223 comments/ 211551 views/ 35 favorites The Worst Week of My Life By: ohio If you're happily married and your wife has never cheated on you, you have absolutely no idea what it's like. The shock, the feeling of utter betrayal, the hurt, the anger, the destruction of all your trust and sense of security…. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I'd been married to Lucy for nine years, the happiest years of my life. We met in college, when at the time each of us was dating someone else, but within a couple of months we were together, and we have been ever since. We got married after we graduated, moved to Springfield, Illinois (where Lucy grew up) and we're there still. Lucy is a CPA and I work for the programming division of a large manufacturing company in town. We didn't have kids yet, but we had a wonderful life. I loved Lucy's family, and they were always warm and welcoming to me. We didn't see my family so often, since they lived out west, but Lucy liked them and they adored her. We had a group of terrific friends in Springfield and socialized with them often. When I say "terrific friends", I should probably say "with one exception". Lucy's closest friend Susan was married to Stan Marino, a real jerk. He was a big, blustery guy who talked too much, mostly about himself, and thought he was a lot funnier than he actually was. He'd played linebacker in college, and liked to introduce himself by saying, "hi, I'm Stan Marino, the football player. Not DAN Marino, STAN Marino!" He'd laugh like crazy every time he said this (which I'd witnessed him do at least three dozen times). He also liked his beer—not that I don't, but Stan would drink a few too many, and he could get really nasty and unpleasant when he was loaded. For the life of me I never understood why Susan stayed with him. Lucy was much more sympathetic to Stan. She'd say to me, "he's really not so bad, honey. I know he talks too much, but he's got a real good heart, and you know how much he loves Susan and the kids." But Lucy could never get me to warm up to the guy. She knew I just didn't want to be around Stan, so the four of us didn't get together much. But Lucy and Susan did things together, and they talked on the phone all the time. One Sunday about two months before my life fell apart, Lucy got off the phone and came to find me, looking very upset. "Bob, Stan hit Susan!" "What?" I cried, jumping up. Lucy told me the whole story as she'd just heard it from Susan. Apparently Stan had had too much to drink the night before, after their two little kids were asleep. For some reason he got very jealous of Susan and started accusing her of cheating on him with some guy she knew from work (which Susan swore to Lucy she'd never done). She couldn't calm him down, and finally he'd lost control and knocked her around. She locked herself in the bedroom and called the cops, who arrived and arrested Stan. Now Susan was furious and scared. She was going to file for divorce, as well as getting a protective order keeping Stan away from the house. I had never liked Stan, but I was still shocked by the story. "Has he ever hit Susan before, or behaved crazy like this?" Lucy said no, but Susan was so shook-up she was determined to divorce him. I asked where Stan was now, and she told me he was out on bail, but Susan didn't know where he'd gone. I could tell that Lucy wanted to get involved in this mess somehow, and I said firmly, "honey, you've got to stay out of it. You can support Susan and be her friend, but don't get in the middle of a marital dispute. Whatever happens, they need to work it out themselves." She said she agreed with me, and our conversation went on to other things. *** *** *** The worst week of my life began on a Monday. Each day of the week brought its measure of unhappiness and pain. MONDAY I was doing some lunch-time errands in downtown Springfield, and as I walked by the Chesterton Hotel I was surprised to see Lucy's car parked in the lot. I recognized the license plate, and in any case I could tell it was Lucy's because of the dent in the front passenger door that she'd put there while putting the car in our garage one night. We just hadn't gotten around to fixing it. That night over dinner, Lucy told me that she needed to spend Saturday evening with her mother, and she hoped I wouldn't mind. "She wants me to help her go through all her pictures, especially the ones of Dad, and put them in photo albums." "Of course, honey," I replied. "Shall I come along?" "No, I think she wants just me. This is going to be kind of emotional, and I think it would be better if only I were there with her." Lucy's father had died just a few months earlier, so I could see what she meant, and I agreed. I said, "maybe I'll just get together with some of the guys, watch a game on TV or go out for a beer or something." Then I said, "by the way, Lucy, what were you doing over at the Chesterton Hotel today? I saw your car there at lunch time." She looked at me in shock. I saw her hesitate for just a split-second, and then she said, "it wasn't me, honey—I was at the office all day. Somebody screwed up one of the corporate accounts, and we spent hours unraveling it." What the fuck was this? I certainly knew my wife's car! She'd just lied right to my face, and I had no idea what to do about it. I just said, "oh, I was sure it was your car. But I guess there are a lot of blue Camrys around," and let it drop. For the next couple of hours I was confused and unhappy. I had no idea why, but my wife was trying to deceive me about something—and I couldn't come up with any innocent reason why she'd done it. At bedtime, I decided to take the bull by the horns. I was already in bed, and she was just coming out of the bathroom, wearing her usual flannel nightie. I said, "Lucy, are we OK?" She looked at me in surprise and said, "of course we are, honey. What's bothering you?" I persisted. "I mean, I love you so much—even more than when I married you. And our marriage makes me very happy. But I'm not quite sure that you're feeling the same way. Please, Lucy, tell me the truth: is everything OK between us?" She started to laugh, then looked more closely at my face and saw to her surprise that I was serious. "Of course it is, Bob! Every day I feel lucky to be married to you! Are you feeling insecure for some reason? What is this all about?" Looking right at her, I said, "you lied to me at dinner. We both know that was your car at the Chesterton Hotel today." There was a long silence. I watched Lucy as her face reddened. She looked away, not meeting my eye. Finally she said, "yes, honey—I'm sorry." I waited, not speaking. There was another silence, and Lucy could see that she would have to explain. "I … didn't want you to find out, Bob. This was going to be a surprise. I went over there to reserve a suite for us for your birthday next month. I was going to suggest we have dinner at Bentley's next door, then take you for an after-dinner drink at the hotel, and then surprise you with the hotel suite. "I guess it's just my bad luck