150 comments/ 81581 views/ 43 favorites Why? Ch. 01 By: JLRemora I began this tale as a short story, never intending to exceed 8000 words. As I wrote, the story and the characters seemed to take on a life of their own --demanding more "air" time. Finally, I was forced to write a outline, histories and what not, converting this story into a novel. This isn't my first rodeo, but it is the first time I've written a loving wife story and submitted to a site. Be forewarned, this is the first chapter of several more (perhaps 20 in total) and contains nearly 12,000 words. Rest assured, the rest of the chapters are and will be significantly shorter in length. At this time, I've completed three other chapters, which are in the process of being edited. I will submit future chapters as quickly as possible. Please keep in mind, this is my very first attempt at a loving wife story. I've read quite a few, but never tried getting nitty-gritty with this sort of genre until recently. I appreciate whatever constructive criticism is offered in whatever form it is presented. However, those whom blast me willy-nilly, I will ignore. Although this story is loosely based on real events, the characters and their names are fictional. Any resemblance to anyone living and dead is purely coincidental. There are or will be instances mentioning real world events, which are used to enhance, clarify and extol a character's nature, rather than to opine my personal views. For this first chapter, I did my own editing, so any dialogue flaws, grammatical errors, and misspellings are my sole responsibility. There is no sex in this chapter. * "Hi, Honey!" I greeted my wife, as I walked into the kitchen. Melissa stood by the sink, braced up against it; her arms spread out on the counter top, palms down, as she looked out the window. She didn't answer me -hell, she didn't even look at me, but I was used to that. She was deep in thought, but Melissa was often like that. She'd get something in her head and she'd worry it to death until she was satisfied that she'd thought it through. Until she figured out whatever it was that had her brain crunching away, she would ignore most other things. Including me. We'd been married twenty-two years, so I was used to those little quirks that she'd displayed throughout our marriage. Thus, I wasn't surprised, worried, or otherwise disconcerted by her silence and her lack of attention to me. I walked through the kitchen, down the hall, upstairs to our bedroom and to the bathroom to wash off the dirt of the day. I knew once Melissa came back to the world, she would remember I was there and come greet me at that time. As I said, I knew her little idiosyncrasies. And sure enough, a few minutes later, as I was drying off, she came in. "Hi, Mark. How was your day?" she asked. Although she was obviously aware I was home, she still looked thoughtful. Sometimes she would shelve whatever it was she was thinking about, until the normal routine of dinner and other nightly things were behind her for the day, but it would still hover. "Not bad. Looks like Branden Stafford will be getting that executive position after all. Of course, that means he'll have to relocate to California. And they'll be filling his old position. That's the bad news. The good news is that I got Branden's old job. What do you think?" I asked, beaming proudly at Melissa. "That's nice. I'm glad for you." replied my wife, with less enthusiasm than I expected. Mind you, I wasn't looking for a brass band and a street parade, but I thought a certain amount of cheer and perhaps some smooching might have at least been on the menu. Apparently, whatever Melissa had on her mind was still affecting her. "Yeah. It is. It'll mean a larger salary and better hours. And, fatter bonuses." I explained, probably for the thousandth time, since I'd been informed I was up for the position. "I know. And I'm glad of that." she said, still in a thoughtful voice. Smiling at her, I asked, "How was your day, babe?" "Mark. I want a divorce." I stopped dressing. I stopped everything. It felt like my heart had stopped too. I wasn't sure I heard her right, so with mixed emotions, I asked her with a pretense of cheer, "What did you say? I thought I heard you say you want a divorce." I chuckled nervously. "I do. I want a divorce, Mark." I was dumbfounded. I had no idea where this was coming from. All sorts of thoughts went through my mind and all sorts of other things went through my heart. I think my thoughts and feelings were having a field day jumping between the two. And they sure became mixed, leaving me totally confused. I tried to organize my thoughts, so I could ask something calmly and somewhat intelligently. But all that came out was a surprised disbelieving semi-yell, "What!?!" Melissa looked at me. I mean she looked at me like she was talking to an idiot. It was a look I'd seen her throw to other people when they said something that refuted the facts and assured her that these were not only ignorant cretins, but unintelligent ones too. Or as Melissa liked to say, "those incapable of being educated". Anyway, that's how she was looking at me. Of course, what Melissa had just dumped on me wasn't something that could be prepared for, and the only education to be gained would be from all the crap a divorce entailed. I'd heard plenty of divorce horror stories, and most I passed off as exaggeration. Although there were a few that had the ring of truth to them, and those did bother me. Not that I ever thought I'd be facing the same thing, but we guys do wonder. "You want a divorce? Assuming this isn't some sort of sick joke, why do you want a divorce?" I thought my voice sounded fine as I spoke. For a sixteen your old girl. Too bad I'm a forty-six year old man. Melissa looked away from me, a sure sign she was either embarrassed, ashamed --or guilty. But then, she faced me again. I saw her eyes, looking highly determined, and that sight made my stomach feel very queasy. "Mark, I met someone. We've gotten to the point where we know we need be with each other. I'm sorry, but I don't know how else to explain it but to tell you straight out. I didn't want to tell you this way. I thought...I don't know. Maybe..." she said, trailing off uncertainly. Well, at least she began with my name, Mark. That is, Mark Layton. And you know now, I'm forty-six years of age. But the rest of what she said kind of got garbled after the last syllable of my name. So my mind worked at it while I stood there looking...well, I'm not sure, but I hoped I wasn't looking more a fool than I felt. I was a gifted orator, which made my job, in large account sales, a breeze for me. Not only that, I was fast on my mental feet. Hell, there had been more than one time where clients had thrown me for a loop at the last moment and I'd landed upright, and come back for more, until I'd gotten the sale. This wasn't much different than those times, only more personal. Much more personal. So I used my gift of gab. "You met someone. And you...what? Want to have a fling" Okay, not my best moment, but I was still in the air, and hadn't landed yet. I looked at her, square in the eye, trying to fathom where all this was coming from. I heard her words clearly, but they weren't making much sense to me. "It isn't like that...It just happened....It was...chance." Melissa, my wife of so many years, began to explain hesitantly. 