Epilogue - It Was Just the One Time

Reed Richards wrote "It Was Just The One Time", based on the comments no one liked the fact the cheating whore went unpunished. He wrote a sequel wherein the man she cheated with was punished, most liked it.

I did not like the fact the whore went unpunished still. Moreover, while I don't mind when the cheater's lover is punished (so long as the lover was aware they were engaging in cheating) it always bothers me when the SPOUSE escapes punishment. After all the cheaters lover did not violate any promises made in marriage. Why punish the cheater's lover but not the cheater themselves?

I had just read a story about a really pathetic cuck, and had the notion that this guy deserved to be punished as well for not dropping the hammer on the cheating whore. And what better way to punish someone than to have their own revenge go sideways?

Per guidelines I did send ReedRichards an email asking for permission

Here is Reed Richards' story

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Five Years Layer

Julie:

'What a waste.' I thought as I laid the rose on my daughter's coffin. What a god damned waste fucking WASTE! For the last five years, ever since that trip to the tractor supply store I had wondered how my husband had found out about my one and only affair, or even if he had found out, and what his revenge for me might eventually be.

I honestly do not think he figured on our daughter dying as a result of his plans for me, but he does not really think about much anymore. If he had any idea things would have turned out this way he might have gone through with one of his first plans to rid himself of me, or possibly just killed himself.

'It was just one time.' I thought to myself again. Dimly I could hear the priest delivering his sermon over my daughter's grave, but I wasn't paying attention. Over and over the thought kept circling my mind, 'How could one tiny, insignificant indiscretion have destroyed my life so thoroughly?"

Syphilis, he found out because I gave my husband syphilis. I never knew because I was asymptomatic and never had the slightest idea I was infected let alone passed it along to him; and he in his hatred of me never got treated. I suppose the cops must have told all the women they could find that Rick was the Typhoid Mary of the STD. But as I never confessed and was never suspected I was never told, and those ladies who were told were too ashamed to admit to anything publicly.

End stage syphilis rots the brain, leading eventually to dementia, paranoia, & delusional thinking. It is a horrible way to die, and I still can't believe he hated me enough to suffer through all of that just to one day punish me.

He declined so steadily, and the doctors couldn't figure it out; all those trips to doctor's offices, the myriad pills and treatments. Looking back, I can see how adroitly he avoided having any brain scans done until it was too late. And its not like they scan for tertiary stage syphilis as part of any standard blood test.

The night he killed out daughter he was ranting about how she had broken in and kidnapped "our daughter." I can still see the incredulous look in her eyes as he drove the knife through her ribs. The shock and horror in her eyes haunt me everytime I fall asleep.

The cops took him on a psych hold. I think his screaming about their refusal to help find his missing daughter let them know he was no longer in touch with reality.

Once there it only took a few days for them to figure out what was wrong with my husband and treat him, not that it would or even could ever fix what was wrong with what was let of his brain, but it would prevent any further progression of his decline.

Later that week a law firm called me in, my husband might have ultimately gone insane, but he planned so well before hand. His being committed triggered the law firm to release his journal to me. I niaevly thought I was being called in because he had planned ahead to take care of me in the event of his demise.

God, he hated me so much after he found out. I read his thoughts as he detailed dozens of plans to kill or torture me to death, it turned my stomach to realize the depths of his loathing for me. I still have nightmares from reading those passages. He chose not to kill me, he wrote, because he couldn't take the chance that my parents would raise our daughter to be "just another whore like her mother."

He planned his decent into madness so meticulously, he planned to become a milestone around my neck, a burden with no mental capacity to fend for himself, someone who couldn't even consent to a divorce. He planned to ensure I would have to work the rest of my life to pay for his upkeep.

And while I was forced to read his journal in a locked room at the lawyer's office without any means to copy his plans for me he had set up with that dammed law firm to release only parts of that journal that made me look bad to our friends and family. My parents have told me they are changing their will so that everything they have goes into a trust to pay for his care and I wont see so much as a single cent!

My husband hates me with every fiber of his being those rare moments he is lucid enough to remember who I am and is practically insane the rest of the time. My only child is dead. My parents refuse to even look at me even in this moment of grief. Our friends have all disowned me. I have nothing and no one.

'What the hell has happened to my life?' I ask myself once more as my daughters coffin is lowered into the ground. 'It was just the one time!'