you saw the car today!" She smiled ruefully at me. "It would have been a nice surprise." The relief and happiness flooded through my body. I took Lucy in my arms and kissed her again and again. "What a sweet idea, Luce! I'm so sorry I dragged the surprise out of you. But we can still have that evening. I'll even pretend to be shocked if you like!" She laughed and said, "it's a deal! You're too smart a man to play dumb very well, but I'll enjoy watching you try!" In no time she was in the loving arms of her happy husband, and we concluded our reconciliation with some tender love-making. I fell asleep feeling wonderful—having no clue about the anvil that was waiting to fall on my head the next day. TUESDAY I went off to work with a smile on my face. Last night's sex, and even more the relief of having my wife's lie explained, left me feeling terrific. And that feeling didn't change until I got home. My wife's car was already in the garage, and as I pulled in I decided I'd sneak inside and surprise her with a loving hug and kiss. So instead of bellowing "honey, I'm home!", I came in quietly through the garage door. I could hear Lucy in the kitchen—she must have been on the phone. "No, he thinks I'll be at my mother's house … un-huh, that just seemed like the best way to handle it …. No, I'm not too worried about it. He even saw my car at the Chesterton yesterday, but I managed to explain it away …. Yeah …. Yeah, listen, I should go. Bob could come in any moment …. Yeah, Saturday is going to be great! I'm really looking forward to it …. OK, me too." And she hung up. I slumped against the wall, utterly aghast. Vaguely the sounds of Lucy puttering around the kitchen, humming, reached my ears. All the happiness I'd been feeling drained away in an instant, leaving me numb. I had never been so stunned in my life. What the fuck was going on? I couldn't tell absolutely, but it sure seemed like my loving wife was seeing someone else! At the very least her story about spending Saturday evening with her mom appeared to be a well-planned lie. My mind going 90 miles an hour, I continued to stand in the back hallway out of Lucy's sight, trying desperately to pull myself together. Should I walk in and confront her? No—she'd lied to me smoothly the night before, so it seemed, and I felt sure she would do so again. I would need to find out a lot more about what the hell was going on, so that when I did confront her she wouldn't be able to lie her way out of it. The bitch! I felt tears starting in my eyes, and I furiously wiped them away with my hand. After a couple of minutes I was able to regain my composure. If Lucy could lie so callously to me, then I ought to be able to dissemble as well. I came into the kitchen, deliberately making a lot of noise, and said, "hi wife!" in a cheerful voice. Pulling her into my arms I gave her a big hug—though if she could have seen my face at that moment, she might have run for the nearest exit! She hugged me back, then turned back to dinner on the stove, casually asking me about our day. As we talked—me working hard to seem relaxed and friendly—I said, "I thought I heard you on the phone when I got out of the car. Did someone call?" She had her back to me, so I couldn't see her face. After a tiny hesitation—one I never would have noticed, if I hadn't been paying such careful attention—she said, "oh, that was my mom. I was just talking to her about Saturday, letting her know I had all the albums we would need." I was caught between rage and a kind of grudging admiration. Lucy was such a smooth liar—I was impressed! It scared me, though. How many other lies had I innocently swallowed during our marriage? Had she been deceiving me for years? I told Lucy I was going to change before dinner, and headed upstairs to the bedroom. With the door closed I picked up the phone and dialed *69, jotting down the phone number of the previous call. I dialed it, and when I heard a voice on the other end say "Pinecrest Motel, good afternoon," I hung up. Worse and worse! My wife was having a secret conversation with someone at a motel? Hard to see how that could mean anything besides adultery. By sheer teeth-gritting determination I managed to get through dinner without letting Lucy see how furious I was. She had lots to tell me about things at work, and I let her go on, occasionally prompting her with questions, so I didn't have to say too much. After dinner I went off to pay the bills while Lucy cleaned up. In the study I began with our latest cell-phone bill, which had just arrived. I scanned the bill for the number of the Pinecrest Motel—and sure enough there it was, a total of seven calls in the past three weeks. I pulled out the previous month's bill and there were two more calls to the same number. After thinking a minute, I remembered Lucy's story of the night before about the "birthday reservation" at the Chesterton Hotel. Was that also just a lie? I called the Chesterton Hotel and asked for the reservations desk. When a young lady picked up, I said I was calling to confirm a reservation for Bob and Lucy Fortner. She checked a minute, then said, "yes sir! I have your reservation for a double room for this Saturday night. The reservation was made yesterday by Mrs. Fortner." I asked if there were any other reservations for Fortner, say for the following month. She checked again and told me no. I thanked her and hung up. Then I sat back in the chair, my anger deepening. I didn't yet know all of what was going on, but it seemed pretty damn clear! And I was going to find out all the rest of it. That evening I did all I could to avoid Lucy, telling her the bills needed some time for me to untangle them. I waited until she was asleep to go up to bed, and I lay awake for a long time. Had I proved beyond a reasonable doubt that she was cheating on me? No, not yet—but the evidence pointed overwhelmingly in that direction. The only thing in the world that could possibly be worse than learning I was a cuckold, was feeling 99% sure that I was a cuckold but not knowing for certain. I was going to do whatever it took to get to the bottom of this. As for what would come afterwards, I found I just couldn't face thinking about it. WEDNESDAY The next day I invented an errand so that I could leave work early. My plan was to get home by 3 pm, and have a couple of hours to search the house thoroughly. I didn't know what I might find, but I somehow felt sure that there would be something to confirm what my wife was up to. My discovery came surprisingly quickly. I began with my wife's jewelry box, then moved on to her dresser drawers. At the bottom of one of them, carefully concealed beneath a lot of sweaters, was a cardboard box that might have held a blouse. I pulled it out and carefully opened it. What I found, carefully wrapped up in tissue paper, was an absolute gorgeous, and phenomenally sexy, teddy. Maroon and black, with lots of lace that would reveal more than it hid, it was just beautiful. Under any other circumstances I would have been excited, imagining that Lucy had