'What the fuck is "IT"?.' I asked myself. Funny how the mind fastens on to one word and worries it --there IT is again-- until it gets meaningless and garbled. But I was morbidly curious and wanted to know what IT was. I continued to look at her, not saying a word, but as I'd said, I was still falling, waiting to land. It was the longest I'd ever felt being airborne, even considering my short stint in the army as a paratrooper. "Stop looking at me like that!" I don't know how I was looking at her, maybe like a gasping fish out of water? "Mark. I love him. I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen." With that sad epitaph to our dying marriage, she walked out of the bath and downstairs. All sorts of feelings rushed and coursed through me, and the only thing that blazed across my mind was the question of, 'Why?' I stood there, trying to make sense of it. Only there wasn't any logic, nor rationale, nor anything else that came to mind that offered a explanation of why my marriage was over. I guess I should have been angry, maybe even furious, after all, what person falls for another without some deep level of intimacy being reached as part of the mix? Or what is so often call, 'cheating'. I would have been furious, if my mind had managed to reach that conclusion at that point, but I was stuck on the why of it. I finally walked downstairs, thinking I would question her, try to find out what was going on. Was I somehow at fault? Did she think I had cheated, so she wanted to get some payback? Was I that bad in bed? I didn't know, but my nature --my character, urged me to find out. This wasn't about self-improvement, it was about the desire to understand why someone fucks over the one that loves them. When I entered the kitchen, I expected her to be in there preparing the evening meal. Imagine my disconcerted surprise when she not only wasn't in the room, there was nothing out on the counters to indicate she'd begun to cook. Everything looked in order and spotlessly clean. Melissa had prided herself on being a loving mother and a great housewife. She never wanted to work outside the home. Although I did my share of the household chores, early on in our marriage she made it perfectly clear the kitchen was hers alone and strictly off limits to me. I consoled myself with grilling outside on weekends, weather permitting. I went looking for her, going room to room. I knew she had gone downstairs, I'd seen her, but just in case she'd snuck by me and went back up, I searched everywhere. She was gone. I went to the garage, and saw her 2009 Prius still nestled in close to the far wall. Figuring she was outside, I walked to both front and back yards, but no Melissa. I thought, 'She's out for a walk. Maybe trying to collect her thoughts so she could confront me with a better explanation.' It was somewhere along that time, while I looked for her, that I began to get angry, yes, my mind had moved off of the why of it, and had begun to put two and two together. She had cheated on me. Probably fucked some silver tongued snake in the grass, who filled her mind with thoughts and fantasies of 'Once upon a time and forever more.' I went in to the kitchen --my last memory of her in there blazoned in my mind-- grabbed a beer and went to the den to sit and wait for her return. I must have dozed off, for the next thing I knew, the sun had set and it was early evening. It was dark, so I flipped the lights on and searched the house again, calling out to Melissa. Again, with the same silent results. There were a few times Melissa and the kids, had spent a night or two away, usually when visiting her sisters or her parents, who lived just outside of the city, and I was okay by myself. Hell, I actually enjoyed the time to myself. But, now, the house seemed so forlorn and empty. I was definitely not enjoying the solitude. I remember looking at the wall clock in the kitchen as I grabbed another beer, and it read 9:17. And suddenly I knew. It came as an epiphany. And her last words came to fill my mind, then my being. Son of a bitch! She's already left me! I frantically scrambled to get to my mobile phone. I called Melissa's on her mobile phone and I heard a distant chime. I had to call it a couple of times to locate her phone. It was laying atop the dresser in our bedroom along with her engagement and wedding rings, her credit cards, check book, and other such personal items, including her driver's license, and a large firmly sealed manila envelope. I stared for what seemed like an eternity at the pile of what used to be my wife's life. It's funny how such a pittance of nothing can represent a life. But, then, in today's world we are nothing without our identification cards, insurance cards, bank cards, cell phones, and everything else that goes into making us part of our modern society. Each one of those things is a representation of something greater; each a portal to some substantial aspect of life. Without those things we are no more than street people. And without them, we also can't be traced, much like the homeless. At least, not easily. I'm not sure what I thought as I stood in shock and dismay, with a increasing feeling of emptiness beginning to fill my soul. I remember leaving the bedroom. I didn't want to be in that room, who the hell knew what went on in there? I sure didn't! And I didn't want to think about what my wife of twenty-two years might have done on our marital bed. I wasn't walking. I was shuffling my feet. They weighed a ton apiece and I was suddenly drained of all energy. I still had the bottle of beer in hand, but it had grown warm, so I drained the bottle into the sink and placed it on the counter. I guess I must have sat at the kitchen table and gone to sleep again. When I awoke, the sun was cheerfully shining in through the big patio doors. I heard the various distant sounds of everyday life as people and their animals began their day. I thought about calling in to work, but I had just gotten a promotion and I didn't want to give my boss the wrong impression, so with the same shuffle of a few hours earlier, I showered, dressed and went to work. Before getting to work, I psyched myself up for the day. As difficult as that was, I managed to put aside some of the anguish, anger, and frustrations I felt. So when I entered the offices where I worked, although I wasn't as bright and cheery as was my usual manner, I did well enough not to attract any unusual attention. I'd like to say that I made the day without any emotional upheavals, but what Melissa had done to me was too much, too soon, and I ended up becoming morose more than once. I'm sure more than one person noticed my mood swings, although no one commented on them. As much as I had begun to regret being at work that day, the thought of going home was becoming detestable. The rest of the week was like that. I went to work, swinging back and forth emotionally, trying to not dump my anger on anyone there. Then going to a empty house. When Friday rolled around, although I could feel the end-of-the-week relief in everyone, I was filled with dread. Throughout the