Go with your Gut
I had known for a month that she was having an affair and had been suspicious for three months before that. So, I had the time to not only verify my suspicions but also move my assets in a manner that would protect me before confronting her.
Mary and I had been married for twenty-five years. When she first agreed to marry me, I thought I was the luckiest man in the world. Not only did I think she was beautiful, but she was also funny, easy to talk to and a joy to just be with. And the sex was spectacular. I thought of us as soulmates. After twenty-five years, she had acquired a few wrinkles and a maybe a pound or two, but to me, she was still the most beautiful women in the world.
Our marriage had focused mostly on building and supporting a family. We were successful at that, and we both had great pride in what we had accomplished. Our two kids were grown, moved out, establishing their own careers and making their way in the world. When the kids hit their teen years, Mary moved back into the workforce with the idea of contributing more towards the financial end of the scale, and not too surprising, did well.
I had been planning a big surprise. I was planning to sell my shares in the firm that I was senior partner and shareholder in and retire. I was going to make up to Mary all those missed meals and weekends. I was going to suggest that Mary retire too, because what I was getting from the sale would be enough not only to live well, but to travel extensively.
But just as I was bringing my retirement surprise together, I started to sense that Mary was withdrawing from me, both physically and emotionally. A gentle, affectionate touch would annoy her. Intimacy was becoming a memory. Conversations were perfunctory, or not all. She had less patience and was quicker to anger or annoy.
As a sales manager for a regional office of a printing and stationary chain, there always had been occasions when she would have to work late, but recently she reached a level of frequency way beyond what she had been required to do before. Late used to mean home by seven. Now it was much later. It used to happen once or twice a month, now it was once or twice every week. When she did come home early, she would eat supper, complain about being tired and would be in the shower and bed by nine.
When we were together, she was tuning me out. I would ask her something and then have to repeat it because she wasn't listening. I would tell her something, expecting a response, and there would only be silence, until I repeated it louder and she would grunt out a noncommittal answer
As my suspicion became more serious, I started asking questions. When she came home at midnight: "Is there something you want to tell me?" She told me no with a look of annoyance, explaining new management is putting a lot of pressure on everyone. The next week, after another midnight work session: "Is there anything I need to worry about?" She told me I was being silly. I pointed out that we hadn't had intimacy in months and she hadn't spoken to me more than a single sentence any time we were in the same room. I was told I was being ridiculous, that we weren't young anymore. I asked, "do you think we need marriage counseling?" Which earned an flat no. I suggested a vacation to an all-inclusive in the Caribbean or a weekend at that posh hotel in town. She told me she was too busy.
Then on our anniversary, I had gotten her a piece of fine jewelry, knowing she liked such things. I had called her in the afternoon, asking if she would home in the evening, she coldly responded, not to tonight, have to work." Then she just hung up, not even saying goodbye. I stayed up waiting for her. She came in at about 11. I met her at the foot of our stairs, knowing she would ignore anything I said in her rush to get upstairs.
"Your anniversary present." I said.
"Look, I'm tired. Sorry I forgot about the anniversary but I'm tired and I'm going upstairs."
"No!" I barked. "What I have to say won't take long. Sit down!"
Stunned at the tone I used, she sat down at our dining room table.
"What?" she asked finally, having gathered her wits.
"Our marriage is broken. I don't know why, maybe you are having an affair. I don't care, all I want to do is save our marriage. If you have any desire to save this marriage, you need to find that woman I married, the woman who was the mother of our children, the woman I wanted to grow old with and have her come home to me. I can meet you partway. We can do counseling. Whatever I have done wrong to drive you away, I will try to change. Otherwise, I am afraid we are at the endpoint."
"What do you mean by that?" She asked, revealing her own anger.
"Divorce."
"If you do that, I'll clean up on alimony and when we divide our assets."
I sighed. "What? Tell me that's not your plan to save our marriage. Telling me I won't divorce you because of alimony? That is really not the threat you may think it is." She just stared at me defiantly.
Finally, I said, "well, I guess I have my answer. You go ahead and go upstairs, take your shower and wash the sin off."
"Fuck you!" she said angrily.
I just shook my head.
With that, I got up and went up to the guest room.
My first piece of hard evidence of the affair came just three days later. That evening, I came home early, well before Mary. I went upstairs to change, and I found a half empty bottle of men's cologne on the bathroom sink. It wasn't mine. It had never occurred to me that they were using our own marital bed. The very thought sent a shiver down my spine.
When Mary was home a little later, I struggled to keep my anger in check. I said nothing to her. She then coarsely inquired, "Feelings still hurt from our little conversation?" I said nothing in response, went up to my son's room and spent the night alone and in a dark hell of imagining what my once soul mate had been doing with our marriage.
