FAITHFUL
by
Vandemonium1
As often happens, when reading KCFirst's fine tale, Faithful', an alternate ending sprang to mind which I thought was reasonably original. I sought KC's permission and generous soul that he is, he approved. You'll need to read his first, at least until near the end of page 1 when you see the paragraph below, my ending starts there. As usual, my thanks do, and yours should, go to the talented CreativityTakesCourage for editing this.
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LAST PARAGRAPH FROM KCFirst
Lying in bed, I kept wondering how Molly could think, that after this weekend, she and I could just magically resume our loving relationship. All I could assume is that their four-year emotional affair, without it being a sexual affair, has them thinking that the world owes them, and everyone will understand their needs.
VANDY FROM HERE
But then as I lay there the ceiling light seemed to penetrate my chest, accusing me and forcing my focus inward. I questioned my own behavior. Why, after all the emotional slaps in the face Molly had dished out, was I still here? I'd had my suspicions, four years' worth, confirmed. Physical or emotional, did it really matter what type of affair they'd been having?
I had the car keys. No one was standing between me and the exit. I realized that despite the years of doubt over her fidelity, I'd loved my wife for so long and so deeply that the process of falling out of love would take some time. My heart wasn't like a faucet; I couldn't turn it off and on at will.
Maybe nothing was happening. After all, I hadn't actually seen anything untoward apart from John and Molly holding hands. Could this be a test or a wind-up? Would I get up in the morning to a rousing, "April Fool", and smiles all round.
Even as the thought ran through my head, I realized I was emotionally grasping at straws. The enormity of what my wife was doing to me was just too hard to swallow, too terrible for my brain to accept. I was riding the rollercoaster between hope and despair.
At one of the low points, I cursed Gail. Why should she be able to blot this out as something happening miles away while I had it thrust in my face. Why should she get the comfort of familiar surroundings while I was in a strange bed a mere door or two away? She'd fucking enabled it, after all. Right then the idea of sharing the suffering seemed mighty attractive.
I leapt out of bed, and wearing just my boxer shorts, opened my bedroom door, taking no particular precautions. There were three bedrooms upstairs and I was in the first one, I noticed the door to the middle one was open. As I strode down the corridor, Larry stepped into the frame of the open door. As I drew nearer, I noticed the chair he'd been sitting in was positioned just inside his and Janet's room. He assessed me and what he saw made him step into the center of the corridor, arms folded on his chest, biceps bulging. He shook his head at me. Now words were spoken. None were necessary. I retreated to our room.
Our room. What a joke. Apart from entering it to dump one of her suitcases, freshen up in the bathroom, and relocate her main bag to her lover's room, Molly hadn't been in it.
The tenseness of the whole evening was getting to my bladder, so I went into the bathroom to unload. I glanced around. All good quality fittings, clean, with his and her vanities. I looked at the one where Molly had earlier laid out some of her stuff and noticed an unfamiliar small, black box, similar to the ones you get jewelry in. With a sinking heart, I finished urinating, re-buttoned my boxers, and eyed the box balefully while washing my hands. I both wanted to confirm its contents and remain blissfully unaware. In the end the need to know won and I reached for the box.
My rage was instant, like flame to fuel, when I saw what was inside. Molly's wedding and engagement rings. It was then that the scope of my ambush was made plain to me. This tryst, fiasco, shit, I didn't know what to call it, had been weeks in planning. Long enough for Molly to decide that when she cuckolded me it would be without her rings, and she'd need somewhere to store them.
I was so angry it was like a thunder and lightning storm was happening inside my head. But still, fifteen years of loving someone like I love Molly was a hard habit to kick. My fury slid off her and focused on the organizer of this weekend from hell, the enabler, the bitch, Gail. If she'd recognized the feelings between the lovebirds, why didn't she just sit her husband down and say, "No fucking way, stay away from the bitch." Why didn't she insist that John have Molly reassigned? Sacked? Or, if not that, why didn't she alert me? Sure, I had had suspicions but she, clearly, had had something far more concrete to work with.