bought it to wear as a surprise for me—one that would have had me hard as a rock. But now I was more than halfway convinced it was meant for some other lucky gentleman to see on my wife, perhaps on Saturday. Cursing to myself, I carefully re-wrapped the teddy and placed it back in the drawer just as it had been. I resumed my search, but didn't find anything else incriminating that day. Dinner that night was pretty dismal. I didn't attack Lucy, but I didn't bother trying to hide my glumness either. After a couple of attempts to cheer me up or find out what was bothering me, Lucy pretty much gave up and left me alone. She went up to bed early with a book, and I again waited until she was asleep before going upstairs. Falling asleep was no easier than it had been the previous night. What was happening to me? How could my marriage be in such terrible shape that Lucy was cheating on me, when I hadn't even noticed that we were having problems? All I could do was resolve to keep digging until I had caught her red-handed. Then at least I'd have the leverage I needed. That was my plan, such as it was. But it left me feeling pretty cold and empty. THURSDAY During my lunch hour I drove over to the Pinecrest Motel, a somewhat rundown place on the western edge of town. I had a brief conversation with an elaborately bored desk clerk, a lean fellow of about 50 who needed a shave. I passed him a picture of my wife, and asked if this woman had visited the motel in the past couple of weeks. As he took the photo from me his fingers also grasped the $20 bill I was holding behind it, and a hint of a smile crossed his face. Studying it, he said he thought she'd been in the office about two weeks earlier, asking for one of the guests. I asked for the name of that guest, casually showing him another $20 between my fingers. He smiled again, taking the bill, and said, "let me check the register". After looking through the names of the recently-registered guests, he pointed to a name and said, "it was this guy. Stanley Marino. He's been here a couple of months now." I was stunned—I felt like I'd been hit over the head with a beer bottle. Leaning heavily on the counter, I said slowly, "you're sure it was him?" The man nodded. "She came in one day asking which room was Mr. Marino's, and I sent her down to 129. Haven't seen her since then, but she may have paid him some other visits—I can't see the door to 129 from here." On the drive back to the office I started to feel dizzy, and had to pull quickly into a restaurant parking lot. Stan Marino! That loud, drunken, wife-beating son-of-a-bitch! Lucy had always had a soft spot for him. But it just floored me! First, he was the husband of Lucy's best friend, even if Susan had thrown him out. And second, she'd thrown him out because he'd beaten her! How on earth could Lucy be cheating on me with that low-life? I sat in that damn parking lot for a long time, thinking. If Lucy would tell me the truth, would confess to me everything that was going on, then maybe our marriage might have a chance. I was furious—angry beyond anything I'd ever felt in my life—but I also loved her. Perhaps, somehow, this was not quite as bad as it looked. That night, after a very quiet dinner, I asked Lucy to come sit in the living room with me. Looking right into her eyes, I began to speak. "Lucy, you know that I love you. But you also know that something is going on, something that you're keeping from me. "If you care about me enough to want our marriage to continue, you need to tell me about your cheating—now. Maybe there's some …" I never got to finish my sentence. Lucy leaped to her feet, her face growing red with anger. "How dare you accuse me of cheating? You bastard! I have been faithful to you since the day we met! This is the second time this week you've asked me to justify my behavior to you. "Well, if you don't trust your own wife that's just too damn bad! I have nothing to apologize for and nothing to tell you!" "Lucy," I replied hotly, "you've already been caught in one lie this week, and I know about a lot more of them…" But by then she was stomping out of the room and up the stairs. I don't know if she had ever walked out on me in the middle of an argument before—I certainly couldn't remember her doing it. And it was hard to see her behavior as anything other than guilt, or the desire to hide her guilt. Considering what I had learned that week, I thought that my side of the conversation had been pretty restrained. For the first time, it struck me that my marriage really was probably over. In just four days I'd gone from being a contented and beloved husband to a humiliated cuckold. Now I had to decide what I was going to do about it. There was clearly no point in trying to talk to Lucy any further that night. I sat and thought, and finally realized that her planned tryst on Saturday night at the Chesterton would be the last straw. If she went off to that hotel to fuck Stan Marino—however many times they may have done it before—I was leaving. Somehow making that grim decision made me feel a little better. I settled down in the guest room and got the first decent night's sleep I'd had in several days. FRIDAY I got up early, ate breakfast and left the house without seeing Lucy. There didn't seem much point—I couldn't imagine things being any more friendly than they'd been the night before. Work was miserable. It wasn't involving enough to keep my mind off my marriage, and on the other hand my worries about my marriage prevented me from getting much accomplished. I left work a little early and was sitting in the kitchen, staring distractedly out the window, when Lucy came home. She dumped her bag on the counter, gave me a cold "hello" and headed upstairs. In a minute I could hear the shower running. The Worst Week of My Life It occurred to me that when I searched the house two days earlier I'd neglected her purse, since she'd had it with her at work. Now I went through it. Among the usual stuff, tucked down toward the bottom, was a box of six Trojans. Again my head swam! It was hard to see any more conclusive evidence than this! Lucy had been on the pill since we got married, since we weren't ready yet to start a family. So what could the condoms possibly be for, except to fuck someone else! All of a sudden I literally couldn't stand to be in the same house with her. I put her things back in her purse, scribbled a note saying I was going out for dinner, and left the house. I called my friend Max, who was single, and the two of us went out for a steak dinner and a couple of beers. He was surprised that I was away from Lucy on a Friday night. I didn't give him the whole story, just told him that she and I were arguing and that I needed to get away for an evening. The two of us had a good time, which included one more beer at his house as we watched a ball game. I was not at all tipsy when I drove home, but I did get home pretty late. Lucy was already in bed, and again I headed for the guest room. As I lay in bed, trying in vain to get to sleep, I wondered whether