked Anya if we could go sit in the living room to talk. Anya looked nervous. Again, I said, “No, this is about me.” Anya sat on the couch, and I sat across from her in a chair. I told her, “I’m a work in progress, but this is something I have to do for Sue and me.” I took a deep breath, looking Anya in the eye and said, “I forgive you. I forgive you for lying. I forgive you for cheating. I forgive you for your affair.”

“I’m not asking if you need or even want my forgiveness; this is something I need to say and mean. I forgive you for everything. That doesn’t mean I condone it, and I can never forget it, but I forgive you. I am trying to let go of my hurt, anger, feelings of inadequacy, insecurity, embarrassment, and be a better man. I can’t be with you as man and wife ever again, but I still love what we had and miss it. I’m sorry, but I can never trust what you say. I’m tired of swimming back and forth in this pool of self-pity, and I have to climb out. I think in a week or two, we can move you and Sue into your new home. I’ll do everything I can to help. Then you can start to make a new life for yourself and Sue.”

Anya looked back at Bill with tears running down her face and fell over on the couch, sobbing, saying, “Oh shit, oh god, I’m sorry, so sorry.”

I was crying now too, as I looked across at Anya and said, “I’m sorry I’ve failed you. I don’t know how or why or what I did wrong, but I feel like I’ve failed you somehow. I’m sorry, I don’t understand, but I’m sorry too.”

Again, realizing how badly she has screwed up her life. How she has failed, failed her husband, failed her baby, failed her marriage, and failed herself.

I brought in a box of Kleenex and a towel from the kitchen, and that started her sobbing harder.

Anya still loved Bill, but it was over, forever ruined, all because of her. That week, I moved her and our baby into their new home. I visited Anya and Sue daily after work, but I knew I had to move on.

My home felt empty without them, but that was my new reality, and I had to get used to it. After several months, I started dating. When I told Anya, she told me it hurt, but said that I needed to find love again and knew it couldn’t be with her.
It felt strange to go out with other women and converse without talking about my past.

Bill Chants and Anya have been married for nine wonderful, loving years. They met in his senior year at Mizzou in a pizza parlor. It was love at first sight. They were soul mates. It was amazing, but they still acted like they were on their honeymoon. All their friends were in awe of their relationship and wished they were more like them…

It was a lovely evening. The stars and moon were reflecting off the lake. A gentle breeze was flowing inland. The table had a flickering candle and a fresh flower in its center. It was a most romantic spot. The restaurant was beautiful, and a surf n turf platter was being prepared for them to share. They were holding hands across the table, and an open bottle of wine was set to chill. They were smiling and laughing like young lovers. Love in bloom. Anya was blond, green-eyed, about five-six and a hundred-ten pounds. He was six foot, two hundred pounds, with brown puppy eyes and dark, wavy brown hair. They made a handsome couple and seemed very happy.

They’d been married for almost nine years, just not to each other.

There was a bit of a disturbance near the maître d'.

They were holding hands when a young woman approached their table.

She said, “Michael Lawson?” “Yes.” He answered. She tossed him an envelope. He caught it with his left hand. The young lady smiled and said, “You’re served.” Then she took the woman's right hand as she slapped an envelope in it, saying, “Anya M. Chants.” Anya answered “Yes.” The girl said, “You’re served. Enjoy your evening. Bye.”

As the maître d' approached, he said, “I’m sorry for the disturbance.” he took the young lady’s arm, escorting her out of the dining room.

A man moved quickly to their table, handing Michael and Anya each a folder.

Anya looked up, shocked, seeing it was her husband Bill. Tears came to her eyes as she tried to pull her hand from Michael’s, and said, “Oh god, no, no. I’m sorry.”

Bill said, “I loved you, but you’ve hurt me worse than I knew possible. I noticed you left your wedding and engagement ring at home. Thank you.” He took off his wedding ring and dropped it in her wine glass. The shocked look on her face helped ease some of his pain. “Go through the folder, look at each of the pictures, you looked very happy with his dick in your ass, then read each of the documents carefully,” he said.

Bill said, “Don’t bother coming home, Anya, all the locks are changed. Our marriage is over. Goodbye. He smiled at Michael, saying, “Yours is, too, asshole.”

Glassy-eyed but standing straight, head held high, he walked out of the restaurant.

Anya looked at Michael and said, “Oh no, god no.” Anya was now crying hard.

Michael opened the folder, seeing several photos of their sexual encounters. There were various forms, including office regulations regarding inter-office adultery and divorce papers.

Michael was married to his boss's daughter, and Anya was his secretary. They’d been having an affair for the past four months.

Too upset to eat, Michael charged the dinner to their room. They went up to their suite in the hotel. There was a small table in the room, and they went through the folders and over the papers they were served.

The top six pages were photographs of them having sex in his office at work and bedrooms in their homes. Anya was crying and shaking her head. There were copies of forms they’d signed along with a letter from HR saying they were terminated for cause. After you return all company property, you’ll receive your severance pay and the personal items from your office.

The copies of prenups they’d signed when they were married were next. Her’s was because of his startup cyber company, his because he married the owner’s daughter. At the bottom were divorce papers.

The documents they’d been served were a notification of a lawsuit for illegal use of the company credit card and misuse of company property.

The room phone rang. Michael said, “Fuck now what. It was the front desk saying Michael’s company credit card had been refused for the room and dinner. Michael went down to the lobby. He tried to pay with his card, but it was also refused. It had been canceled by his wife.

Michael got out five one-hundred-dollar bills and paid in cash. He was told they would have to leave in the morning, check-out time was eleven A.M., as they no longer had a valid credit card.

Crying, Anya tried calling Bill, but her company phone no longer worked.

Michael came back to the room and tried to use his company phone, but it didn’t work either.

As the quintessential secretary, Anya found a blank page and wrote :

Gains

I loved the drama, the secrecy, the thrill, the hiding, and the sex. I’d be lying to myself and everyone else if I denied that fact, even though I knew the affair was wrong.

So, three months of excitement, drama, secrecy, sex, and duplicity (Lying, and cheating, be honest with yourself at least), it was like a drug, and I couldn’t stop.

Losses;

Nine years of a good, solid marriage. My husband, best friend, and confidant, his trust, respect, caring, and love. My future, my security. My baby, Amy, will now become part-time if Bill doesn’t get full custody. My in-laws, many relatives, and friends. My home, my pool, my garden, my neighborhood. I’ll lose my neighbors, my security, my lifestyle, my self-respect, my pride, my job, my income, my company car, and my workmates.

Outcome:

DIVORCE

Does it balance out? Was it worth it?

She screamed, “NO! Fuck No!”

What in the hell have I done and why?

Michael kept shaking his head, saying, “No, this can’t be. I’m ruined, I’ll have nothing, she’s divorcing me for adultery.”

They slept in separate rooms that night in their suite, miserable, lying there staring into the darkness.

They were hungry after missing dinner the night before and ate the complimentary breakfast, not speaking to or looking at each other.

Their company cars were gone from the parking lot. Mike went to the front desk and asked them to call him a taxi, ignoring Anya.