week, I couldn't focus on my work enough to make any kind of perceptible impact on the accounts I handled, although I did manage to get an appointment with a prospective client for the following week. At the same time, as much as I tried to hold them back, thoughts of my and Melissa's marriage kept popping in from time to time. And, of course, her last words. They kept running around around in my mind. Maybe not at the forefront, but they came close enough to the surface for me to be conscious of them. And each day dragged on for an eternity. On Friday, when it was time to leave for the day, I wasn't sure where to go. Yes, I had a house to go to, but it was just that, it had become a house. It wasn't a home anymore. The thought of spending two days alone, trapped with the memories of my former life, was too much for me to face. I had to go somewhere else, I just didn't know where. Several thoughts pummeled my mind as I drove. I still wasn't sure where I was going, but wherever it was, it wasn't to my house. I was traveling on the wrong freeway to get to the house, and I'm not sure how I got there, as I had no conscious thought of driving in this particular direction. I quit worrying about it and just drove, while I tried to order my thoughts. Did I want to stay married to Melissa? I didn't know. Or rather, I wanted to be married to the Melissa I knew. The woman I married twenty-two years ago. Not the one that confronted me Monday with her cheating. Was it just a few days ago? It seemed like a life time ago. It was fresh, yet old, in my mind. After further thought, I realized I had no say in the matter. In my marriage. Whether I wanted my wife or not, the painful terrifying truth was she didn't want me. I could hope she would change her mind, if I waited long enough. It was just wishful thinking. For I knew she'd made up her mind. The look of determination on her face with the same expression in her eyes, was as sure a sign as the sun rose each day. By this time, I had pulled into a secluded road, which lead up to a beautiful, very romantic spot on the lake shore that few people knew about. When Melissa and I found it, it was by pure accident. We'd been out looking at some property. We'd been discussing our retirement, and what we wanted to do then. We decided we wanted to live near the water, but not on the coast, due to hurricanes. The last piece of property we were to look at for the day was supposed to be in the area, near a lake. I got lost looking for it, while Melissa urged me to stop and ask for directions. This was before GPS became available and the map we were using didn't even have the street we were looking for, listed. What did I do? Yup, you got it. I became angry and stubborn, and drove and drove. That's how we found the spot my subconscious drove me to that late afternoon. We never did buy any property on the lake, even if we did continue to discuss it from time to time. Thankfully, the shore lot I was going to was owned by a very nice older couple, who refused our offer of purchase, but over time, as we went back and forth with various offers, upon noting how much we loved the area, allowed us to use it when we wanted to. I had arrived at my and Melissa's special spot. We'd brought the kids many a time, but when we could get away alone, she and I would come here to spend a loving and very romantic afternoon. The wonderfully wooded area was large, encompassing roughly twelve acres of unmarred unfettered nature. The lake was a rippling sheen of tiny orange glitters that blazed like bright distant fires as the water gleefully reflected the sun's setting light. The breeze flowing across the lake waters was a soothing caress of soft fingers carrying a hint of nature's aromatic essence. The chirping of the birds, and the other sounds of nature's animals, the lapping of the water on the shore, the whisper of the wind; all mixed together, to become a melodious harmony of contentment and serenity. I hated it. I didn't want to be calmed or contented. I wanted to rage and hate. Nevertheless, I climbed out of the car and walked to the lake. I stood there awhile with my thoughts whirling, and my emotions roiling, not seeing anything in particular. I then sat. The clapping sound of the water hitting the shore made me look at it. The little waves strove to reach my brown shoes, but failed before being forcefully pulled back, almost against their will. Then they'd began again. I know there was some kind of irony in that, but for the life of me nothing came to mind. As a deep dusk fell, I finally stood. It had grown chilly. It wasn't autumn yet, but it was close. I was still aimless in my thoughts and feelings, but I knew I had to leave this area. It was too full of things that brought back memories of joy, tranquility, and love. Things that I felt I would never hold in my heart again. Walking back to the car, my mind and my heart abruptly came together with a silent clash but reverberated with the impact, and I landed. All week I'd been in the air. I knew it, but I forced myself to stay aloft. It was easier than handling those strange emotionally charged feelings I'd never known before. I knew if I let go they would overwhelm me, and I might be lost to myself forever. However, some things can't be held in for long and like a over pressurized bottle of hydrogen, I exploded. Why? Ch. 01 I raged with hot and cold fury. I couldn't walk anymore as my legs began to shake. I fell to my knees and slammed my fists repeatedly into the soft sandy loam. I screamed and yelled curses at all of God's creations. I profaned Melissa with every obscenity that came to mind. I think I even made up a few. Once more, time eluded me and by the time my rage was spent, I had only the anguish of betrayal, the pain of rejection, and the feeling of a unrelenting helplessness to enfold me in their prickly embraces. The night had fallen, it had become like a veil to hide the ugliness of everything. In its arms of obscurity, I somehow felt safe. Not comforted, but secured from the rest of the world. I was alone. Something I had no real experience with, but that seemed to fit me like a well worn glove. I wept. I cried like never before. Even when one of my sisters died in a senseless tragedy a few years ago, I didn't weep with the abandon that wracked my body and soul that night at the lake. I had Melissa to lean on, to comfort me, to hold me as I grieved for my sister's death. Now, I had no one to do those things, as I grieved for what was still living, but that I had lost and would never be returned. We think about how we feel, but rarely do we express it with the candor and honesty it deserves. Whether it's about ourselves or about others, we hide from the emotions that fill us. Instead we temper their effect through the use of our logical minds, and the seeming necessity of the prosaic events that fill our lives. Yes, I felt love for Melissa. I loved her with my entire being. That love was so aptly expressed in the creation and birth of our children. I loved being with her. I loved touching her. I loved how she smelled. I loved the simple action of just looking at her. When we married, I knew she would be my only love until death do us part. I told her so. Not everyday, sometimes not