the next 24 hours would be the last day of my married life. SATURDAY Lucy and I had breakfast together, but we spoke about ten words to each other. I knew exactly why I was so upset—but why she was upset was less clear to me. Perhaps she felt angry that I'd accused her of cheating; or maybe her guilt at having cheated on me was what made her so defensive; or she could have just been pissed-off that my suspicions were making it harder for her to have her fun! In any case, she wasn't backing down from her nasty words of Thursday evening, and neither was I. During the day I worked in the yard and she ran some errands. In the late afternoon, as she showered and got ready to go "to her mother's house", I wandered into the bedroom. "Lucy," I said quietly, "I'd like to say something to you." She turned around and looked at me, arms folded. "I know that you're cheating on me, and I even know with whom." I could see her face redden, but I put up my hand to cut her off before she started yelling. "Don't say a word, I'm almost done. I just want you to understand that when I catch you—and I will!—our marriage is over. No teary scenes, no forgiveness, nothing. We are through." She burst out at me. "You asshole! How many times do I have to tell you, I am not cheating on you! Your accusations are offensive and disgusting—now get the hell out of here and let me get dressed!" I stopped and turned on my way out of the bedroom. Still speaking quietly, I said, "please don't forget what I've said". Then I left before she could yell again. By now I had my plans for the evening worked out. As soon as Lucy drove away—dressed in an outfit meant for dinner in a nice restaurant, not for going through photos with her mother—I went up to the bedroom and checked her sweater drawer. Sure enough, the sexy teddy was gone! No real surprise there. The drive to her mother's house would take Lucy about twenty minutes on a Saturday. I waited 45 minutes, then called her mother and asked to speak to Lucy. She replied, "oh, I'm sorry, Bob, but she's not here yet. Shall I have her call you back when she arrives?" "No thank you, that's OK. I'll speak to her later." It was all bad news, but just what I'd expected. I got in the car and drove down to the Chesterton Hotel. I didn't see Lucy's car in the main parking lot, but when I drove around the back, there it was. I went inside, picked up a courtesy phone, and asked the operator to connect me with the Fortners' room. After three rings a man said, "hello?" and I recognized Stan Marino's voice. That cocksucking son-of-a-bitch! Putting on a fake deep voice I asked for Henry Green. In the background I could hear a woman's voice saying, "who is it, Stan?" It was Lucy! Then Stan told me I had the wrong number, and I hung up. As I walked slowly back out to my car, all I could think was, at least now I have my answers. I stopped at a U-Haul store to buy some boxes and headed home. I called Max and asked him, pretty bluntly, if he could put me up for a few days. He was surprised and concerned but said, Sure. Max had a spare bedroom so I figured I'd be OK there for up to a week, until I figured out what to do next. I packed steadily for the next three hours. By 9pm I had all my clothes in suitcases and my computer and important business files in boxes. The phone rang but I ignored it, going on with my packing. An hour later my CDs and most precious books were packed, and I'd put my CD player by the front door. I figured all my tools and miscellaneous junk in the garage would have to wait. Before taking all the stuff out to the car, I stopped to check the answering machine. The call at 9pm had been from Lucy. Her message said, "hi—my mom is not feeling very well, so I'm going to stay overnight to keep an eye on her. I'll be back about 10 tomorrow morning." Her voice wasn't at all warm or friendly, and I wondered why she'd even bothered. Just for the hell of it I called her mother again and asked for Lucy. This time her mother, with a slightly odd tone in her voice, said Lucy was in the shower and couldn't come to the phone. I thanked her and hung up. I smiled to myself. One more nail in the coffin, right? Not that I'd needed one. Not content to laugh in my face by going off to the Chesterton Hotel to fuck Stan Marino, she had the nerve to leave a message saying she'd be away all night. What, she needed a couple more rounds of early morning fucking before coming back to her supposedly-beloved husband? I considered leaving a note that said, "Have a nice life—I hope your wife-beating boyfriend doesn't beat you too!" But I thought, what's the point? I just packed the car and took off for Max's. With a long face, Max helped me bring my things inside, and we sat and talked. I told him the whole story, and his shock was greatest when I explained that she'd been fucking Stan Marino. Max knew Stan only slightly, but he had pretty much the same opinion of him that I did. I finally got to sleep that night in Max's guest room, but only because of the half-bottle of Scotch I poured into myself first. SUNDAY I knew as soon as I got up that this day would be the worst of the entire week. First of all, my head felt like it was inside a cement-mixer. And second, as they say, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." Yeah, sure it is—fuck 'em! Today was the first day of the rest of my life without Lucy. A woman I'd loved unreservedly, passionately, for ten years. A woman I'd trusted completely. A woman who had cut my balls off without a word of explanation or apology. I got through the day somehow, and Max was a big help. He made a big breakfast and made sure I ate some of it. He kept me busy: we went to the grocery store for a few day's worth of food, we went out and hit some balls at the driving range, we took his Labrador for a long walk in the park, we rented a video of an action movie and watched it after dinner. I'd asked him not to tell Lucy I was there, if she should happen to call. The phone rang at about 2pm while were putting the groceries away. Max told Lucy apologetically that he hadn't seen me or heard from me since Friday night. When he got off the phone he said Lucy had sounded pretty emotional, like maybe she'd been crying. I allowed myself a little smile at that news. A bit too late for regrets now, my dear wife! Despite all of my friend's efforts, there was plenty of time that day for brooding. We happily married men don't spend much time thinking about how we'd lead our lives if we suddenly WEREN'T happily married men. I could see that it would take a while before I had any idea of how to put my life back together. I tried to keep remembering that I was only 31, that I wasn't too bad-looking, and that I had a solid well-paying job. I could be an OK catch for some other woman. It was just that the prospect of looking, of starting all over again on the dating scene, was not all that appealing. In principle, I supposed, a clean slate could be exciting and fun. You never know what beautiful, exciting, fun women you might get to know! But when you've just