Anya asked to use their office phone. Crying, she called her mother to see if she would come get her, telling her where she was. Forty minutes later, Mom pulled up out front. Head down, she slowly walked out wearing the clothes from the night before. The walk of shame.

Anya started bawling as she got in.

Mom asked, “What’s going on? Where’s Bill?”

Anya, the damning folder sitting in her lap, spent the ride home crying and telling her mother about her affair and the consequences.

Her mother was shocked by what her daughter told her. Mom glanced over at her and said, “I’m disappointed in you. I love you, and you’ll always have a place to live with me. If your father had an affair, it would be over between us. I couldn’t trust him ever again. I’d kick him to the curb. You can never trust a liar or a cheater.”

Anya started bawling again, saying, “Oh god no.”

Anya’s mother called Bill the next day, asking if they could come over and get Anya’s clothes.

They arrived about twenty minutes later.

Bill was inside when the doorbell rang and told them her boxes were in the garage. Bill was a broken man. He hurt all over. His mother-in-law and the woman he still loved but no longer trusted loaded their SUV.

Anya came up crying and said, “I’m sorry. This was all my fault and had nothing to do with you or our marriage. I love you, please can we talk about this?”

Looking at her, he said, “You don’t love, respect, or care about me; you love Michael. The only reason you’re upset and sorry is that you got caught. You didn’t look sorry when you were doing things with him you said were nasty, filthy, dirty, and you’d never do them or let me do with you. It certainly didn’t sound like love for me when told him, ‘I love you, Mike’ after climaxing. It didn’t sound like love for me when you were making plans on what day and time you were setting up to cheat again. Go, help your Mom and get your shit out of here.”

Crying, she asked, “What, what are you talking about?”

He answered, “Anya, those photographs were taken from all the videos of you having sex and all the ways you had sex with him.”

“What videos?”

Shaking his head, he looked at her and explained, “Every time you screwed him, there was a video from cameras in the house or at work.”

She looked horror-stricken, saying, “What? Oh god no. I didn’t even think of… Oh, please don’t watch them. Oh my god.”

He said, “I’m about halfway through them. You’re very photogenic; you really let your slut out. Maybe I’ll send them out to all our friends and family to show them exactly what a pile of shit you are, or maybe sell them to the porn channel. Haven’t you hurt me enough? Just leave me the hell alone and go help your Mother. I’ve canceled our credit cards and changed bank accounts. The prenup leaves you with exactly what you came into the marriage with: three thousand seven hundred eighty-six dollars and fourteen cents. I expect a smooth, quiet divorce, or you will not like the consequences. All the pictures could end up with our friends and family.”

Crying harder, she went back to help her mother and told her what he’d said about the videos and divorce.

Her mother looked at her, shaking her head, and commented, “Just plain stupid. You have no one to blame but yourself. You blew up a good-loving marriage, and for what? Where’s your boyfriend now?”

Anya screamed at the sky and started bawling harder, looking around at all she’d lost.

Still thinking only of herself and not the pain and humiliation she’d inflicted on her husband. The next six months were hell. Living back at home, lawyers, banking, cars, the Judge shaking his head, it was a nightmare. Childcare costs were to be split, but Bill had full custody of Amy as Anya didn’t have a job or place to live. Anya and her parents were given full visitation rights.

Because of the prenup, Bill kept everything, and Anya was given what she came into the marriage with.

Epilogue

After staying with her parents for a year, Anya finally got a job as a typist with a large insurance company. She spent all her weekdays in a cubicle typing. Evenings consisted of going home to a cold, empty, one-bedroom apartment. She would cry while looking at pictures of Bill and her holding Amy.

On the weekends, she would visit her daughter in her old home. Bill was always polite. Anya was allowed to take Amy out for the day so they could spend time together or with her grandparents.

Anya eventually started dating, but never found a love like Bill.

That was fifty-two years ago, and it still hurt. Strange how bad memories can sneak in. A tear rolled down my cheek.

I then looked around our Thanksgiving table at my beautiful wife Anna, three children, their spouses, and five grandchildren. Anna was a wonderful mother and stepmother to Amy. Our love life still sizzled as much as it could at this age. I smiled, realizing how lucky I was to, with Anna’s love, have risen above those dark times. I raised my glass in a toast and said, “I love you all and thank you for sharing your lives with me.”

I was pretending to smile when Anya got home, “Just thought I’d wait up for you. How was the movie?”

“Very good, a romantic comedy with an HEA.”

“I’m glad you liked it. How’s Nancy?”

“She’s good. All is well at home, kids are working hard in school.”

“Since you were going out with Nancy, I called Ron to ask him over for a beer. He said he couldn’t because he was watching TV with Nancy.”

“No, I meant CC, we went together. I don’t know where my head is.”

“I saw Jim today, and he said he and CC had a business party tonight. Do you have something you need to tell me?”

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Who’s Bob Stevens?”

She started crying, “Oh my god, you know.”

“The phone app said your car was at his house from six to nine.”

Still crying, Anya said, “Oh, god, I’m sorry. I know I’ve talked about him before. I told you we share a cubicle at work. The other workers tease us, calling him my work husband and me his work wife.”

I looked at her, “Go ahead, get it off your chest, you know you’ll feel better.” I’m not smiling anymore.

Anya started talking, “It began with us just chatting. I remember the first day he came to work, he said, “Good morning, pretty lady. I’m Bob. Can I get you a cup of coffee? How do you like it?” I answered, “One cream please.” And that was the beginning. The more we talked, the closer we got. I guess it became an emotional thing at first and I didn’t even realize it. Now I’m in love, and we’ve been having an affair for the last three months. I love him and plan to spend the rest of my life with him.”

It hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. I was crushed.

I said, “Anya, you’re a liar and a cheater. I’ll find out about divorce in Missouri and see what the least expensive way to divorce is. Go upstairs, pack your suitcase, and get out of my home. Go back to Bob’s or anywhere, please just get out. Don’t say anything more. Leave me alone. You can explain it to our daughter tomorrow.”

Crying hard, with nothing left to say, I went up and packed. As I walked past the kitchen, Bill was still sitting there with tears in his eyes. I said, “I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you. You’re a good man, and you’ve been a wonderful husband.”

“Anya, please just leave, you’re a liar, don’t lie to me anymore. Don’t say anything. It hurts too much.”

Crying, I got to the car and called Bob, but there was no answer. I drove over to his house. The front door was unlocked, so I walked in.

Bob wasn’t downstairs, so I went up to the bedroom. He was in bed with Margie from accounting and was having sex with her the same way he did with me.

I crumpled. He was cheating on me.

The shock and the pain from the loss of trust was incredible. I’d imagined we’d spend our lives together; I thought he was my soul mate. From being in love and trusting him with all my heart to finding out he was a no-good liar and cheater. He’d been lying to me, from the start, playing me for a fool, just in it for sex.

When I stopped and thought about it, he was no different than me. Now I knew exactly the pain Bill felt. I realized karma had played a nasty, brutal game as my whole future was crushed.

I made it back out to the car, where I cried myself to sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up and called Mom, asking if I could come by.

It took me an hour to get there. I rang the bell, and when she answered, I collapsed in her arms. I was crying like a baby, babbling and repeating myself. She asked if Bill had done something wrong.