even on a regular basis, but I also told her when she least expected it. Perhaps when she was washing dishes, or doing the laundry, or even when she was taking care of our kids. See, I appreciated the little things my wife did for me, for the family and for us. I never let her forget. I not only told her, I shown her too. In bed, and with little surprises every now and then, and things she wanted, like the vacation spots she chose. It wasn't important where we went. I never cared about that as other husbands might have. As long as I was with her, no matter where we were, I was very happy. I was whole. Melissa and I had our disagreements. We had arguments. Every married couple who loves and cares for one another is going to. Yet, none of those arguments were of anymore consequence in the long term than an individual season is of a year. It was part of the whole. It is to be either accepted or discarded, but never ignored. Some of you might not make the distinction between arguing and fighting. I assure you, if you are fighting with your spouse, then you don't have love. That's another thing, sometimes we confuse the thing that keep couples together as love when it's no more than habit and familiarity. We fear the changes in a relationship and the realization that we may never have been loved or to haved loved in return. With that said, I was blind sided. I never knew or suspected Melissa's infidelity. If there were changes in her behavior I missed them entirely. I could blame my work and make excuses that I worked long hours and was away from home too often. Part of that would be true. However, I can't blame my work for any of that. Responsibility ultimately falls to me. Was I partly to blame for her infidelity and her subsequent action of leaving me? As painful as it is to admit, I am. I'm not sure I could have changed her mind or stopped her from falling in love with someone else. But, goddammit, I should have had that chance to try! And, that was my failure. I should have known something was going on. The sun was just beginning to rise, when my thoughts fled, leaving a empty crackling listlessness in my head. My body thrummed like a tuning fork and my joints ached horribly, and I felt washed out. I wasn't lacking emotion, my feelings had only subsided for the moment. I knew I would have a difficult time of it in the days, weeks and months to come, but the crying was over. Just like my days as a paratrooper; I never liked the idea of jumping out of a plane --although some guys lived for it-- and the scary part was nonchalantly walking off the back end of a plane into seeming nothingness. It takes more faith to do that then you would ordinarily have in God. But, as soon as the chute automatically deployed --via the static line-- the canopy would bellow out above my head with the abrupt shock of the chute grabbing air, and felt by every part of my body; I'd fall relatively slowly, until the ground rushed up to kiss my feet. Or if it was a bad landing, it'd kiss my ass. Either way, once all that was over, and I was on the ground, everything started to make sense again and I went about my business. Well, I was on the ground and I was ready to go about my business. I had cut my hands and they'd bled, and each was swollen to the point it hurt to move my fingers, but I was a man on a mission. I'd apply first aid when I got to the house. As I followed the road I began sorting things in my mind, prioritizing what needed to be done. While I was still waiting to land I'd not thought of or done any of those things that I'd read and heard about that a spouse is supposed to do when the other spouse is cheating. Like secure the finances and seek legal advice. I wasn't that much better than I was before the time at the lake, however, I was able to think more clearly. Plus, I now knew I'd survive. Being a Saturday, I couldn't contact an attorney, but I used my laptop to check on all our bank accounts. To my surprise nothing had been touched. There was nothing pending. In fact, the last transaction indicated was when I stopped to gas up the car earlier this week. Melissa hadn't even tried making a financial query. I wasn't sure what was going on, but this was unlike anything I'd heard or read about in those cheating wives stories, or even in real-life tales. I was confused by all of this, even as it planted a small seed of hope. If she hadn't touched the money, maybe this was some sort of joke, or a one time fling, and she would eventually return to me. I quickly squashed that insipid hope, as I recalled her look the day she left. She wasn't coming back. I was left with a mystery. Or maybe, she trusted me well enough to know I wouldn't screw her over, and was merely waiting for an attorney to contact her to settle things, before going to court. The idea of divorce was still painfully raw, but I had no choice but to accept it. I remembered the pile of things she'd left on the dresser, including a manila envelope. I wasn't too keen on going into the master bedroom. Tuesday evening I'd moved most of my things from what was once our bedroom into the guest bedroom. And that had been the last time I'd been in the there. I planned on giving away the bedroom furniture, but I wasn't up to doing that much work just yet. Feeling like an intruder in my own bedroom, I grabbed the envelope and her mobile phone, and left quicker than I went in. After settling in with a beer, I stared at the envelope laying on the kitchen table. Although I was curious about it, I wasn't quite ready to delve into it. Instead, I picked up her mobile phone and checked the numbers. Well, I shouldn't have been surprised. There was nothing showing on the screen except my own number when I'd called it Monday night. There was nothing else on it. Melissa had deleted everything. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry --figuratively speaking. When Melissa had gotten her cell phone, she insisted on her own account. A family plan would have been a bit less expensive, but she dug her heels in and wouldn't budge. I finally caved and the bill on her mobile phone charges went directly to her. I'd already looked around the house for any mail, including discarded phone bills. Nothing. It's also when I noticed her clothing was still in the closets and drawers. Every bit of it. Even the photos albums of the children, taken throughout the years, were still in the house. I still couldn't understand why she'd left all her things behind. Things she would have needed, at the very least, to identify herself. After giving it some more weighty thought, that went nowhere, I mentally set aside the mystery of that action and grabbed the envelope. The only thing on it was my full name, written with a black marker. In my mind, I knew that opening the envelope was the finale act of my and Melissa's life together. And, I had no choice but to open it. With some trepidation, which shook my hands, I carefully tore open the envelope. The flap was glued and taped, so I had to tear it open. There were several papers in there, with the thickest having several papers stapled together. I pulled it all out. One was, as suspected, a petition to the court for dissolution of marriage. The rest were various other legal things. Our life