been kicked in the head—and heart—and balls—by your cheating wife, you're not exactly feeling full of self-confidence. I had no idea what I'd done, or not done, to Lucy to drive her into Stan Marino's bed. If you'd asked me a week earlier I would have said we had a very good marriage. So I guess that made me a pretty bad judge of things. As I tried to sleep I found myself longing for Monday morning, when at least I would have the distraction of work. 2ND WEEK – MONDAY The distraction didn't help much. It was a long, depressing day. I wasn't ready to tell anyone at work about the death of my marriage, so I had to look cheery enough to avoid the "gee, Bob, what's wrong?" questions. I pasted some sort of smile on my face, and that got me through the morning. Then, blessedly, I could just close my office door and look as unhappy and lost as I felt. I'd set my phone to go straight into voice-mail, so I wouldn't have to speak to Lucy if she called. And I'd told the department secretary to tell Lucy I was unavailable, if she happened to dial the main company number and ask for me. Somehow the day dragged to an end. Before I left I checked my voice-mail. I found five messages from Lucy, all of them within a narrow emotional range that encompassed worried, confused, and furiously angry. She didn't even sound sorry for what she had done! I deleted them and drove over to Max's. Max was out—he had a date with Kathleen, a new woman he was seeing, which felt like a blessing to me. I didn't feel like being around anyone, and it gave me a chance to repay his hospitality a little bit by doing all the dishes and thoroughly cleaning the kitchen (Max was never all that big on housework). I heated up a frozen pizza, had a couple of beers and watched a ball game on TV. Look at me! I thought. Welcome to the life of a swinging bachelor! Along about the sixth inning I realized I was crying uncontrollably, sobbing and wiping my streaming nose on my sleeve. A pretty unappetizing performance—thank God there was no one else there to see it. I turned off the game, cleaned myself up, and went to bed. 2ND WEEK – TUESDAY When I got into work, I found three more messages from Lucy, each more upset than the last. I deleted them and started in on the programming problem I had begun working on the day before. It felt a tiny bit easier, just a tiny bit, to ignore my personal situation and focus on the job at hand. At a little after 11am Lucy suddenly stormed into my office, her face covered with tears, and started yelling at me. "You think you can just walk out on me, you son-of-a-bitch? We have one damn argument and that's it, you're gone? And you don't even tell me where you went?" I found myself on my feet, shouting right back at her, forgetting the open door. "You have a lot of goddam nerve, Lucy, you know that? Lying to me, cheating on me with that … jerk, and then coming in here to complain?" "I never cheated on you!" she shouted. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" I was suddenly weary—my anger collapsing in a moment into depression. In a quieter voice I said, "Lucy, just leave, OK? I have nothing to say to you." "No I won't! You can't abandon our marriage, you can't scare me half to death, worrying where you are, and then expect me just to take it! I want to know what …" I broke in. "Lucy, I would never hit you, but if you're not out that door in five seconds I'm calling Security to carry you out. Just go back to fucking Stan Marino, all right?" She stared at me, a look of shock on her face, and then started shouting again. After a moment I stepped past her out the door. I asked the department secretary to call Security to escort my wife out of the building; then I continued rapidly down the hall to the staircase. I ran up a couple of flights, then sat in the quiet stairwell for about twenty minutes, thinking about what had just happened. When I finally returned to my office, Lucy was gone. 2ND WEEK – WEDNESDAY All day I brooded about it. What right did Lucy have to be yelling at ME? If she had come in with some sort of apologetic attitude I still would have been furious, but I might have tried to listen to her. But that "angry deserted wife" bullshit was adding insult to injury. I kept my mind focused on work all day—at least as much as I could. I even went out for a sandwich with a couple of co-workers and laughed and joked with them, as if all were well in my life. I took a kind of perverse pleasure in being able to conceal my misery from my colleagues. At the end of the day I checked my voice-mail. There were two more messages from Lucy. I was on the verge of deleting them, but their tone seemed very different from the previous ones. I hit "replay" and listened more closely. Lucy was crying and upset, but she didn't sound angry. The first message said, "sweetheart, it's me. Please call me back! I can't believe you think I've been … unfaithful to you! It's not true, I swear it! Please call me, so we can talk. I love you!" Intrigued, I listened to the second one. "Honey, it's Lucy again. I swear to you, I did not have sex with Stan Marino! I know I … kept some things from you, but I'm telling you the truth! Please, please call me!" I didn't know what to think. I had no intention of calling Lucy, but the marked change in her messages made me wonder what was going on. Had she simply realized that I knew the truth, and that her aggressive attitude wasn't going to get her anywhere? Over dinner with Max I filled him in on what had been going on. When I was done he said, "Bob, it sounds like there's more to the story than you think. What about seeing Lucy and letting her tell you her side?" I smiled grimly. "That's very reasonable advice, Max. Unfortunately I'm not feeling too reasonable right now! I wasn't the one who fucked up our marriage and put a knife in my spouse's ribs—she was! So let her suffer! "I know that doesn't sound too generous, but I'm just not feeling real generous right now. I worked so hard last week to head this off, to get her to be honest with me, and she rebuffed me over and over. Now I guess the shoe is on the other foot." Max smiled at me ruefully. "I'll be honest with you Bob—if I were you I wouldn't have taken my advice either!" I laughed, and the conversation moved on to more pleasant matters, like Max's enthusiastic account of his Monday night date with Kathleen. He sounded really smitten, and I was truly happy for him. 2ND WEEK – THURSDAY Each day, coming into work and focusing on what I had to do had gotten just a bit easier. Instead of feeling a snake gnawing at my guts every two minutes, now it was down to about once every half-hour. That has to count as some sort of improvement, right? At about 4:15 pm my office door opened and Susan Marino came in, looking pretty but nervous. I was startled to see her, to say the least, but I got up politely to greet her. "Hello, Susan! This is a surprise—how are you?" "I'm … OK, Bob, thanks. Would it be … all right if I sat down? "Of course!" I replied, pulling out a chair opposite my desk for her. We both