Death Of A Marriage 3

There is no BTB in this story. This is just a normal and realistic divorce and its aftermath. I wanted to play with the idea that the cheater accepted the consequences of their actions and that acceptance allowed redemption.

***

I knew she was going to be late coming home. There was nothing nefarious about her lateness, for today, at least, I had put a pause on her lies and infidelity. After twenty years, I knew her well enough to know that she was taking the time to put her thoughts in order before our inevitable confrontation. Twenty years, eighteen of those married, and I never thought of doubting her as my partner. I knew she would take her time coming home. She knew that if I had taken action, I would have considered every possible result before pulling the trigger. She had learned quickly in our relationship that a half-baked argument based on emotions did not affect me. So, she would always take time to calculate her counter position before appearing before me.

Unlike the past two decades of disagreements, I was determined not to let my affection for her cloud my judgment. Our twins, Charlie and Max, were spending the night with their grandparents. I wasn't concerned about them. They were sixteen now, fine young men. I had taken the time to share the truth with them as much as they needed to know. Their mother, Christine, was unfaithful to me, not to them. She was their mother; she adored them. Divorce was unavoidable, but I was aware of how much they cherished her. Everything I was about to do was for my own sake, not theirs. They were old enough to have a say in their futures; they would be off to university before we knew it; if they chose to remain with her, I would support them as I had always done. I would still be their father.

They resisted, arguing that their mother's actions had shattered our family, causing them as much pain as she was causing me. They insisted that she had shown as little concern for them as she had for me. They were right, but so was I. Despite the upheaval that was about to unfold, the only certainty I clung to was that Christine loved the boys more than anything. I held onto that belief as I sat in our living room with an unopened bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table, ready to face the storm that was about to descend upon us.

It started about six months ago. I caught on almost immediately. We had been together long enough that I knew her better than I knew myself. I knew when she was lying or hiding something. Shifty behaviour around my birthday meant she was planning a surprise. Then came the conversations about Ben, the new younger man in the office. He was charming and funny, a great co-worker and addition to the team. He had the most adorable young family. Then, after hearing about him two or three times a week, he disappeared. Then came the drinks after work. At first, they were every other week, and she was home maybe a couple of hours later than usual. After a month or so, they became weekly. She was never late.

But, after a few more weeks, the alcohol on her breath was replaced by toothpaste when she kissed me hello. Then the kisses disappeared, and she went straight to shower after barely saying hello to me or the boys. When I would ask her about her evening, she became evasive. I went into my secret account, saving up to take our family on a two-week safari, travelling from the Okavango Delta to Victoria Falls before a few days in Cape Town, and hired a PI. I told him I didn't need details, just proof.

They would leave work a few hours early every Friday and head to a hotel. They would stay there for about three, maybe four hours before separating and heading home. I had pictures of them entering the room, kissing as they left and kissing each other goodbye in the car park. I thanked the PI and gave him a nice bonus. I made extra copies of his report and met his wife, Tracey. She was heartbroken when I gave her the news. I held her as she cried and told her I would be her shoulder to cry on. I explained I would be getting a divorce and would be happy to pay my solicitor to take her case on top of mine. It would be no fault under the new laws in the UK, so it would cost me too much for him to double up on the paperwork.

She thanked me and asked me if I planned to confront them. I told her no, that her husband was her business and that my wife was mine, but that I wouldn't interfere if she went after my wife. I would have the pictures and report delivered to them at work just before they left for their weekly liaison. Tracey listened to me before deciding to use my delivery to confront them together and embarrass them at work. I laughed and wished them well. I would use that time to talk to my boys and her parents. I would be honest and tell the truth; I would not let her turn me into the villain.

I was thinking about everything as I waited, willing myself not to give in and open the wine before Christine came home. I had received some videos from my couriers giving me details on the show that had occurred when Tracey confronted them. Christine had run away while Ben pleaded with his wife that Christine meant nothing to him. I was still thinking about it when I heard the door open. Christine was home. She came into the living room, and she looked sad and defeated. There was a time I would have poured her a glass of wine before pulling her feet onto my lap to give her a massage while she told me her woes, but I didn't move.

She noted the room and my lack of movement towards her. Looking at my face, she realised not only that I knew, but I had also been the one to blow it all up. Her shoulders slumped as she took the seat opposite me. She looked at me again, but on meeting my gaze, she instantly looked away, deciding instead to open the bottle of wine on the table and pour us both a glass. We sat in silence for several minutes before she finally spoke.

"You didn't have to bring his wife into this. She's nice, their kids are young, and his family don't deserve this," she told me quietly.

"Are you suggesting that I'm not nice or that our kids deserve this because they're older?" I asked her in response. "You're right, she is nice. She also deserved to know her husband is unfaithful and make her own decisions."

Christine had the grace to look ashamed momentarily before resuming her defensive. "That's not what I'm saying. Scott, they're young; they don't have the foundation we have to work through this."

