Maybe problems were inevitable. I was a natural scientist, physics if you must know, and Tilly was an economist, solidly in the social sciences. We didn't work in those fields, but our college majors were major tells about how each of us thought.
I believed in absolutes. Not in every single thing, but there are many things that are true no matter the circumstance. Natural laws, like gravity. Tilly believed in truths too, but her mind always left room for exceptions. Even for gravity.
"It's always true, Till. Gravity is immutable."
"So far. You can't believe that somewhere out there in this infinite universe there's not a single instance where it might not apply?"
"Not a chance."
Then we laughed. Neither of us ever convinced the other, but we enjoyed the repartee. We had a good marriage that way.
We weren't going to challenge Gates or Bezos for money, but I got into big-data management via actuarial analysis while Tilly ran a sales group of two dozen for a regional brokerage company that was growing like crazy. We had plenty of money for both the present and the future. We owned a nice four-bedroom home with an in-ground pool and hot tub, and we split the mortgage on a cabin up north with Tilly's sister Margie and husband Nate, so we had a place to escape to when summer came and the temperatures climbed.
Our older daughter Annette -- Annie -- had started first grade and our younger Kiley was just shedding her diapers. Not only was each of them absolutely adorable, they were both energetic and well-behaved too. I was hinting around for a third child, maybe a boy this time, but Tilly wasn't as enthusiastic. Which was cool. She had to carry the babies, and after Kiley it took her nearly two years to get back to her fighting weight and tone. I could see where her hesitation came from. It certainly wasn't a dealbreaker for me.
And sex?
I don't think there's such a thing as bad sex, and I certainly enjoyed our time in bed. And sofa. And hot tub. And hammock, although that took some extra care. No slamming around in that. We probably weren't the most adventurous lovers in the world, but we were no prudes either. She really liked me to go down on her, and I really liked it too, so that was a frequent part of our repertoire. I loved plowing her from behind, because I could be my most energetic. I also loved her ass, and holding her hips while I went to town always revved me way up. Tilly seemed to climax most when she was on top. We didn't often finish with missionary, but it was the most intimate position for us both, so we usually spent at least a little time there when we made love. And often a lot of time.
Our marriage was well-balanced. Sometimes I was up, taking more than I gave when I had a big project at work or when Dad had his stroke and Mom needed my help around the house. But just as often I was down, giving more so Tilly could handle a business trip to new prospects or stay with her sister for a week after Margie's breast-cancer diagnosis. I think both of us would say the scales ultimately balanced though.
So where did we go wrong?
The seeds of our discontent were sown from the beginning of our relationship. We were who we were, but I don't think either of us quite believed it about the other. We assumed that our differences weren't profound, and so I suppose we didn't discuss our expectations completely enough. I loved her, and she loved me. What else mattered? A whole lot more, as it turns out.
At least that's what I'm left with now. Who knows if it's true? Tilly always understood people better than me.
Even if we'd taken a wrong turn in the beginning it took a while for it to be exposed. Years, in fact. We were living pretty blissful lives, all the while unaware of the fissure that lay below our marriage.
"Daddy, why don't Kiley and I get to go too?"
Annie was precocious and more than a little spoiled. Tilly and I adored both our children, and we included them far more often than we left them with babysitters or our own parents to watch. But Tilly was going to recognized by the CEO of her firm for landing three very large accounts -- a software titan and two family offices that together controlled over two-billion dollars in assets -- and we decided to spend the night at the hotel where the celebration was taking place.
"Because this party is for grown-ups only, sweetie. But I promise that we'll go out and celebrate as a family tomorrow night. Okay?"
"I wish I could go with you."
"I know, sweetie. But tomorrow night you will."
Fate is too often decided by inconsequential details, the minutia that's like the blood cells flowing through our bodies: abundant, ubiquitous, and individually almost trivial. Almost.
I had parked the car -- Tilly's midnight blue BMW 5 Series sedan -- and we were in the elevator going up when I realized I'd forgotten the parking ticket. If it had been a municipal lot I would have just paid the five bucks, but this hotel charged forty dollars to park overnight, so I kissed Tilly when the elevator reached the lobby, ushered her out, and then pushed the button to return to the second level. I was coming through the doors with the ticket in my coat pocket about five minutes after Tilly had walked in.
I could see that she'd shed her coat and was talking to a tall man in a dark suit and another woman wearing a silk dress of vibrant green. The woman was long and lean, athletic, but Tilly outshone her. My wife wore classic clothes of quality, and she wore them with confidence. Her proportions were nearly perfect, both the features in her face as well as the build of her body. She looked womanly, with full curves that she kept firm with an hour-long workout nearly every day, but it was the intelligence in her eyes, the mirth in the curve of her lip, that won my heart. And seeing her across the room I felt the familiar swelling for her in my heart. And other places too.
It was appropriate that it was that moment when the lie was exposed.
"I see Tilly didn't bring her husband. Do you think Randy is going to tap her again tonight?"
I was at the coat check, and two men had turned away just as I slipped in behind them, so they never saw me. I remembered Ted Masters. He'd been on Tilly's team for three years. I didn't recognize the other man, but I knew Randy. He was the tall man talking to Tilly.
I've never experienced anything like I felt at that moment. Certainly not before, and not since either.
I knew I was in unfathomable pain, a torment that might never release me from its grip. The wound was so deep and so consuming that I wondered if I'd be able to survive it. I didn't know how I'd cope with it.
And yet I didn't feel it.