sat, and I just waited to see what was on her mind. Did she know about my wife fucking her husband? If not, was it up to me to tell her? Finally she began to speak, hesitantly, as if afraid of a violent reaction from me. "Bob, may I ask you a big favor?" I just nodded, and she said, "I want to talk to you for a few minutes, and please don't interrupt me, OK? Are you willing to do that? I said I would, and again she said, "but I don't want you to get angry or shout at me or interrupt, all right?" Again I said OK, feeling a bit impatient but also very curious. There was another silence, as she gathered herself. "Bob, Lucy was not cheating on you with Stan last Saturday night. She was arranging a reconciliation between Stan and me." I was halfway out of my chair, ready to shout "bullshit!", when Susan's look stopped me and I remembered my promise. I sat back down, but with rage coursing through my veins. "Ever since I threw him out, Stan has been desperate for us to get back together. He's completely stopped drinking, and he's even been enrolled in an anger-management course for the past six weeks. "He got in touch with Lucy in the hopes that she'd help him figure out a way to see me again. Once she was persuaded that he was sincere, they worked out a plan for this past Saturday night. Lucy and I had a date for dinner at the restaurant in the Chesterton Hotel, and they planned that Stan would come and join us. He apologized to me with tears in his eyes and begged for another chance. "Then Lucy left us, Bob. The hotel room was for me and Stan, not Stan and Lucy! Lucy had even arranged secretly with my babysitter to stay with my kids overnight so that Stan and I could be together. But the sitter got sick, so Lucy volunteered to stay with them. That's why she called and left you a message saying she wouldn't be home until the next morning." Susan stopped, trying to gauge the effect of her words. I was absolutely frozen in my seat. The story sounded completely plausible—it was just like Lucy to go to such lengths to help her friends. But it also sounded too good to be true. I had spent more than a week in abject misery—could it all have been for nothing? I tried to think why Susan would lie to me and cover for Lucy, if Lucy really had been sleeping with Stan. It didn't make any sense, did it? Or was Susan finished with Stan, so she didn't care who else went to bed with him? Taking a deep breath, trying to stay calm, I said, "Susan, I must admit that I have some trouble believing your story. May I ask you a few questions?" "Of course, Bob! Lucy has helped me and Stan so much—I don't want our good fortune to be the source of misery for you two." "Did Stan bring you anything on Saturday? Any gifts?" "Yes, he had a gorgeous lacy teddy for me, black and maroon." She blushed a little. "Really sexy. We both enjoyed me wearing it." "And what did you guys use for birth control, Susan? If you'll forgive my asking." "It's all right, Bob. Stan had a pack of six condoms. Trojans, I think. I've been off the pill since I threw him out, so it was a good thing he had them." She giggled. "We used more than half of them." I thought for a minute. Either Susan really was telling the truth, or Lucy had been unbelievably shrewd and had coached Susan very well. But why would Susan be covering for Lucy? That was the thing that made me start to believe Susan's story. "Susan, where has Stan been staying all this time, and where is he now?" "He told me he had a room at the Pinecrest Motel—but I'm happy to say he's back home now with me and the children." I pulled out my wallet out and found the number of the Pinecrest Motel. Dialing it, I asked the clerk to connect me with Stan Marino's room. After a minute, he replied that Mr. Marino had checked out on Sunday. "So Susan," I said after another minute of thought, "Lucy stayed overnight at your house with the kids, until you came home on Sunday morning?" "Yes, Stan and I went home together around 9:30. Tommy and Joanne were so happy to see us together!" "Were the kids still in pajamas or were they dressed?" "They were still in pajamas. Lucy had given them cereal, and they were watching cartoons." "OK", I said. "Can you describe their pajamas?" I figured there was no way Lucy and Susan could have anticipated this question. The Worst Week of My Life She looked at me a bit oddly, but said, "Tommy had on red and blue Superman pajamas; Joanne had her favorite pink nightgown on—it has a picture of a princess on the front. Lucy had tried to get her to change it, because Joanne had spilled grape juice down the front and there was a big stain, but Joanne wouldn't take it off." After a minute I said, "Susan, you probably think I'm nuts for asking you all these questions. But after the last ten days, and everything I've been through, I'm finding what you've told me pretty hard to believe. Would you do me a favor?" "Anything that I can do to help, Bob. I want you and Lucy to work this out—it's all just a huge misunderstanding!" "OK—can you give me a ride home, and wait with me there until Lucy gets home from work?" I was thinking that I couldn't let Susan and Lucy talk, and possibly coordinate their stories, before I had a chance to speak to Lucy. Susan quickly agreed. I told my secretary I'd have to leave early on a family matter, and we left the office. When we got to my house I asked Susan to drive four houses further on, then sit in the car and wait with me. It was an awkward half-hour. I was nervous and emotional and confused. I didn't have much to say to Susan, I just wanted to see Lucy and figure all this out. I was torn between immense relief and deep suspicion. And it hadn't escaped me that, even if Lucy hadn't cheated on me, she had still lied to me about an elaborate plan to help Stan and Susan—it was still a betrayal of my trust in her. I watched in the mirror for Lucy's car. When I saw it turn into our driveway and pull into the garage, I got out and said, "thanks, Susan. Lucy and I will have to take it from here, I guess." She looked at me and squeezed my hand hard. "Please give Lucy a chance to explain, Bob. She's beside herself at what's happened between you two." When I came into the house Lucy was standing in the kitchen, checking the answering machine. She turned, gasped, and threw herself into my arms, saying, "thank God! Sweetheart, you're back!" I gently peeled her off me and stepped back. My mind was whirling, and I could feel my heart pumping like crazy. "It's a little too soon for that, Luce. We have some talking to do first." She looked closely at me, no doubt seeing the deep unhappiness and doubt in my face. Without a word the two of us went into the living room and sat down facing one another. "Forgive the expression, Lucy, but 'you've got some 'splainin' to do'!" I said, managing a weak smile. "Whatever else did or didn't happen, you lied to me and deceived me again and again. In my mind our marriage is over, until I hear your explanations and decide whether or not they are satisfactory to me." Her mouth fell open in shock, and it occurred