I shook my head, sobbing and said, “No, mama, it was me, all me, I’m to blame.” Then it all came tumbling out, work, Bob, just talking, my adultery, my lying and cheating, then to top it off, Bob lying and cheating on me.

My Mom shook her head and said, “I didn’t raise you to behave like that. I love you, and you can stay here as long as you need to, but I’m very disappointed in you.”

It was all my fault; there was no one to blame but me. I’ve ruined my marriage, my husband, my daughter, and myself, and for what? A liar and cheater, who’s no worse than me.

My dream has turned into my nightmare.

Hi, my name is Bill Chants, I’ve been married to Anya for eight happy years now. At least I thought we were happy until last month.

We met in the student union at Mizzou just before I graduated, and it was like a spark hit us. She was with a few friends, and I was getting a coffee when I bumped into her. We started talking, and it caught fire from there. I graduated, and she got her degree two years later. We moved into an apartment, and I started working at G.E. She started student teaching, and we were married a year later.

As I moved up at GE, she gave up teaching and started volunteering with a local community care group, which was fine with me.

We purchased a lovely home with four bedrooms in a good subdivision next to a park. A year ago, we started talking about having children.

She had several close friends, but they were a bit snobbish for my tastes. At any rate, she told me they started discussing how the excitement was slipping away from their sex lives. One of them mentioned that she had fanned the flame by introducing a third party into her marriage on the quiet. His name was Jim, and two of the other wives admitted they were also having a lot better home sex life because of him.

It seems I’ve made a big mistake in that I’ve given her everything she wanted. Now she thinks she deserves to get whatever she wants whenever she wants.

Now on to the problems with my entitled wife…

Saturday morning coffee. Friday night was brutal.

Before she settled into motherhood, Anya decided she wanted to have a bull make love to her. She said, “Several of my friends have told me he could help rekindle the flame, and I should do it before I have babies. I did not want to cheat and do it behind your back.

I explained there would be serious consequences if that happened, and she wouldn’t like them. Then she’d laugh and tell me don’t be a big baby, you’ll get over it, 'cause I loved her and always gave her everything she wanted.’

For the last month, she’s been pushing her itinerary hard. To sweeten the deal, she even said I could enjoy a lady friend.

I again told her there would be severe consequences. She even wanted me there, to take pictures, so god help me, I was there for a few minutes. I set up three cameras to photograph and videotape it for her. I knew they would help me later.

I left after she kissed Jim, her bull. I think she wanted a girlfriend type of sex, so it would seem more loving and not so tasteless and crude.

I set up my computer to load all the videos and photographs and also save them to the cloud.

I went to sleep in the guest bedroom, but sleep was elusive. I was awake most of the night, wondering how she could do this to me. I woke up and realized sometime during the night that our marriage was over.

Tonight, it would be my turn for payback.

I’d called my friend Emma and explained everything that had happened last night. She was upset that Anya would do that to me, or hell, to anyone. She wanted to be part of Anya’s payback.

When Anya came down, she thanked me for her exciting night, then asked me when I’d left. I explained that I’d been there when she kissed her lover and then gone to the guest room to sleep. I told her if she didn’t notice me leaving, I didn’t even matter to her.

She told me she’d wanted me to be there and reclaim her when they were finished. She wanted me to come upstairs with her now and make love.

I said I’d need a condom and she said, “I hate rubbers.”

I told her I hate STDs.

Her eyes got big, and she said, “Oh god no, I never even considered that.”

She passed the day going back and forth, arguing and then crying. Saying, “It’s not fair, you give me everything I want.”

I said, “Consequences for choices. Now go watch your lover, and you have a great, sexy night. Enjoy your vibrator. The video is on your computer.”

At about eight, the doorbell rang. Anya went to answer the door, and Emma said, “Hi, would you tell Bill I’m here?”

Anya called out, “Bill, Emma’s here.”

I walked in from the living room, took Emma by the hand, pulled her into the house, and gave her a big hug and kiss. I said, “You’re here, thank you, come on in.”

Anya looked at me like I was nuts. She asked, “What?”

I said, “Consequences. Goose sauce. Gander sauce.

She looked surprised and said, “Oh no, I never meant you too.”

I said, “You told me I could enjoy a lady friend. You don’t have to, but please feel free to come upstairs and listen outside the door.”

Anya started to tear up, saying, “But, no, I, you can’t, but I. Oh god no, please no.”

I looked at her and asked, “Why not? You said I could have a lady friend, and my lady friend is Emma, a dear, lovely colleague I’ve always wanted and a lady who wants me too, only me.”

Anya frowned, eyebrows furrowed, “It was just supposed to be for me. You always give me what I want.”

I looked at her as we started for the stairs, saying, “I gave you what you wanted. Now I get what I want. If you need to come up, feel free, I won’t ask you to watch or take pictures though.”

I smiled at Emma, thanking her for putting up with the drama.

Emma grinned, saying, “It’s worth it, I wouldn’t have missed this show for anything.”

I pulled her closer to my side, hugging her as we went upstairs to the guest bedroom.

Surprisingly, Anya followed behind saying, “But I, but you, no, this is not what I...” Several times.

I closed and locked the bedroom door with Anya outside.

Emma and I stood there hugging and kissing like we were in high school again.

Our hands started roaming. We started unbuttoning, unzipping, unclasping, and unclothing until we were naked and rooting around like wild young animals. It took me back to my teenage years. I kissed my way down Emma’s body, loving her slowly and carefully. I slowed down even more when I found spots she mewed at. By the time I got to her beautiful, slick delta, she was almost frantic. I licked her from her dark star to her clit and noticed she liked the attention I gave her back door, so I gave her more. Her head was twisting back and forth, she was grabbing the comforter. She finally grabbed my hair, pulling me to her clit. I started licking and sucking her pearl while slipping two fingers inside her slickness, rubbing, stroking, and tapping her G-spot. She whimpered, twisted and turned, and screamed out a beautiful climax. I kept on till she gently pushed my head away, saying, “Enough.” So I backed off hugging her while she lay there catching her breath. We started kissing again until she pushed me on my back and said, “My turn.”

She worked her way down my body, kissing and licking me all over. She grabbed my dick at the base, saying, “God, you're big, I don’t even know if that’ll fit, it’s been such a long time.”

She licked me like a lolly-pop, then dropped her head over me till I was in her throat. It felt wonderful. Anya had never done that for me.

When I was ready to nut, I stopped Emma, pulling her up for more hugging and kissing.

Emma said, “I need you inside me.”

I smiled and asked, “Up or down?”

She smiled, saying, “I’ll top you this time.”

She scooted back, lining me up with her sweet opening, and slowly slid down. She was so tight I nearly lost it right then. She rested a minute, then bounced, swiveled, rocked, and rolled. It felt wonderful, I started thrusting upwards till we met in the middle. I reached down and started caressing her clit with my thumb.

She lasted several minutes before she climaxed again, squirting and shouting, “Thank you, Bill, I’ve never squirted before. I’m so embarrassed.”

I told her, “That was fantastic, I love your beautiful O face, don’t worry, I’ll clean it up. What position would you like now?”

She giggled, saying, “How about doggy style?”