"What makes you think we're going to work through this?" I asked her. "This isn't a normal fuck up, Christine! You've been fucking someone else for the last three months at least and lying to me about your relationship with him for who knows how long?"

She flinched at my words before continuing her defence. "Whatever I've been doing, I took nothing away from you!" She replied hotly. "I never neglected you or the boys; I was always here."

"You started neglecting me and the boys when you started lying to us about your actions. You were neglecting us when you chose to fuck him instead of being here with your family," I replied. "And never say you took nothing away from me. You took away twenty years of trust in you. You took that away the second I learned you preferred to sneak off to the Galaxie Hotel instead of coming home."

I knew I had hit a target when she looked away. When she spoke, she was less defensive and quieter, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Believe it or not, this wasn't about you. At first, it was just flirting, a break from being your wife and the boys' mother. Then, the sexual tension built, and we agreed to one meeting to get over it, and then we couldn't stop. I never thought about him when I was here with you."

"That's bullshit; you can't say it wasn't about me and then say you did it as a break from me," I told her. "You think I believe you never thought about him while you were here? Try again; what were you thinking about when you stopped saying hello to me and the boys so you could shower to wash him off you? Tell me you weren't thinking about him when you would get ready for work on Friday mornings before your hookups?"

I could see her struggling to maintain control. I had been calm thus far; we both knew losing our tempers was a sign of weakness, and neither of us was afraid of pressing our advantage. She looked at me again.

"Fine, I loved the attention," she admitted. "I had the young hot stud at work flirting with me, wanting me. A forty-three-year-old mother of two who has been married for eighteen years. He picked me over all the young things at work. It was flattering; listening to his compliments made me feel young and sexy again."

"So my compliments mean nothing, do they?" I asked, stone-faced, keeping my temper under control.

"It's not the same. You're my husband; you're meant to compliment me. It's different when it's someone new," she said desperately, as if I didn't understand.

"I don't compliment you because you are my wife. I compliment you because until you let that predator into your life, I thought you were the most beautiful person on the planet. You're more beautiful now at forty-three than you were twenty years ago. Every change marks the life we've shared; you were beautiful to me because of what we shared."

For the first time, tears appeared in her eyes. "You said were? Am I not beautiful?"

"You will always be beautiful; I just can't see it anymore; you shared what was ours with a predator," I told her bluntly.

"He's not a predator!" she replied defiantly.

"So you say. But let's look at the facts: He's young and handsome, with a beautiful wife and gorgeous young children. He doesn't appreciate that, so he goes looking elsewhere. Instead of focusing on the young single women in the office, he goes after the middle-aged married one with just as much to lose as he does. He plays on the fact you've been married and the insecurities women commonly show with age; he flirts and compliments you until you give in. This is about how quickly he dropped you today; you meant nothing to him; you were just the easiest way he could find."

I watched the shock and realisation come over her, and the sobs began. I finished my wine glass and poured another while she regained control. I waited until her sobs gave out. She was still sniffling when she returned her focus to me.

"I've been a fool, haven't I?" she asked, defeated.

I just nodded and let her continue.

"So what now?"

"We get divorced," I told her simply. "I've already told the boys and your parents what's happening." I saw she was about to interrupt, so I kept going. "I told them you love them and what you did had nothing to do with them. They're still upset, but they listened to me. You have a lot of making up to do, but they don't hate you. I told your parents because I will not let you turn me into the villain. The same goes for everyone we know; if you try to make this my fault, I will share the PI's report and let them know what you did. It's up to you, to be honest."

"Divorce just like that, no counselling, just divorce?" she asked, knowing me well enough to know I had already made my choice.

"Pretty much. We're a no-fault divorce country these days, so I don't need your agreement, though it will make the process quicker," I told her before bringing out the papers. "It's pretty fair in terms of custody and assets. The boys are old enough to pick, so whoever they choose gets the house until they're twenty-one, when we'll sell it. Our income is pretty much equal, so there is minimal child support and no maintenance."

"Aren't you even willing to fight for our marriage?" She asked, defeated.

"No. I'd have gone to war for you, but you killed that the second you cheated. Remember we stood in front of two hundred people at that ridiculous oversized wedding you and your parents insisted on, and you vowed to forsake all others. Our marriage contract died when you broke that," I told her simply.

"I knew you'd say that. I had to try," she told me, holding back her tears. "So this is it?" she asked.

"No, this isn't. You'll always be a part of my life; we have the boys. You'll be sitting next to me when they graduate from University and when they get married. We have twenty years of happy memories; the last few months are tainted, but the positive outweighs the good," I told her sympathetically.

"Then why can't we try and fix our marriage?"