With the next morning, I worked to snap myself out of the funk I had fallen into. I started moving assets. First, I created an irrevocable trust for the benefit of our two children with my father as trustee and an old friend and firm partner as co-trustee and moved a significant portion of my investments into it. My children were all I had left, so the fact that I lost access to this money didn't bother me in the least. I also hid the balance of my assets in several different banks and investment companies.
I then opened my own credit card account so that on the day of the confrontation I could cancel all of our joint cards. And I withdrew half of the funds from our joint checking and closed our joint savings account.
I still sought confirmation, because even with the cologne all I had was circumstantial evidence. I didn't need evidence for the divorce; I needed it for my own peace of mind. I placed a tracker in my wife's car and found out she was spending her late nights at a nearby motel and one lunch break each week at our house.
One evening I parked across from the motel and spied her with one of her young salesmen, Dwayne. I had met Dwayne before at an office function of her's. He was a recent hire. I checked him out on social media and found a treasure trove of information. Nothing on Mary, but plenty of stuff I could still use. I then planted a video cam in our bedroom with a motion detector and a dedicated laptop, all well-hidden.
Dwayne was about 25 years old. Mary was 50. Mary was still a good-looking women, she had retained her nice figure despite giving birth to two kids.
Watching the video was painful. I was able to track three occasions that they used my bed for their assignations. And my dear wife was far more giving to this shithead than she ever was with me. Her blowjobs were enthusiastically given and were more frequent than I ever knew. She even let him do anal, something I was never allowed, although I could tell she didn't like it. All of it struck me like a ton of bricks. The first time I watched the videos, I fell into a deep funk, but after the three video events I somehow had found the energy to return to the world of the living...if only to fulfill my plan.
In watching the videos I looked for clues as to why from what they said to each other. Dwayne's references to me were uncomplimentary. Mary never contradicted him as he used terms like loser, wimp and cucky to refer to me. When she said something about me, it was not negative, but it was boring stuff. I was a hard worker, a good provider or I was good to my children. She once referred to me as her cash cow. Never anything with a hint of love or affection.
Watching these videos was painful. It brought me to tears, but it also hardened me. I had to wait until I had full control of my emotions. I needed this confrontation to convey strength for what was left of my pride. There was still grief at the death of our love, and there was anger for the betrayal, but waiting allowed me to be in control of these dark tempers.
The so-called weekend conference helped me decide when to confront my errant wife. Occasional conferences had always been part of her job, but before it had been local and during the week, this time was different and I asked her about it. Her explanation was that corporate headquarters wanted all salespeople to meet without disrupting their work schedules. Another bedroom video confirmed there was no conference, just a weekend tryst at the same posh hotel that I had suggested to Mary earlier.
So, it was the Wednesday before the so-called weekend conference at corporate. I had noticed a pattern in their behavior. It was more likely that the late nights would be Monday and Thursday. The lunchtime debauches would occur on Wednesdays and sometimes Fridays. Apparently, their work schedules dictated their play schedules.
The sale of my shares in the partnership had closed. I still went into the office from occasion to see old clients or mentor younger members of the firm in an "of counsel" capacity, but my hours were now determined by me. So, on Wednesday, before lunch, I went home, parked my car around the block, went back to the house and hid in the guest bedroom. I didn't have to wait long.
Mary and Dwayne drove up at just a few minutes past noon. They entered my home giggling about something. I could hear their voices from downstairs but couldn't quite make out what they were saying. But as they ascended the stairs, their voices became more distinct.
Mary was saying that I hadn't been asking her any more suspicious questions. "He's either becoming use to our new reality and has given up or maybe he is just getting ready to do the divorce."
"What if he is, are you ready?"
"Mentally I am. This marriage ended some time ago. But I really need to go to a lawyer and figure out what I am entitled to."
Reaching the bedroom, they closed the door and their conversation became muted.
I slipped out from hiding and stood outside the door to my bedroom, and tried to listen for more conversation, but it quickly became apparent that the conversation was over and that the purpose of this secret stopover had begun in earnest.
I waited for the right moment to barge in, wanting a grand, dramatic impact. When the sounds of the mattress and bedframe revealed that time had arrived, I opened the door and saw my wife and her lover completely naked with my wife on top aggressively fucking the shit out of Dwayne.
I immediately announced my presence. "Well, look who's here, my slutty wife and her little fuck toy. Hello, there Dwayne, please get you hands off my wife's tits and pull your cock out of her cunt so that I can properly throw you out on your skinny little ass."
My wife seemed to almost jump out of her skin, jumping off the bed, grabbing a piece of clothing from the floor to cover herself, then screaming, "what the fuck!"
Dwayne rolled off the bed on the opposite side so fast that he ended up on the floor, his hard cock quickly losing its stiffness, but still glistening from my wife's juices.
"Get out of here, you bastard!" yelled Mary.