to me that she may never have realized the full meaning of my walking out on her, though it seemed hard to believe. "I can't believe this, Bob! Our marriage is over? I told you, Stan and I never …." I cut her off angrily. "Look, Lucy, face it! Face up to what you've done! You sneaked around behind my back with that …. with Stan for weeks! You kept me completely in the dark about what you were doing. You lied right to my face, not once but repeatedly! Do you think that's all trivial?" She continued to look shocked, and I could see she was on the verge of an angry reply. But she took a deep breath, and after a moment said only, "no Bob, it's not trivial." I tried to speak more calmly. "I'd like you to tell me the whole story, from the beginning. And I'd like it to be the truth, if you don't mind." Again her eyes flashed angrily at me, but she said only, "all right, Bob. I'll try to tell it as completely as I can." She thought for a minute, and then began. "Stan called me about a week after his big fight with Susan. He said he was incredibly sorry and he wanted to make it up to her, but she wouldn't talk to him. "At first I didn't think I should get involved. That was your opinion, I know, and I'm aware that you can't stand him, so I didn't discuss it with you. "But Stan and I talked several more times on the phone, and I even went to his motel one day and talked to him for more than an hour. I was really impressed with his sincerity. He had totally given up alcohol, and was beginning an anger management class offered by a therapist over at the hospital. "He also told me about his fight with Susan. According to him she had really exaggerated what happened. He didn't slug or punch her, he just pushed her hard one time and she fell down. He felt absolutely awful about it, and kept telling me how ashamed he was. But it did seem quite a bit different than if he'd beaten her up. "I also had some talks with Susan. It seemed to me that she still loved Stan, but once she got the restraining order she didn't quite know how to back down. Plus she was still a little scared of him, even though she did also tell me that he'd only pushed her the one time. "So Stan and I cooked up a plan. I'd arrange a dinner date with Susan, and then Stan would join us. I would stay for a while, to make sure that Susan was OK with him being there, and then if all was going well I'd leave and let them have an evening together to try to make things up. "We arranged it for the restaurant in the Chesterton Hotel, and I booked a room so that if it all worked out, they could spend a romantic night together. "I know this part was stupid, Bob, but I felt I couldn't tell you what I was up to. I really regret that now! I'm so sorry for what happened. But I knew you loathed Stan and didn't want me meddling. It seemed better just to keep it a secret, and I figured it would never be a problem. So I arranged with my mom that I'd pretend to be working with her on her photo albums, and she was ready to cover for me. "The only unexpected thing was Susan's babysitter Diane. Susan had arranged for Diane to come just for the evening, so she and I could have dinner. I'd secretly called Diane and asked her to stay the whole night. But then around 8:30 Diane had gotten very ill with a stomach virus and really couldn't stay. I was just leaving the restaurant about that time. Susan took the call from Diane, and I volunteered to go over there and watch the kids. I really wanted Susan and Stan to have their romantic evening! "Then the next morning when I came back you were gone! I didn't understand at all why you had left. I know we had a nasty fight on Thursday night, but that didn't seem to justify your walking out. I had figured that once Saturday night was past I could tell you the whole story and apologize for keeping it a secret. "For the next couple of days I got more and more crazy, and more and more angry at you. How could you disappear and not even let me know where you were? None of your friends would tell me if they'd seen you, and you wouldn't even answer my calls at work! "So on Tuesday I barged into your office. I was pretty wild, wasn't I?" She smiled at me. "And then when you accused me of sleeping with Stan, I just about had a stroke!" Suddenly she looked somber and frightened. "I came back here and tried to sort through everything that had happened last week, and how you might have come up with that conclusion. It occurred to me that you might have checked my cell phone records and found the number for the motel where Stan was staying, though that seemed awfully unlikely. "And I knew you'd caught me in a lie about the Chesterton Hotel. Then on Saturday night when I was showing Stan the hotel room I'd reserved, and giving him a box with a teddy for him to give to Susan, there was a wrong number in the room. I realized it might have been you, calling to check up on me. "That was the moment when it finally hit me, what you were probably thinking. And I just fell apart. I cried for an hour—I was frantic. I couldn't figure out how to get you to listen to me so I could explain what really happened. "Yesterday Susan called me to say thank-you. She and Stan are back together, they're going to see a counselor, and she's really optimistic about the marriage. The kids are thrilled that their daddy's back. "But Susan could tell right away how upset I was. When I told her what you'd said, she thought for a minute and then said she'd go see you, to try to explain the truth. Thank God you listened to her, Bob!" She looked at me, her expression serious and imploring. "Bob, I swear on my father's grave that every word is the truth. I will tell you anything, answer any question you have, if it will help you believe me. I am so sorry for deceiving you! "But I have to say, I still don't quite understand how you became so certain that I was cheating! Didn't you jump to some conclusions? I would have thought you would trust me more, even when I had lied to you." Her last words, perhaps ill-chosen, made my anger flare up again. In an icy voice I said, "oh, you really think I jumped to conclusions?" Realizing she had gone too far, Lucy hurriedly apologized. "I'm sorry Bob! I shouldn't have said that! I know that I'm the one to blame here …." "Perhaps, if you don't mind, Lucy," I said, my tone still cold and angry, "I can share with you the numerous facts that led me to my—apparently mistaken—beliefs about your behavior. Then you can decide whether I really 'jumped to some conclusions'." Looking very frightened, Lucy nodded. "First, your lie on Monday about the Chesterton Hotel. When I called you on your lie, you made up a new one! About how you'd reserved a suite for a surprise for my birthday. Except that when I called the hotel they said the Fortners had a suite reserved for the next Saturday, the day you told me you'd be with your mother! "Then, on Tuesday I overheard your phone conversation—I assume you were talking to Stan. You were saying how much you were looking forward to Saturday, and how you'd convinced me you'd