insurance policies, our marriage certificate, the kids birth certificates, the deed to the house, and so on. Also, there was small envelope again with my name on it, but written in a blue pen in Melissa's left slanted cursive. I held the smaller envelope in my hand for awhile, just staring at it. Hating what it represented, while needing to know what it held. I knew it was a letter. A letter perhaps explaining what had happened between us and why she left. It might even have the name of the man she cuckolded me with and left me for. I had to try twice before I could force my painfully stiff and shaking hands to open the small envelope. There was a single sheet of paper, filled on both sides, with Melissa's writing. I grabbed another beer and took a long pull from it before I tackled reading my wife's letter. "Dear Mark, I'm not sure when you'll find this letter but I hope it's not too soon or too late. As you might know now, I've left you for someone else. It wasn't something I'd planned. Over the last several months I was sure you would have suspected something, but you never did. You trusted your faithful loyal wife so well, it never crossed your mind she was capable of such deception. I surprised myself too, and there were several nights that I cried at the guilt I deeply felt. I know I've hurt you and all I can say, I'm so sorry. I know that might not mean anything to you at this point, but I do mean it from the bottom of my heart. I won't tell you any specific details, since they would only serve to hurt you further, and I don't want that. You've been a wonderful husband and a great father. No one could ever take that away from you. The person I'm with could never compare to you in those regards. That leads to the question of why I left you." "I met this person by accident. We got along so well the first time, that we met often for lunch. From the first day I met this person I knew there was something more than friendship involved. I don't know how to explain what I felt when I was with this person, but it was like nothing I'd ever felt before. Please don't take this as a slander on you. It isn't. You are a wonderful man and you gave me so much. You are great in bed, and a supportive and understanding husband. What woman wouldn't want that? It wasn't an easy decision to leave you for another. But, I could no longer fight off what I felt for this person. And this person felt the same about me. Neither one of us meant for this to happen, but it did, and we couldn't ignore it anymore. This person is married too, and left a spouse with two young children to be with me. If it's any consolation, we never once had sex. We are planning to wait until we are both divorced. It might sound moronic, but we don't want to spoil what we have by sullying it or to cause further pain to either of our spouses. I know you might find what I've written hard to believe, but it's the truth. I have no reason to lie after what I've done to you." "I'm sure you're wondering why I left everything behind. That's probably the simplest question to answer --I'm beginning a new life and taking anything away from you would only prolong things in court. I'm not asking for anything. You've worked hard and long for what you've attained, dearest Mark. I've already caused you enough grief and I didn't want to add to your burden. I hope that helps to soften the anger you must be feeling. By the time you've read this letter, I hope to have spoken to our children, explaining what I've done. They didn't know anything either. So please don't blame them for any of my doing." "I didn't know how to break the news to you. I've debated the last few weeks on how to do it, and I'm still undecided whether to tell you in person, or simply leave and let you read this letter. Neither choice is easy for me. I owe you far more than the best I can offer under the circumstances. If I've left without speaking to you about what I'm doing, then I hope one day you'll find the solace you so well deserve. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I doubt you'll ever see fit to offer that after what I've done. I just hope our children can forgive me, although they are grown, they didn't deserve this either. I would like to stay in touch with them, but that would be their choice." "This is not easy for me, Mark. I'm throwing away twenty-two wonderful years with a loving man. I know you must feel like I've betrayed you, for I feel that very same thing so heavily in my heart. Yet, I cannot stop myself. I've tried so many times. There were times I considered talking to you about this, in the hope you could stop me. I still wish I had. But, it's too late now. We've gone too far and our feelings have taken control of our lives." "I wish you a long and happy life, however you might find it. I only ask that you don't try to come after me. When I leave we'll be heading to the airport, catch a flight overseas, and staying in some secluded place until our divorces are final. There is a card with an attorney's name on it, his name is Jack Belgium. I've given him power of attorney to see our divorce through. He won't be demanding anything more than your signature on the divorce papers. Please sign the papers and turn them into him, or call his office and someone will pick them up. It's all been arranged, including payment. I hope you don't decide to fight this. I know you well enough to know you'll try, but please don't. It'll only delay the inevitable while causing added grief to you, and perhaps the children, too." "I'll return when we are divorced. However, I won't be seeing you again. I've purposely not mentioned who I'm with, because it would only cause trouble for you if you decide to do something before the divorce. It isn't anyone you know, or have ever met. You and the other spouse were never put in a awkward public position because of our relationship, with our respective families and friends. They know nothing of this, either. If you and the other spouse haven't called them by now, I'm sure everyone will be shocked and probably disown each of us when they do find out, but what we did was never by intent." "If by chance we should ever meet, I hope it is as friends and not enemies. But, I leave that up to you." "I still love you, Mark. I always will." "Melissa" I had a hard time reading the last parts of that goddamn letter, as my eyes had teared up and all the wiping wouldn't clear them. I said I wouldn't cry anymore, but Melissa's words, as heartfelt as she wrote them, had the pain and anger returning. After I calmed down, I didn't know how to feel. By that time, I was too tired, too disbelieving, too shocked, to feel anything but yawning desolation. I put everything back into the envelope and left it on the table. I didn't know what I was going to do. I know I needed legal advice before I knew what options, if any, I had. In that regard, at least, I was comforted knowing that I could unload some of this onto another. Although Melissa was careful not to mention too many details, I'm used to reading between the lines of very complex contracts and extrapolating what isn't being stated. I would eventually reread the letter many times before I got a better sense of what she wasn't saying. I know she didn't mean to