As she climbed on her hands and knees, I slid a pillow under her chest so she was comfortable. I kneeled behind her and slid my member back and forth over her clit and slicked it up again.

She started moaning, “Put it in me, I need you, fill me.”

We continued playing for a few more hours till we passed out.

We woke up smiling the next morning. We showered together, enjoying each other again, and put on some comfortable sweats after drying.

When I opened the door, Anya was asleep on the carpet. I reached down and gently squeezed her shoulder. As she awoke, she looked around in a daze, shaking her head. Then she looked up at Emma and me standing there. It all came back, and tears started sliding down her cheeks. We reached down and helped her up.

I asked, “Why didn’t you sleep in the other bedroom? I’ll make a pot of coffee and a nice big breakfast.”

I made French toast, sausage, and fried tomatoes.

Emma set the table with syrup and butter. She put on three mugs of coffee along with sugar and cream.

Anya just sat there crying and shaking her head.

After breakfast, Emma smiled, saying, “I have to get home. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

I kissed her goodbye, thanked her for a wonderful time, and asked if we could do it again soon.

She went upstairs, changed her clothes, and left.

After Emma left, Anya looked at me and said, “That hurt more than anything I’ve ever felt. I’m sorry for what I did to you. I didn’t understand, not even a little.”

I said, “Consequences again. Yesterday I watched your video. I saw the love of my life, the woman I married, the woman who I believed was my closest friend, the woman who I supposed I’d spend my life with, have babies with, kiss, and hug another man. She didn’t have a care or give a thought to me. She made out with him like the high school slut. I watched her suck his dick and let him cum in her mouth. Then she showed her mouth was full and swallowed it. That same woman told me that only sluts and whores did that, so I guess we know what that makes you.”

Anya sat there crying, shaking her head, saying, “No, god no, I’m sorry.”

I said, “I watched this same woman get licked out till she climaxed. He screwed her missionary, him on top, missionary her on top, cowgirl, and reverse cowgirl, each time climaxing with her lover. After all that, she did what I’ve heard termed the pretzel, and you told him ‘That was the most intense climax I’ve ever had.’ The next thing the love of my life, my sweet wife, did was get on all fours and said, ‘Make love to my ass.’ Again, something you told me you’d never do or let me do. He lubed you up and fucked you in the ass till you both climaxed. You never shared your slutty side with me. Now, do you think I have left anything out? Is there something you want to say to me?”

She said, “It was just…I only…but I…Oh god, no, I’m sorry. So sorry.”

I said, “That’s not quite enough. I realized when you were with your lover that our marriage was over. You don’t respect, love, or care about me. I’m just a sucker with a paycheck who you laugh at. I’m here to supply your wants and needs, your meal ticket, and a loser to give you things. Well, that’s over now. I’ve already talked to a lawyer and started divorce proceedings.”

She started screaming and hollering, “No, I love you. I’ll never give you a divorce, I’ll fight it every step of the way.”

Then I scared her to the core. I said, “I have the videos and photographs you asked me to take. I already sent the ones of you kissing your lover to both our parents, and letting them know why I’m divorcing you. I could send them more, and I could send them to all our friends and family if you like, maybe even the video for an evening's entertainment.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“You just fucking try me!”

“Oh god, no, please no, I’ll do anything.”

“Our divorce settlement will be sufficient for you to live, but all your luxuries will be gone. You’ll be able to afford an apartment but not a fancy home. No more country clubs, spas, or gym membership. No dining out at fancy restaurants. No more lavish vacations. You’ll need to get a job and go back to work. That will be a big change for you. I’ll move my things into the guest bedroom for now.”

I remembered what she had mentioned about her friends. I set up a luncheon with all their husbands and told them of all my wife had said and done. I informed them that, from what my wife mentioned, at least three of their wives might be getting outside help. After some talking, I advised them I didn’t know which but recommended they be vigilant. During the next six months, four more divorces were underway. Jim had been a busy boy.

Monday, I called my lawyer and got a list of things to take care of right away. Moving cash, savings, checking, canceling credit cards, moving my Schwab account, changing passwords, a whole list of crap I had to deal with. I’m so glad this happened before we had children.

The next six months brought a big change to our lives. The judge signed the papers, and it was over.

I started dating Emma after the divorce was finalized. She helped bring back my self-confidence, and we share good times.

I do not know or care what Anya is doing. I’m still trying to get over her betrayal, so I try not to think about her.

My large home seemed empty now, but it was over.

Peace and quiet reigned; it was wonderful.

I’ve grown and acquired some hard, costly lessons. I need to be careful when choosing a mate and to communicate our wants and needs completely.

DIVORCE IS BETTER THAN CHEATING,

BUT IT STILL HURTS

I’d just finished emptying the dishwasher and putting away the dishes. I sat on the couch with my Kindle. I smiled, thinking about the fantasy romance I was reading. My favorite author, Kate Granger, would have a happy ending, which made me smile.

Anya sat beside me, put her hand on my thigh, and said, “Bill, we need to talk.” By that, she meant ‘I need to talk, and you need to listen, so put down your book.’ I set my Kindle on the coffee table and said, “I’m all ears, my love, what’s up?”

She looked at me and said, “You know all the times I’ve told you that if I were married to someone else and met you, I’d have an affair with you.”

“Yes, I recall, you’ve said that to me many times throughout our twenty-three years together. I always thought you said it to bolster my ego.”

She took a deep breath, “Well, I’ve met someone, and I feel that way about him. I met him while working at Food Harvest, and we started talking and hit it off. I like him and want to pursue this relationship and see where it goes. We’ve been talking for a while. He feels like he’s my soul mate.”

I asked, “What do you want to do?” I felt my world collapsing around me. I couldn’t believe the pain, but on the other hand, I was glad she hadn’t been lying and cheating, that would have broken me.

She said, “In my most perfect of worlds, I’d want you both, but I know that’s not possible. I’d like a separation, or if you couldn’t see your way clear to me living with another man, then I want a divorce. I can’t lie or cheat, I don’t have that in me. We’ve been best friends and lovers for the last twenty-three years. I know how you feel, I guess it’ll have to be divorce.” She started crying.

I said, “It’ll have to be divorce. I can’t even think about you making love to someone else and then coming home to me. Hell, I can’t think of you making love to someone else anyway. I love you, babe. I’ve loved you since we started dating. God, this hurts!” Then I was crying too.

She put her hand on my leg, and I took it off. I stood and walked over to a chair opposite the couch, looking at her through my tears.

“How long have you been seeing him?”

“We started talking about five months ago. It wasn’t that I was looking; it sort of just grew. His name is Paul Neeman. I like him a great deal, and he feels the same about me. We want to be together. We’ve held hands and even kissed, but that’s all. I won’t let it go any further until you and I separate or divorce. He said I could move in with him so we won’t have to sell our home.”

I looked at her. “We still made love several times a week, now I’ll always wonder if you were thinking of him while we were together. I guess I haven’t been enough for you. I’m sorry for that. What about the girls, do they know?”

“You are a wonderful husband, friend, and lover. I love you, but I guess I want more. No, I haven’t talked to the girls. I had to tell you first.”