be at your mother's that night. What was I supposed to conclude from that, Luce?" Lucy didn't reply. She looked terrified and miserable. "After that phone call I used *69 to get the number. I called it and found it was the Pinecrest Motel. I found 8-10 other calls to that number from your cell phone in the past few weeks. And when I went out to the motel with your picture, the desk clerk confirmed that you'd come in asking what room Mr. Marino was in! So you'd visited him there at least once. "Then on Wednesday I looked through your drawers and found the laciest, sexiest teddy I'd ever seen! And I knew I'd never seen you wear it, so it wasn't hard to start imagining whom you'd be wearing it for!" She gasped, and said, "I didn't know you'd found that, Bob! It was for Stan, to give to Susan…" "Yes," I said, "she told me that today. But at the time, what do you think it looked like to me? "Then on Thursday, when I tried to talk to you, you just about bit my head off. You've never EVER walked out in the middle of an argument, but you did it then! Instead of taking the time to explain the truth to me, you pitched a convenient fit and stormed out of the room. "And on Friday—well, the icing on the cake! A box of Trojans in your purse, Luce! Since you're on the pill, I had to wonder what those were for!" She looked down, and said, "I got them for Stan. I knew Susan had stopped taking the pill, and I was afraid he'd forget." I went on, near the end now. "And let's not forget Saturday. You went off dressed for a fancy dinner, though you were supposedly headed for your mother's house. I checked your drawer and the sexy teddy was gone. I called your mom 45 minutes later and she said you hadn't arrived yet. I drove to the Chesterton and found your car in the parking lot. "Then I asked to be connected to the Fortners' room and found myself talking to Stan! I even heard your voice in the background. What the hell was I supposed to conclude, Lucy? Was it 'jumping to conclusions' at that point that you were fucking the guy blind?" Her head was down and I could see she was crying. She didn't make any attempt to answer me. I felt my heart pumping, felt the rush of rage and adrenaline through my body. I could have picked up the sofa and hurled it out a window, I was so wired. I sat still, concentrating on my breathing. Gradually, very gradually I started to feel calmer. I took a couple more deep breaths, then went on in a quieter voice. "That was it for me, Lucy. I had already decided that if you went off to screw Stan again on Saturday, our marriage was over. I was already packed when you left the message about staying at your mom's overnight. Just for kicks, I called her back and she said you were 'in the shower'. At that point it didn't make much difference." We sat in silence for a long time. Lucy's explanation, following up on what Susan had said, seemed so plausible. It made sense that she hadn't fucked Stan Marino, just helped him get his wife back. If there had been an affair, I couldn't see any reason why Susan would cover for Lucy in that way—the explanation the women were both giving me was far more straightforward. I wanted to believe Lucy—God, of course I did! I wanted to have my faithful (if stupid) wife back. But how would I ever know the truth? I couldn't imagine living for years with those horrible doubts, that fear that I had been cheated on and, even worse, played for a fool. At last Lucy wiped her eyes and came over to sit next to me on the sofa. She looked calm and serious. "I had no idea about most of those things, Bob. I realize now that it looked much worse to you than I could have possibly imagined. The motel, the condoms, the hotel room … all of it. "I have no excuse. I thought I was doing the smart thing keeping you in the dark. I would tell you all about it after the fact, and you'd be proud of me for helping our friends. I can see now what an idiot I was, and how much pain I caused you." I was still torn, stuck on the fence between relief and fury, between happiness and deep suspicion. "So on Saturday you stayed with Susan's kids all night, Lucy?" "Yes—I got there a little after 9 and sent the sitter home. They were already in bed. The next morning I got them their breakfast and let them watch some TV. Susan arrived around 9:30, with Stan. It was such a happy scene! The children never understood why Daddy had been gone, and they were overjoyed to see him." "Did you get them all dressed up to greet their parents?" "No, I probably should have but it never occurred to me. They ate breakfast in their pajamas. Joanne spilled half a glass of grape juice all over her nightie, but she wouldn't let me put her in a clean one. It was her favorite, she said, a pink one with a princess on the front. She looked pretty silly with that huge purple stain on it, but when you're six years old I guess that doesn't matter so much." Lucy turned to look at me, and was shocked to see tears streaming down my face. I began to weep, gasping loudly and unable to control myself. She came into my arms and held me tightly, pressing her head onto my shoulder, stroking my hair. I cried and cried, feeling the days of misery and hurt dissolve and drain out of me, leaving me exhausted with relief. I didn't even realize until that moment, when it was all behind me, how much pain I had been in. Finally it was over. I sat quietly, as spent as if a tornado had just blown through me. Lucy remained in my arms, clutching me tightly, perhaps afraid of what might be coming next. Hesitantly, she asked, "honey, do you believe me?" "Yes," I said. "I believe you." We sat silently for a long time, maybe ten minutes. Finally I gently disengaged myself and stood up. "Luce, I'm going to go take a shower and clean up." She squeezed my hand and gave me a happy smile, then let me go. As I trudged upstairs my mind was still buzzing with confusion. Thank God, Thank God, Thank God. She hadn't cheated on me, hadn't had an affair with that big jerk. It was all a misunderstanding, the Perfect Storm of all misunderstandings. Then why on earth didn't I feel better than I did? I climbed into the shower and stood under the water, letting it rain down on my head. Slowly, very slowly my jumbled feelings started to come into focus. Mixed with my relief was a lot of anger. All of the suffering she'd put me through, for nothing! Because she didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth! Because helping Stan and Susan became more important to her than her marriage to me. I realized that the worst week of my life was finally over—but not the worst week of Lucy's…. I got out of the shower, dried off, and put on a shirt, some slacks and a casual jacket. Whistling softly to myself, I headed downstairs. In the kitchen Lucy was humming to herself as she prepared to cook our dinner. I went up to her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Then I headed for the door. "Bye, Lucy," I said. "Where are you going?" she cried in alarm. Without stopping, I called back over to my shoulder to her. "Out. I have a date."