allow me too much information, but I knew I could discover a lot. And, I would. The weekend was as dreary and as long as I feared. Time seemed to slow and stop at times. Melissa stated quite clearly she and whomever she was with, hadn't had sex, yet, regardless, I'd feel better if I rid myself of certain things in the house. It was time to put the pieces of my life back together. I took the bedroom furniture and stored it in the garage. I'd decide what to do with it later. Next I took all her clothing and boxed it. That was one of the most difficult tasks I'd ever had to do. I smelled her in every piece I held. A few times I wanted to stop and leave it. I couldn't. I had to will myself to continue, to get it over with and not have it eat at me little by little. One big hurt over a bunch of little ones, is better, if such a thing is possible to judge objectively. The rest of the month went much the same way. Except, the attorney I hired, seemed elated with the settlement or lack thereof. I was glad, if somewhat petulant about it, that someone could find some happiness out of this wreck of several lives. I did grow curious as to the identity of the man Melissa had run off with. Yes, I had determined it was a man and not a woman. I'd read her letter several times managing to delve an astounding amount of information. It was my attorney's council that I leave it alone and move on. But, I had to make some effort, even if nothing came of it. Here are some of the main points I'd discovered. Why? Ch. 01 Still, knowing the risks, I had to find out more about her love affair before I could consider signing the divorce papers. Using the resources of my work place, I managed to get several names of some of the wealthiest men in our state. I wasn't sure where he might have lived, but if they were meeting every day, I was certain he couldn't have lived out of state. And, we had several other cities and communities near enough for him to make it to lunch everyday, even driving. After further research I had narrowed my possibles to a handful of names. A few of the main points is that he had to be in his late thirties or forties, with a wife of child bearing age, which by my estimate would put her between thirty and forty years of age. I knew she might be older or she might even be younger, which was a distinct possibility, but I had to begin somewhere. So that was what I was shooting for. I know everything I'd gathered was a long shot, but it added up. Now for the hard part. I had to figure out some way to determine which wife, off the list I'd made, was missing a husband. Then to contact her and explain what I was doing and why. I don't know why I thought I had to contact this other man's wife, or soon to be ex-wife. I had no real rationale for it, other than a feeling that it was the right thing to do. It might seem easy, but after more research, I discovered that most of the men on my list traveled quit a bit on business, to many countries, and their out of country stays could run from several days to several weeks. So which one of those dutiful husbands hadn't come back? If Melissa's lover had come home, then left immediately, it would be next to impossible to ferret the cuckolding bastard out. In my mind I knew there was no way two adults, supposedly in love with each other, seemingly free of their spouses, out of the country on a lengthy stay, would be able to maintain a platonic relationship. The best of intentions would go awry under those very trying conditions, eventually something was going to happen. A look. A touch. Something innocent would strike the match that lit the fire of the loins. It was just a matter of time. And that, they seemed to have in abundance. It took several added days to shorten the list to just three possibilities. In the meantime, I had painted the master bedroom, re-carpeted it and bought new bedroom furniture. I hadn't moved my stuff back in yet, I was still shopping around for a few more things to make the room feel like it was mine again. Strange how that works. When I thought my marriage was still solid, the bedroom was something I never felt much of anything about. It was a place to sleep and sometimes make love. It was a shared room, that I called 'ours', as in mine and Melissa's. After Melissa left, and with so many unbidden thoughts filling my head, the bedroom seemed to cast a sort of gloomy pale over me. I know it was my imagination, yet, it affected me in a very real way. Thus, the extreme makeover. I had spoken to the kids a few times since their mother left, and she must have told them less than she'd written in her letter to me, for they both asked me all sorts of questions, some embarrassing, that I had no answers for. I guess they thought I knew more than I was saying for neither one of my daughters seemed to believe me. I'm not sure that they didn't blame me for their mom leaving. Not that they said anything so cruel, but I sensed the unspoken accusation every time we spoke. I was thankful that both of my children were living out of state. One daughter had just married the year before, and although I didn't care for her husband, he seemed to treat her okay. The other girl was in college and would be graduating the following year. If they'd been closer to home, they'd have been in my face unceasingly about their parents split. And, I didn't need that. I was still having a hard enough time keeping it together without the added constant vocal laments of those two. I had returned to a more stable emotional state while at work and only one person, my boss, Herbert McNair, had mentioned my previous uncharacteristic behavior. Although it was covered up by his gushing concern for my welfare, his real worry was interned under it. Was I still able to bring in the clients and their money? I assured him I was. He left it at that. Still, I caught more than one of my co-workers eying me with sidelong glances. In the years I've been with the firm I'd never been aloof with my coworkers. We'd even done the after work sharing of brews a few times, but I'd never actually become friends with any of them. Meaning, I didn't share my personal life with those I shared my professional life with. I knew there had to be rumors flying around the office, but whatever they were they never got back to me. Although a few of my coworkers had asked about my welfare since Janice had left, I'd never mentioned my marital problems. A few women around the office seemed to take a keener interest in me, but that might have been my faulty imagination. Not that I was looking, but a few weeks after Janice left, I did start to notice the women a bit more. I've never been much of a social or party animal, so I wasn't wily to the innuendos of women coming on to men. If a woman was looking at me, smiling, her eyes flashing, I usually excused myself as quickly as I could. I never knew if she was just being friendly or wanting more. As long as I had Melissa, I didn't need experience with any other woman. I also began to exercise a bit more. During my marriage I was somewhat concerned with a small amount of pudginess, not unduly so, but enough to warrant twenty minutes of exercise every morning. Afterwards, I did it to help burn off the anger. I'd read somewhere that