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself and not start weeping again. “There’ll be a whole lot of things to take care of. What about our trust fund for the grandkids? We’ll need separate bank accounts and credit cards in our names. We’ll need to separate your income from mine, and your stock and bond investments from mine, single-person income tax filing unless you marry him. You’ll need a car, which one? Your IRA and pension will have to be changed along with the beneficiaries for each.”

“If we see a divorce mediator, it may make it easier. They’ll have gone through this many times and will tell us the things we need to do.”

“As long as it’s not contested, we may be able to do it quickly and with less expense.”

She said, “My God, I hadn’t even thought about all that, and I’m not ready to marry him.”

“What if you break up with him? Then we’ll have to sell the house so you can have a place to live.

I don’t know if you’d want to move back in. So much to think about and take care of.”

After our talk, she began packing and moving her things to the guest bedroom.

The next morning, after an empty, restless night, I got up early. I went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee.

I sat down to make a list of things I’d mentioned. I went online and looked for divorce counselors, making a list of several. I also researched divorce in my state.

There was a huge ache in my chest, and I felt like crap. I love her still, and I’ll miss her. Sleeping in an empty bed for the first time in many years was miserable.

I sat at the kitchen table with a pen and a yellow-lined pad. I finally started making a list of things that ran through my mind. My eyes were blurry.

Divorce mediator?

Divorce lawyer?

Anya needs to tell our daughters, parents, and friends.

House, she will move in with him, so we don’t need to sell yet.

Cars, titles, insurance.

Health insurance.

Banking: checking, savings, credit cards.

Retirement funds.

IRAs, 501 Ks.

Stocks & bonds.

529 plan; education fund for the grandkids.

Trust funds for the grandkids.

Gatherings we usually host, Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, and Thanksgiving. Once a month family dinners with our kids and grandkids.

After a while, she came in and poured herself a cup of coffee too.

I asked Anya to come over and look at the list to see if she could think of anything more. She sat down across from me, I slid the pad in front of her, and she started reading. Anya was shaking her head as she said, “Bill, you always take care of most of these things. I don’t know what to do.” She finally got to the last item, the family gatherings, looking shocked.

She said, “I didn’t even think of how this would impact the holidays. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Bill said, “This is your choice. You need to decide what you want to do about it. You have to tell the girls next. I’ll go through some of the things listed, but you’ll have to ask for your lawyer or boyfriend's help with the rest of it.” I told her that when the bank opened, we could go in to open new accounts, divide what funds were there, and separate everything. We would also go through the lock box to see what needed changing.

A big transformation was in the offing, and I wasn’t happy about it. I hurt, I kept nodding my head no, mumbling this is a bad dream, I was tearing up at words like separation or divorce, I couldn’t even think about what was going on.

About 9:00, we drove to the bank and began the tedious job of changing the joint accounts. Three hours later, we had separate accounts with new bank cards on the way. Next, we went through the safe deposit box and divided the items into two stacks. We got another box, changing names and signatures.

We went to the diner down the street for lunch. I asked, “Which car do you want?”

“The Camry, it’s easier for me to drive.”

“The Camry will be put in your name. After lunch, we need to stop at the license bureau and the insurance office to change the paperwork. When the divorce is final, you’ll have to pay for the insurance and license plates. Tomorrow, we can stop at Schwab to change to individual stock accounts. I’d like you to call the divorce counselors and decide who you want to talk to.”

Anya nodded and said, “There are so many things to take care of.”

I agreed, “Yes, twenty-three years’ worth of trash to throw out.”

Anya started to tear up, saying, “It’s not trash. It’s our life together.”

Angrily, I said, “Not anymore. It’s junk cluttering up my life without you. That’s trash, and I’m the one who’s stuck getting rid of it.”

When she told our daughters, they were surprised and angry. They said they’d prefer to spend the holidays and monthly dinners with me. They said she could occasionally come to visit her grandchildren, but without her boyfriend. This hurt Anya badly, and she started sobbing. But she’d found her soul mate and was in love.

The next three months were spent going through the grind of divorce. Even a non-contested divorce takes time and money.

With the divorce papers filed, I told her she might as well move in with him. She moved out, the house was empty without her, and I was hurting and angry.

Slowly over the months, I began getting over the hurt, losing weight, and walking. The girls came by frequently and had me over, trying to cheer me up. I spent the holidays with their families, and they ignored their mom, feeling this was her choice.

When the single ladies in the neighborhood found out I was divorced, they started coming around with casseroles and showed an interest in going out with me.

I started dating.

It felt weird to be going out with women who were not my wife. I had to start conversing with my dates about them and not talk about my divorce or ex. It took a while until I was able to relax and enjoy myself while entertaining dates, making them feel at ease, and enjoying ourselves.

There was one woman I found myself interested in for more than a casual date. Her name was Anna Fillmore, a brunette with a dusting of freckles, hazel eyes, and a loving, caring persona.

Anna had been divorced for several years. Her husband had been cheating on her, and she was still coming to terms with her loss of trust.

She was a few years older than me, but had the same interests in books, movies, and long walks. Her snarky humor had me laughing. She loved my sense of humor, too. We started seeing each other exclusively, and it wasn’t long before we were spending nights together.

Love blossomed, and we were acting like teenagers. Holding hands, hugging, kissing, and making love frequently. Couldn’t get enough of each other. PDAs all over.

We introduced each other to our families and friends. Everyone seemed happy we’d found each other.

We started discussing marriage. I told my daughters, and they were happy I’d found a new love because they knew how much their mother had hurt me.

My daughters became friends with Anna and welcomed her into the family.

After talking to my daughters, she knew I wasn’t the reason for the divorce. Anna felt more secure in our relationship, she trusted again, and she trusted me. We set a date for our wedding, a simple ceremony with just our families and close friends.

After a lovely ceremony, we took a two-week honeymoon to Hawaii. We drove all over Maui exploring its treasures and even took a helicopter to the other islands. We laughed and loved everywhere our travels took us.

Nineteen months after the wedding, there was a knock at the door.

When I opened the door, Anya was standing on the porch in tears with her suitcase by her side.

It was Saturday morning, and I was making breakfast for Anna while she was in the shower. A big meal of easy-over eggs, fried tomatoes, sausage, toast, coffee for me, and tea for Anna.

I was speechless. I stuttered, “Cc… come in, Anya.” I picked up her suitcase and carried it in for her.

I said, “I’m making breakfast.” Then I called out, “Anna, we have company.” I poured Anya a cup of coffee and slid it across the counter to her, along with the cream she preferred.

As Anna came in, I said, “Anna, this is my ex-wife Anya. The two names are so similar that’s confusing.” I slid the cup of tea to Anna.

Anna saw that Anya was crying and came over to her and hugged her.

She said, “It’ll be okay, we can work everything out. What happened?”

I handed Anya a tissue, and she wiped her eyes, saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to drag you all into my problems, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

Anna again asked, “What happened?”

Anya said, “He left me, said he’d found his soul mate,” and started crying again.

I tried to shut up, but couldn’t keep my stupid mouth closed. I said, “I thought you said he was your soul mate.”

She looked at me through tears and said, “You’re right, and I deserve that. I’m sorry, I was wrong.” And she started crying harder.