"Because our marriage as we knew it is dead. We both need to grieve. I need to grieve over losing you. Don't interrupt," I told her firmly. "I based my life on the fact you would always be faithful to me, and the woman I married would have been. Somewhere along the line, she died, and I need to grieve over her. You need to grieve over losing me and our marriage and probably the guilt that comes with it. I'm already planning on therapy."

My words finally caused her to lose control, and she burst into an uncontrolled fit of tears. She stood up and came and sat on my lap, burying her face into my neck. I could have refused her, but she was still the woman I had raised my children with, so I held her until she could cry no more. Eventually, her tears slowed, and she looked up before gently kissing me.

"I'm so sorry, Scott. We'll sign and submit the papers tomorrow."

"Okay, I'm going to spend the week in an Airbnb; you need some alone time with the boys. I'll just be down the road," I replied.

"Thank you," she whispered before getting up and pouring the last of the wine before returning to her original seat. She looked at me thoughtfully for a few minutes before speaking again. "You know, I've loved you every day for twenty years; even when I got stupid, I still loved you. Do your therapy, and I'm going to get my own, and then when we're done grieving about our old marriage, I'm going to track you down and seduce you into a new marriage because we're meant to grow old together and die together." She downed her wine and got up to kiss me again. "I'm not going to ask you to spend one last night with me, but at least stay in the guest room. One last Saturday breakfast."

Epilogue

Divorce wasn't easy. The legal process of separating nearly twenty years of a shared life was fairly easy on paper. The emotional road was much longer. Once the boys learned to forgive Christine, their initial step was to try to push us back together. It took more than a few stern conversations to get them to stop. I had to lead them because deep down, I could see Christine was on their side even though she never encouraged them.

In the end, they chose to stay with Christine. She was a better cook and housekeeper, so I couldn't fault their choice. I got a small three-bedroom flat about twenty minutes walk away, so I saw them pretty much every other day. They had keys to both houses and a choice of where to go after school. We made sure to have a family dinner twice a month. They made us proud and got top marks at school before accepting University places at Cambridge. It was one of the few times that I was thankful my dad had passed away in my thirties; I never would have been able to explain his grandchildren choosing Cambridge over Oxford to him.

Once the boys left home, Christine and I drifted into a low-contact relationship. We had done our best for the boys but never had the space to heal properly. We spoke once a month to keep track of the boys but left each other alone.

We went to the boys' graduation together. She held my hand throughout the ceremony, crying softly. We sold the house not long after; there was enough to give the boys a decent nest egg to start their new lives and pad our respective bank accounts. We both earned enough to live relatively comfortably on our own.

I took some of the money and took a three-month trip to Botswana. About twenty minutes outside of the capital, Gaborone, there was a golf course and hotel resort where I could rent a self-catering guest house. I was having breakfast at the clubhouse one morning when I felt a shadow over my table. I looked up and saw Christine.

"Chris," I said, surprised, "What are you doing here?"

She sat down and shrugged, "Botswana is where you go to escape the world. We've been here enough for me to know you would stay here while in the Capital."

"That's not an answer, Christine. What are you doing here?" I asked again, frustrated.

"I told you I was coming for you when we were done healing. I know you haven't dated since we divorced, and I haven't seen anyone either. The only man I can spend my life with is you. We've spent the last five years prioritising the boys, and I'm so proud of them; now it's time to prioritise us."

"What if I don't want to go back? What if I don't want you back?" I asked her seriously.

"Then why haven't you moved on and found someone?" she asked me seriously. When I didn't answer, she kept going. "I'm not saying we just magically start again. I'm saying we use the time you've planned here to get to know each other again. If something happens, it happens; if not, we return to England exactly as we have been for the last few years, but we will try."

She reminded me of the young woman I had met nearly twenty-five years earlier. She knew what she wanted, and there wasn't a lot I could do to stop her. We travelled around Southern Africa for nearly a month before sharing a room. We arrived at a hotel in Victoria Falls late, and they only had one room left. Christine accepted it and handed over her credit card before I could protest. She did not attempt to seduce me that night, instead comfortably falling asleep next to me. By the time I woke up the following day, we were spooning, and she was holding my hand tightly to her breast. I gently tried to remove it from her grasp, but she gripped me tighter.

"Don't you fucking dare," she told me. "You're the one that rolled to my side of the bed and put your arm around me; this is my hand until I give it back." Without saying anything else, she let go and turned around to kiss me good morning before getting out of bed.

After breakfast at the hotel, we spent the day wandering around the Falls. She made sure to claim my hand at every opportunity. When we returned to the hotel, my resolve to keep her at arm's length had faded. Despite her infidelity, I had never stopped loving her; she hadn't fought me when I had divorced her. She had understood what she had done and let me go. I knew from the boys that after I had left, she had devoted herself to them and become a better person, and over the last month, I had seen how she had changed.

Maybe I was making a mistake letting her back into my life, but it was the same risk we all take when starting a relationship. We don't know until we take the chance, and I was prepared to take it.