exercise was a good way to relieve pent up emotion. I started running, and getting a more complete workout, spending an hour each day doing so. It helped. I was never much of a cook, and the things I could cook for myself when Melissa was still home weren't the healthiest of foods, so along with more exercising, I decided to learn to cook a bit better. The Internet is a wonderful tool and has so much information just for the asking. And there are a lot of recipes for just about any type of food anyone could imagine. Some were just plain weird, and I wondered how anyone could cook that stuff, much less eat it. I guess to each their own. But, I did find some recipes that were not only healthy but tasty. So my diet improved. As did my cooking skills. My weekday evenings became routine; I'd cook, cleanup, work on fixing something in the house, do more research on my pet project, bathe, then sleep. Other than the occasional call from family and friends, I had settled into a lifestyle free of unpleasant and unexpected surprises. I guess I needed the stability of normalcy to hold off everything else inside me. Either that, or become a raving spastic lunatic. Something I suspected wasn't very far off. Weekends, at first, were the greater difficulty to overcome, simply because I had so much time on my hands. Growing up at home, I remember my mother saying "idle hands are the devil's workshop", so with some Do-It-Yourself books, I began to repair the house. Including the master bedroom. I was never much of a handyman and usually had Melissa call someone, but why waste the money when I could do it. Okay, the first few times were dismal failures and I won't go into why I had to end up replacing the kitchen floor, but I soon learned and it was good therapy. None of this happened overnight, but it did happen, slowly but surely. I would have been drinking myself to idiocy just to sleep each night, but that's when I worked on my pet project of determining the identity of the mystery man. Believe it or not, instead of adding to my pain, it seemed to relieve it a bit. I know it sounds silly, but there you have it. By the fourth month I was deeply into my routine, when I realized a surprising revelation...I hated my job. Any sales position, low rung to executive requires more than just the need to succeed, it needs some very basic motivations to keep going at it year after year. Burn out was a common factor for changing careers. My main motivation was gone and I had enough money saved and invested to retire. I wouldn't be able to live at the same level as if I were working, but there wouldn't be any hardships. Like many other people out there, I had dreams and ambitions that were set aside by necessity of paying bills, raising children, and paying for other sundries of life. I thought about writing the next great American novel, but as you've discovered by reading my story thus far, I'm far from having the knack for it. Next, there was creating that great invention, or making some astounding discovery, changing the world for all time, but that wasn't in the cards either. I did have a desire to start a small business, doing a bit of selling of various things. I wasn't sure what things I'd sell, but I knew they'd have to be needful things. My attorney still harped on me about signing those damn papers, but he wasn't calling as often, becoming resigned to the fact I was not going to do what he so strongly advised until I had gotten this thing out of my system. What did he care, anyway? If Melissa did come back to rake me over the coals, he would charge me even more. So I continued to ignore him and his advice. Okay, I know he was looking out for my best interest; it's what he was there for and what I had hired him for. Nevertheless, this was something I had to do. At the time, I was so critically focused on finding who Melissa had run off with, I didn't give it much thought as to the real reason I was doing it. I just did it. My two girls were less forgiving and far less resigned to my actions. Not that they wanted a divorce between their parents, but they realized after four months, things might not be so rosy as they first thought. They still gave me hell, but it was more out of reflex and their own hurt than any actual grievances against me. During all this time, I'd not heard one word from Melissa, nor had our children. I suppose her attorney was keeping her and her lover appraised of the situation. My attorney tried to discover her whereabouts but Jack Belgium was as hard nosed as they came. He gave nothing away, which in a way worked against him and his clients, as it just stiffened my resolve. My attorney did have one ace up his sleeve, which he would file as soon as I gave the okay, but it was a last ditch desperate measure that might or might not work in discovering the identity of Melissa's lover; alienation of affection. It really depended on the judge, so we were going to use it only if we had to, and that meant, if I failed on my own. Which meant we would be fighting the divorce, which made my attorney both pleased and frustrated. Pleased that he would be making more off me, and frustrated because if I signed the divorce papers I'd own everything acquired in the marriage, and my attorney would have a shining star on his record. By the end of the sixth month, I was sure I truly despised my job, to the point I was giving deep consideration to doing something else for a living. I'd stayed with the sales job thus far because I was making bucket loads of money and I might need the financial buffer for future legal services and whatever else that required a lot of green thrown at it. With this in mind I began to do a bit of day trading. I think everyone has heard horror stories about day trading, and all the hope that went into it at the beginning only to come out of it hopeless and destitute. I did it a little differently. I set aside only so much money that I was willing to lose. Yes, lose. Because no one can tell how the markets are going to react from day to day. So I had to prepare for the worst, thus if I lost everything I was playing with, it wouldn't hurt me that much. I'd like to say that I made a killing right away, but the truth is, I lost more than I made, but I figured that was the learning curve, and after a few weeks, I was able to adjust my buying and selling to reap the greatest results. I wasn't going to get rich, but I was able to make a bit of profit which I used to buy more of the market. I've never been a risk taker, but when Melissa left, many of the reasons I'd been so careful throughout much of my adult life, literally went with her. I'd gone as far as I could with my search and it was still in limbo, although I had three likely suspects, none of them exactly matched the criteria I'd applied. After thinking about it awhile, I made a change up and attempted to determine where Melissa might have gone to meet with her lover. Since I had very little to go on, other than what Melissa had written --I had to accept her words as truth. My search took a new direction. Using a map, a phone book, and the Internet, I found every mall, coffee shop and other public place where two people could meet, that was within a thirty minute radius of my house. I was taken