1
"This isn't about gloating," Lane said softly. He kept his eyes fixed on Jessie's. There was a nervousness somewhere she couldn't explain. Even as he reached for his laptop, there was something in his eye she couldn't quite place.
"This isn't some elaborate reminder about how I warned you about him," Lane went on. His hand shot out, almost to fix her hair, but it was too nervous, and it dropped down, instead trembling against the computer frame, "I don't even want to bring it up, but you have to see this. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't show it to you."
More nervousness and trembling as his fingers pressed into the laptop's groove. He held his hands for a moment, shakily, then met her worried eyes. "If you need to puke," he said, "If you need to yell and scream -- whatever. Just know I'm here for you, it's completely fine. And I'll turn it off the second you ask. You need to see it, but don't torture yourself."
The trembling spread across the small car. Jessie's eyes watched his every move, and felt herself start to shake as he opened the laptop. He held it, almost for dramatic effect, a moment of pause while he second guessed the reveal, but the screen shot open in one fluid motion.
Jessie didn't recognize anything at first. The images were too sudden, too shocking to make sense. They couldn't be real. They didn't look real.
For a moment everything seemed blurry. She didn't notice the tears had started to fall. Her emotions had beaten her processing of the image. The entire screen become blobs of color, but she couldn't look away.
All she had was a vague recognition. The bedspread looked familiar. The drapes were one's she'd seen every morning. It took her blinking slowly, taking in the image before her brain clicked and she made the connection.
That was her husband. He was naked, his arms wrapped around a girl, but her hair was blonde, and she were thinner than Jessie had ever been.
Lane's fingers gave the laptop a nervous brush, ready to slam it shut, but Jessie was transfixed. Her mouth hung open, a small splotch of white tugging at the corner of her lips while she stared.
She watched with a silent mind, taking in every detail, but the pain still budding, far too new to let her process anything.
She saw all the small details. She saw the way the video was shot, clearly through the window. She saw a glare where the light caught the glass, a small detail that just made everything seem so real. She saw the way the sheets caught on the woman's foot. She saw the way she distractedly kicked it aside, not quite getting it with the first, so Evan reached down and grabbed it, tossing it past the bad. She saw the way the bed shook, rocking in time with her husband's thrusts.
Jessie saw the anchor tattoo, just above the girl's young ankle. She saw her brown eyebrows that didn't match her hair, the ring that went through her nose. She saw the way the necklace sat on her chest, the cross at the end bouncing, rocking side to side as squealed.
The video didn't have sound.
It probably couldn't make it through the glass.
Still, Jessie saw the laughter on the girl's face, the smile wide as her hand reached out, feeling Evan's pecs, her knuckles turning white as she gripped his ribs, pulling him closer.
Lane tried to act on his own. He saw the fresh tears in Jessie's eyes. He heard the way she started to dry-heave, struggling for breathe while she watched. He moved to shut the screen, but her mind had woken enough to stop him.
She'd barely begun the flurry of emotions. She felt the anger that come from somewhere primal, the raw betrayal that forced the tears before she realized what was happening. She felt herself questioning, trying to picture every little fight, trying to imagine what she'd done wrong to push him away. She couldn't help but compare herself to girl, wondering if Evan just needed someone younger, thinner; a woman still in her prime. She felt the fear of being alone, the terror of being back at square one, lying in a cold silent bed, struggling every goddamn night to keep the tears away. She thought about how entangled their lives were, and knew how big of a lawyer-filled mess her life was about to become.
The hyperventilating had turned to cold chills. Jessie felt an archaic pain stretch down her spine. She felt the way her fingers tingled and went numb.
Lane placed a hesitant hand on the laptop again, ready to close it. Jessie couldn't stop watching.
She stared at the woman's sultry, blue eyes. She realized the woman's hair wasn't totally blonde, she had a two color process, and when her hands shot up and grabbed her hair, she saw streaks of brunette underneath.
She couldn't take her eyes off Evan either. She saw the raw joy on his face, an expression she'd never seen, one that didn't even look like the Evan she knew. She saw the way his hands reached out, fondling her tits, squeezing them like a stress ball while his hips shook the bed. Evan grabbed her legs by the ankles. He spread them wide, almost teasing towards the camera. Jessie watched as he pulled his cock out, gave it a pair of quick strokes, before slapping it against her clit.
Jessie didn't need audio to see the way the woman's eyes rolled back. It didn't take much imagination to picture the little moan she gave.
It got to a point where Jessie was counting moles. She stared at the two utterly transfixed. Her thoughts got more complex, her emotions more contradictory.
This is what made you throw away our marriage? Her?
The laptop slammed shut. The sound made Jessie flinch, and Lane's eyes had narrowed in worry.
Now that the image was gone, nothing more than an echo in her mind, the tears fell harder.
"I am so sorry," Lane said, his voice sounding more sincere than she'd ever heard him be.
Jessie's bubbling wouldn't stop for hours, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to form a coherent thought for weeks.
"I wish I didn't have to show you," Lane said, his voice quiet. He nodded, almost like he was convincing himself, "But I had to."
He said it again, "I had to."
2
Henry had started his nighttime ritual of winding down. He had already changed to his pajamas, at his age nothing more than a wife-beater and boxers, and sat in the rocker with a single reading light. Marnie had already turned in for the night, but that was ok, because he enjoyed the hour or so of silence, just him and a book, his mind clear.
He turned the page. It didn't matter that his glasses were a prescription out of date; they sat at the bridge of his nose, and his eyes scanned, his smile barely there, but content. He sat with one leg crossed, the other on the ground, his toes barely touching. He let himself rock, the gentle sway slowly starting to tire him out.
It barely took another chapter before Henry heard the sandman's alluring call. He felt his eyelids turn heavy and his fingers turn clumsy. It wouldn't be the first time he'd fallen asleep in his rocker, and it wouldn't be his last. In truth, he enjoyed the gentle ribbing Marnie gave him each morning.
That's what a marriage is supposed to be. Those little moments that make you smile-
The phone rang.
Henry had just reached that stage where he couldn't quite tell if he was asleep or awake, and the sound jerked him upright. He felt the muscles in his thigh cramp, while the falling sensation made his heart skip a beat. He gave it a quick pounding, beating the rhythm into submission while he worked aside the coughing spell that came with it.
His legs shot out, churning the air like a cyclist while he tried to find his footing. He flexed the life back into his fingers, then reached for the phone. He answered groggily, and his quiet night was filled with hysterics.
At first, Henry couldn't make out the woman's words. It took her two bouts of repeating before he even realized it was his daughter speaking.
"Dad," she said, her words thick with phlegm, warbly with snot, "I need you to come here, I need you to-."