Anna said, “Come on upstairs, and we’ll make up the guest bedroom for you.” I picked up Anya’s suitcase and carried it up to the guest bedroom.

They put fresh sheets and pillowcases on the bed, and Anya unpacked.

Anna said, “Go take a hot shower and rest for a bit. When you’re feeling up to it, come on down, we’ll have some breakfast and try to help you figure out what to do next.”

About two hours later, Anya came into the kitchen. She looked better; her hair was still damp from the shower.

Anna fixed her breakfast and slid a plate across the island to her. As she ate, Anna asked, “Feeling a little better?”

“Yes, thank you. I don’t mean to be such a nuisance.”

“You’re not a nuisance at all. This home is still yours, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome here as long as you want. This is your home. What do you want to do?”

“I need to unwind, I’m still in shock. I’ve always loved this place and don’t want to lose it, too. I messed up big time. I know it’s too late, but I’m sorry I threw away my good marriage to a wonderful man.”

Anna looked at Anya across the island, “Bill is a wonderful man. That’s why I married him. I love this home, and I know that Bill loves it too. Then stay. We’ll all live together and see how it works out. If you want to make changes, it’s your home. Let me know if and how we can help. This is your home. If you want, we can change the guest room into a master suite, whatever you need. I want you to feel comfortable and safe again. I know you’re hurting, and we’ll do whatever you need to help you get over it.”

Anya said, “Thank you, Anna. A lot of people would be angry with me for coming back, but you’re welcoming and loving.”

Anna said, “It was a surprise, but you belong in your own home, a place you love, a place you feel safe. I know when my ex cheated on me, I was emotionally distraught, my home and safe feelings were destroyed. We’ll work this out. What do you want to do now, and have you told the girls?”

Anya said, “Thank you, I’ll just lie down and feel sorry for myself. I’ll call the girls later.”

Anna said, “When you’re up for it, we can run over and get the rest of your things.”

“Thank you, I’ll see you in a bit.”

After Anya left, I came in and sat down beside Anna.

I took her hand and said, “Now what?”

She leaned over and kissed my cheek, “We’ll work it out together, this is her home too.”

I put my arms around her, hugging her. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too, babe.”

A few hours later, Anya came back to the kitchen. I was making a list, as usual.

I looked up, “I have the pickup. When you’re ready, we can go over and get the rest of your things. Will we need a larger truck?”

“No, the pickup should hold it all. Thank you for doing this. I know this can’t be easy for you. I’m sorry for all this trouble. We might as well get it over with.”

We drove over to Paul’s home. I had several empty boxes in the back of the truck. We went into the master bedroom and started packing her clothes, then the bathroom. As each box was filled, I carried it out to the truck. She packed up the gifts he’d given her, her photographs. We got her things from the kitchen they all fit in the back of my truck. I moved all the boxes into the garage when we got home.

Anya asked Anna to come to the garage to see if there was anything she could use. We went through all the kitchen items, moving in what they both wanted.

Anna asked if there were any of her pictures she wanted to hang or put around the rooms, or any knick-knacks. Anya started crying again and said, “You’re a kind, loving person. I hope that if it was me in your shoes, I could be as generous and caring.” Then she hugged Anna, thanking her again.

Anya moved her clothes into the guest room along with her shoes and personal.

We made new living arrangements and settled into new routines.

It felt strange living with my wife and ex-wife at the same time, but they became close friends, and we all took turns with the chores.

Anna and Anya are amazing, kind, loving individuals. I was surprised by their continual compassion and care for each other and those around them.

After thinking about it, I realized that’s why I’d loved and married each of them. They were just very good, loving, caring people, and I was a fortunate man to have found both of them.

The girls came around and talked with their mother. They were unsure of how we were handling it, but understood it was our decision. They also realized no one wanted to leave our home.

Things are slowly working out.

A few months later, Anya decided she would like her bath and bedroom made into a master suite, so we

have a contractor working on that now.

The good news is that Anya has started to try dating again. She’s getting over her heartbreak, and her life is recovering.

I’m a web designer, have my own business, and I make a good living. I’m also a computer nerd, so I take care of all our computers from my home office, even our travel computers and phones. I had my own home several years prior to my marriage.

I can’t believe I was lucky enough to find and marry lovely Clair. Five foot six, with a curvy figure. Brown lustrous hair and deep brown eyes. A healthy, exciting woman, I love her.

I knew myself well enough to know I was not the most dynamic or passionate lover. I wanted Clair to have a full and satisfying sex life. I told her that if she wanted to, she could have sex with others. At first, it was just an exciting fantasy, and I tried to talk Clair into it. Clair refused time and again, saying it was cheating.

I said, “It’s not cheating if I know about it ahead of time and condone it.”

One afternoon, she came to me and said she had to tell me something, to confess. We sat at the kitchen table, and she was very serious. She said she had given in to my fantasy.

She was fucking someone else. I was hurt she hadn’t talked to me about it ahead of time.

She finally told me it was my friend Mike, and it had been going on for a few years.

“I only told you about my fantasy a year ago, so it wasn’t my fantasy; it was you cheating.” She said, “Whatever, I just had good sex with Mike. He kissed me, then licked and sucked my nipples and bit them hard. It made me so wet I was dripping. Then he put me on his kitchen table and sucked on my clit while he slid two fingers into me and rubbed my G-spot till I climaxed. Then he lifted my legs, so I was wide open and shoved his big dick in me and fucked me hard and fast till we both came together, and he filled me with his cum. Do you want sloppy seconds? It would be a real turn-on for me to fuck him first, then you.”

I was hurt and upset, but also turned on after listening to her describe everything. I bent her over the arm of the couch and fucked her hard, reaching around and rubbing her clit until she came, then lay her on the couch, pushing her knees up to her chest, and fucked her till she came again. Then I pulled out and came all over her face. This upset her. What she wanted was a double load of cum in her pussy.

One morning, while she was over at Mike’s, she called and asked me to come over to watch them. The first few weeks, everything seemed okay. It was a turn-on for them to have an audience. They enjoyed me watching and, every once in a while, would ask me to join in.

Then, about a month later, the nastiness started.

They began trying to belittle and humiliate me. They called me cuck and bitch and didn’t want me to join them. She started coming home and telling me what great sex she was having with Mike and withholding it from me. She would make fun of me, saying I wasn’t good enough to fuck her.

I knew then they were just using me. I played along, taking photographs surreptitiously and playing the part of the cuckold.

She said how much larger Mike’s cock was and how it filled her and made her cum better and more often, trying to hurt me.

I put up with this for a while, but it got worse and worse. The name-calling, the belittling, and the humiliation were all directed at me.

Clair and I were scheduled for a three-week vacation in Cancun. I was hoping to find out what was wrong and rekindle what we had when we married.

A few days before we were to leave, Clair came to me and said she wanted to go with Mike instead, and I could stay here and think about all the great sex they were having. “You cuck.”

I acted like I was OK with it and said, “If that’s what would make you happy and what you want.”

She said, “Yes, that’s what I want.”

I started planning what I was going to do while they were gone.

I had looked around for cities I could move to, and there was a town on the East Coast called Beaufort in South Carolina that was small and looked promising.