aback by what I found. There were literally hundreds of those type of places. It was about the only time my resolve truly weakened, but then I thought, 'What the hell? What else was there to do?' I'm no investigator, but it just made sense to simply ask around. Armed with the most recent photo of Melissa and a print out photo of each of the three suspects, downloaded from the Internet, I started from closest to the furthest. Each day at lunch I would leave the office and head out on my search. I didn't have but one to two hours to do this --I printed out directions to each place I was visiting to limit the amount of time spent looking for each location. I managed to do three places a day. I didn't bother trying on weekends as Melissa stayed with me at those times, and I didn't know if the same people who worked on the weekdays were working the weekends at the places I was visiting. I hit pay dirt at the beginning of the third week. By the time I got lucky, I was getting good at asking my questions and showing the photos. I'd assumed a bored air about it, buffered by a calm confidence. My attitude and approach were a huge difference between my first day and the day I found someone who admitted to seeing Melissa. In the beginning, I'd been unsure and somewhat nervous. I'd never done this before, although it wasn't unlike doing a cold call in sales, the underlying current of my purpose was surfacing and people were picking up on it. When that happened they clammed up quick. As it happened, it was on Friday, and I was at a combination cafe and bar, when one of the female server's took a look of Melissa's photo and did a double take. I could tell by her reaction she'd recognized my wife, but at first she wasn't open about it. With some gentle cajoling and after painting her palm green, she was talking away like a auctioneer. She told me what she knew, which was quite a lot, however, she didn't recognize any of the three men in the photos. Then, at the end of her tale she mentioned another man she'd seen my wife with. One sporting a gray beard, wearing eye glasses, salt and pepper hair cut neat and short; there was more to her description, but those were the main things that stuck out. The server's description didn't ring a bell with me, but she did verify she'd seen them together more than once. They'd been together several times, actually. I was close to feeling elated as I left the cafe. I finally had a solid piece of information that would help me take it further. The rest of Friday I was in such a chipper mood that at work I received a few positive comments from my coworkers. Even my clients seemed to benefit, and so did I, as I closed one of the more difficult deals that had plagued the company for two months. My boss was happy to say the least, promising me a substantial monthly bonus to express his appreciation. All in all, life was looking up. I know that might sound inane considering my marital situation and the circumstances surrounding it, but damn if I didn't feel good anyway. Using the female server's description, I used a decent graphics editing software program to create a sort of "police composite" of the man's face. The final result was of someone I'd never met before, but looked like he belonged in some university teaching the virtues of proper grammar. In a monotone, no doubt. One again, I hit the web and using my drawing tried to match it to someone that fit my previous criteria. But, there were no apparent matches. After a couple of weeks I'd about giving up. I had taken the drawing to work so I could continue searching during my lunch hour. Then one day, a co-worker, Arturo Mendoza, happened to stop by to fill me in on a new contract he was working on, asking some things about the differential profit and loss formula we used. He was talking away when he spotted the drawing sitting off to the side of some paperwork on my desk. "Hey! I know that guy!" Arturo exclaimed, switching topics in mid-stride, pointing to the image. "What? You know this guy?" I asked nonplussed. "Sure. Well...The drawing isn't exact but its close enough. He's one of those charity contributors we hustle every year for that benefit for kids that our company sponsors." I was stunned, but quickly becoming excited at my good fortune for the presence of Arturo. As calmly as I could, I asked something that I thought was more relevant to the conversation that wasn't too blatant with my interest, "Really? Does he contribute a lot?" "Oh, yeah! He gives a bundle. You'd have to ask... I think, its Linda Jasinski in Human Resources who handles that, if you want to know the exact figures. But, yeah, he's always good to tap for a few dollars." "Sounds like a nice guy." I replied noncommittally. "Yeah. Guess he is. Damn, I can't recall his name." Arturo had a look of concentration as he tried to remember. "Stop, Arturo! I swear you're going to have me doing it, too!" I said, chuckling. "Do what?" "Trying to figure out the guy's name!" I laughed. Arturo laughed along with me, "Say, why do you have that drawing anyway?" I had been thinking of how to explain that part when the question invariably came up, and I had a simple, fool proof answer. "I saw it lying on the lobby floor this morning, near the elevators, I thought it was a flyer, and you know how the cleaning crews get around here when people leave trash on the floor, so I picked it up and forgot about it. Until you mentioned it." Arturo looked at me, nodding his head, "Yeah, the cleaning crews can get huffy about that stuff and I don't know why. After all, isn't that their job? To clean." I nodded sagely, wondering if Arturo had somehow caught on, despite my nonchalance. He switched back to his original reason for dropping by, but when we were done and he was about to walk out, he turned back to me and in a low voice, said, "I remember now! His name is Conrad Miller!" Without another word or giving a sign he knew I was more interested than I'd acted, he left. Yippee! I had a name! Fucking A! They say it's the little things in life that are the make up of our overall happiness, or sadness, and this little thing, the man's name, had me feeling like I was blasting off and on my way to the moon. I thought about getting right on it at work, but Arturo's behavior had me thinking it was best I did any sleuthing in the privacy of my home. Yes, home. I don't know when it happened, but my house had become my home. As empty, as filled with pain, and as suffused with Melissa's memories, as it was, it was my home again. It didn't take me long that evening to find out about Mr. Conrad Miller. And yes, he did have a younger wife and two young children, but there was nothing mentioned about any long trip out of the states. If anything, the guy was a homebody. I then looked up his wife, Diane Lingrend, not Miller. Obviously she'd kept her maiden name. There wasn't much on her. It would seem she liked keeping to the shadows, which when you're married to a billionaire isn't something that's easy to do. As for Conrad, the web was filled with his notables, accomplishments and his wealth. He'd been one of those lucky dot com billionaires of the 1990's, building websites, nurturing them until someone came along and threw a lot of money at them to sell.