The house was mine, free and clear. I went to a local realtor and had him show me comps and appraise my house. We set a price, and I said it had to be a cash purchase with a two-week closing date.

I took my investment portfolio and transferred it to the local office of a different broker in Beaufort. I opened a savings and checking account at a local bank in Beaufort.

I paid all my bills and then took the cash from my bank. I closed all my accounts here. I rolled over my IRA to a plan I set up in Beaufort.

I called my lawyer and had him file for divorce. I signed my papers using infidelity as the cause and gave him copies of all the photographs I’d taken. I told him I would send my address when I got where I was going, but don’t tell Clair. I asked him to deliver the divorce papers to Clair c/o Mike.

Clair and Mike left for my Cancun vacation.

I had my Realtor give an open house the day they left. By the end of the day, I had two cash offers on the house, one for fifteen thousand over my asking price. The closing date was set for two weeks.

As Clair’s car was in my name, I sold it at a local used car dealership. I had a moving crew come in and pack up my belongings and UPS them all to Beaufort. I had them pack up all my wife’s belongings, cosmetics, and everything that was hers and take them to the local Goodwill. I kept the jewelry I’d given her and sold it at a pawn shop.

I left all the furniture for the new owners.

Clair and Mike had been gone a week, and now for the final gotcha. I went online, signed into their various accounts, and changed all their passwords for their logins. I went to Clair’s home computer, wiped the hard drive, and left the computer on Mike’s front porch.

I remotely logged onto Mike’s computer and wiped it clean. I signed into their cloud accounts and first erased everything, then closed their accounts. I also erased everything on their travel computers and cleaned off what information I could get to on their phones.

I logged into their Google accounts and wiped them clean. Then I changed Mike’s password and canceled his Google account. I kept Clair’s email account open so I could email her, but deleted her contact phone numbers and email.

I called our credit card companies and told them my credit cards had been stolen in Mexico, and they should cancel the cards and stop payments on anything from Mexico. I paid the balance due up to the time of their trip. I went online to the airlines, canceled their return flights, and had the credits sent to me.

In all, a well spent several hours of work, being a geek is good.

My phone rang, and it was Clair. She asked what I had done, and I said, “Payback’s a bitch. Have a nice life, but not with me. Say hi to my good buddy Mike, you’ll have to use his cash and credit cards or rely on the kindness of strangers.” I don’t think she got it.

The following week, the cash for the house was transferred to my account in Beaufort.

I packed my car and headed east. I drove cross-country to begin my new life.

I went house shopping the day after I arrived and found a lovely two-story white colonial on three and a half acres. It was about a mile out of town, and paid cash for it.

I had all the utilities turned back on and the internet hooked up.

I called UPS and had them deliver the boxes to my new home.

I got a South Carolina driver’s license and new plates for my car.

After the internet was turned on, I went online and got several throwaway email addresses.

I sent Clair an email saying hi, how was your trip? Did you have a good time? Did you see a lot of fun things? I hope Mike was able to cover your expenses.

I told her the house and car had been sold and her belongings given to Goodwill so she could move in with Mike and fuck to her heart's content.

I told her she could live off Mike or get a job. Have fun.

Love, the nerd.

I got a long reply; she didn’t know where I was or what I was doing. She pleaded and begged me to forgive her, and said she would stop seeing Mike. She was sorry for all the mean things she said and did. She loved me. Please come back. Blah. Blah. Blah.

I also got an email from Mike, so she must have given him the email address. He called me everything he could think of. He told me how much my vacation had cost him and how many problems it had caused him.

Then he complained about me dumping deadweight Clair on him and complained about her for a page and a half.

At the end of the email, he said, “You got me, buddy, I deserve every bit of it, I’m sorry I fucked with you.” Mike

I forwarded the email to Clair so she would know how he felt.

A little more than a year after I had left, there was a knock on my door, and when I opened the door, there stood Clair, surprise, surprise.

I said, “Hi Clair, how are you?” She said, “I’m doin’ okay, can we talk?” I went out, and we sat down on the front steps.

I said, “Sure, what’s up?”

She said, “It took me a while to find you, but I went by your old house one day, and the new owners said UPS had mailed a receipt to their address and they gave it to me.”

“I had to go to work, buy a car, and save enough for this trip while paying living expenses. It took a while.”

I asked aren’t you living with Mike. She said, “No, that was over before we got back. He let me stay a few weeks until I found work and a place to stay. He even paid a few months’ rent for me so I would move out sooner. I moved as soon as I could.”

I said, “I need a cuppa, you want one?”

“Yes, please.”

“Come on, let’s go inside.” I put on a pot, and we sat at the kitchen table. We talked about the weather, her trip cross-country, and small things while the coffee dripped into the pot. I filled a couple of mugs and pushed the creamer and sugar to her with a spoon.

She said, “I drink mine black now.”

I said, “You didn’t come all this way for a cuppa, what’s up?”

She looked at me and said, “I needed to see you in person, up close and personal, to apologize.”

Tears started running down her cheeks, and I handed her the box of tissues from the counter.

She said, “I wanted to explain what was happening inside my fucked-up head and why I acted like such an insane bitch.”

“I knew Mike from before I started dating you. I had stopped seeing him when you and I started dating. One day, about a year and a half after we were married, I was upset about something, it doesn’t matter what, it was stupid, and I was upset. It was probably just an excuse. I gave Mike a call and went over to his house, then we got together, and the fucking started.”

“I was angry with you for not knowing. It doesn’t matter that it doesn’t make sense. I felt you should somehow be a mind reader and know what was going on. I was angry with you for not realizing I was fucking Mike behind your back, and you not stopping me from doing it.”

“Sometime later, you told me maybe I should try sex with someone else because you might not be passionate enough or give me enough sex, and that even made me angrier.”

“I know it was crazy, and it doesn’t make sense. Finally, when I confessed about the affair, and even though you were upset, hurt, and angry, you didn’t drag me off and forbid me to have sex with Mike. Hell, you even gave me two good climaxes that day, thank you very much.”

‘But that made me even angrier. From there, I, along with Mike, started with the humiliation, belittling, and name-calling.”

“It was terrible how we acted. I am ashamed of what I did, how I behaved, and I apologize for what I said and did. I’m sorry.”

“A few weeks after I moved out of Mike’s, I was lying in bed one night, and I thought about you, really thought about the type of man you were and how your mind worked. I realized, with your personality, you couldn't drag me kicking and screaming away from that relationship, nor would you want to if that was what I felt I needed.”

“I finally understood you loved me and thought, if that was what it took for me to be happy, then you would put up with it. You put up with it to make me happy. You did it because you loved me, not because you were weak, but because you were strong. You loved me and wanted me to be happy, wanted me to feel fulfilled sexually, even if you were not the one who could make it happen.”

“I just couldn’t believe my idiot self and how stupid I was for not seeing this.”

“I broke down and cried for two days. I was ashamed of myself. I was ashamed of how we treated you. You were a good, loving, kind man and a faithful husband who took good care of me.”

“I was a piece of shit, worse, I was a cheater, a liar, a slut, and a cum bucket for an asshole. I was a no-good piece of crap. I hit rock bottom.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, I’m not asking for it, and I don’t deserve it.”

“It was my fault, and I have to admit it. I have to take full responsibility for my actions, what I did, what I said, and how I behaved. Not you or yours, mine, you didn’t have anything to do with it, other than be loving and kind, trying to give me what I wanted. This whole mess was all on me, my anger, my problems, my fuck up.”

“I needed to see you face you, look you in the eye, and say I’m sorry, I apologize for everything I did and said, and it was all my fault.”

Tears were still streaming down her face, and half the tissues were gone.

I said, “Well, at least now I sort of understand how you felt and where you were coming from. Thank you for driving here to tell me.”

She looked up through the tears with a little giggle and said, “By the way, that was a fantastic ‘gotcha’ you pulled. You yanked the rug right out from under us. It gave me a much-needed wake-up call and also made me realize how you took such good care of me and how much I took you for granted. I deserved every bit of it, probably even a lot more. God, I was screwed up.”

I smiled at her, glad she could laugh about what I had done. I said, “What now?”

Clair said, “I guess I have to grow up and get on with living.”

She asked, “Is Beaufort a good place to live, and would you mind if I moved here to start over?”

I told her it worked for me, this was a very nice little town, and if she needed a place to stay, she could stay here with me while she looked for work and a place to live. I had plenty of room.

She sniffed a few times, wiped her eyes, and said, “Thank you, kind sir. I’ll take you up on your offer.”

She walked out to her car and returned with her suitcase, smiling for the first time since she arrived.

She looked like she had gotten something off her chest, felt better about herself, more in control of her life, and was happier.

I let her move into a guest bedroom while she looked for work and a place to live. I didn’t say it, but I could never trust her again, and she couldn’t stay forever.

I brought her the local help wanted and rental listings, and hooked her up to the internet.

Life was full, but I sat there with my mind still filled with questions. Why did she leave me? What did I do wrong? What happened? Is it my fault? I thought everything was good. She was my best friend. We talked about everything. I took care of household chores to lighten the work. We did things together, things she wanted to do. We made love, and she seemed to climax every time, hands, tongue, and penis. I always waited till she was satisfied. I thought she loved me, was in love with me, then nothing. Why’d she have an affair? Why the divorce with no warning? I was handed the divorce papers after work one day and walked out. Why go completely no contact? What happened? What did I do wrong? Around and around and no answers.

I heard gravel crunching; a car must be coming up the drive. The car door closed, and someone was walking around the back of the house. I glanced over and there she was coming up the deck steps. Tears were running down her cheeks—my ex.

Then she said, “Please, please, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry for all of it, may I explain?”

Shaking my head, eyes glassy now too, I said, “Almost three years and not a word, and now you want to explain?”

Crying now, she said, “I know, I know. I was wrong about the whole divorce and no contact. But when he said it would be a clean break, and you could begin again, it all sounded so reasonable.”

“Go ahead, sit down and tell me some lies.”

She sat in the deck chair next to him, one that had been hers to sit in more than three years ago now.

“About three and a half years ago, he came to work in my department. We were just friendly. We talked about normal stuff. Weather, job, drive to work, just conversation. Then it started getting more personal.

We would talk about feelings and what was happening in our married lives. We would talk about when we were upset or happy. After a time, we started talking about our sex lives, good, bad, happy, sad. It got more and more personal, and we were in an emotional affair. One day after work, we were alone, and he kissed me. I was surprised, but I kissed him back, and our physical affair started. We’d caught feelings, and I couldn’t stop.”

“Hurt me some more.” He said.

 “Just so you know, he pulled the same shit on me with another woman; we’re divorced now.”

“So what do you want from me? Is this supposed to make me feel sorry for you? Is this supposed to ease the loss of trust or the pain?”

“No. I know we can never get back what we had. I destroyed that completely. I’m just here to answer questions and fill in all the blanks I left. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. The guilt I feel for the awful things I’ve done is all I can give you, that, and my sincere apologies. This was one hundred percent all my fault. I did this all on my own. I loved you. You were a wonderful, loving husband. You were my rock and safe place. I trusted you completely. When we made love, you always took care of me first. We had sex with love and attention. It was beautiful.”

“Now I at least know I didn’t drive you away.”

“Not in any way did you drive me away. I was ensnared and enticed away. I loved that drama. I got a thrill from the secrecy, the hiding, and the sexual trysts. I’d be lying to myself and everyone else if I denied that fact just because I knew the affair itself was wrong. As I said before, Bill, you and I made love. Greg fucked me, he fucked me hard, and soon I was doing every kinky, dirty thing you’ve ever thought of, and I loved it.”

“So you decided to give him all the things you would not give to me, your loving husband. Thanks, that makes me feel better.”

“Look, I screwed my whole life up over that asshole. I’m sorry for hurting you, for doing you dirty. But it’s done.

Anyway, it’s over. After about six months, Greg got a divorce and went ‘no contact with his ex, and he talked me into doing the same. I’ve found out the hard way that ‘no-contact’ is great for the person who does it, but not for the person who is left behind with all the questions. That is why I’m here to fill in all the blanks.”

“Go ahead, fill in the rest.”

“The first year of our marriage seemed to be great, but as the second year approached, things got more complicated. He started pushing boundaries, pushing for more varied sex, kinkier. First threesomes, both with men and women, then other couples, and spending the night separately. He made it feel like our marriage was getting stronger and better. Like he was in love with just me, and the rest were just for fun. About halfway into our second year, he started talking about a special club downtown where people had sex in public with many others. That was a boundary I couldn’t cross. I was too worried about friends, family, or coworkers seeing me, and what they’d think of me.

He'd been transferred to the other side of our office complex in a new department.

With a new department, he started working more hours and traveling occasionally. I never even questioned it. Our marriage still seemed strong.

Then one day, about six months later I was given divorce papers and told if I had any questions to talk to his lawyer. When I came home that day, he was gone. Moved out completely.”

“Sounds like something that happened to me,” I said.

“I know, and god I’m sorry. Anyway, a few weeks later, as I was pulling out of work, I saw him drive by with a young blond in his car, and it finally dawned on me he’d been having an affair. He had been lying and cheating on me. I pulled over to the side of the road and screamed. I cried my eyes out. I couldn’t believe how naïve and foolish I’d been. He wasn’t in love with me. We weren’t really even married. I was a fucking damn toy. He had been playing me the whole time we were together. What the hell was wrong with me? A few months after the divorce, I was lying in bed one night with nothing but unanswered questions, and I realized I’d pulled the same no-contact shit with you. You were a good, kind, loving husband to me, and I did you more dirty than had been done to me. I decided there was at least one person who could have answers. They were as dirty and disgusting as I had become. I had become a tramp and slut, a fucking cum dump. I was no good. Anyway, now you know my stupid, dirty, sordid story. Again, I’m sorry for all the dirty crap I pulled. You are a good, loving, honest man, and none of this was your fault. You did nothing wrong. This was all on me and my gullibility.”

I said, “Thank you for letting me know what happened. I hope your life is better from now on. Good luck.”

Crying, still she got up and started back to her car. As she looked back at me, she said, “I still love you, I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” I answered.

I heard the car door close and her car back down the drive. Tears came to my eyes, and I knew I still loved her.