After a few years of marriage it's the little things that get to you; the subtle, little nuances that after a while start you to wondering.
'Why did she say that;'...'Wow, that wasn't the response I expected;'...'There's that look again;'
and then there's always the kicker,
'Please, not tonight honey, I'm too tired.'
Put them all together and you start to suspect something is amiss in your happy little home.
Of course no one really wants to admit to discourse in their family life, so to counterbalance the doubt and suspicion, you remind yourself that trust is the cornerstone of any marriage; and if that doesn't work, there's always denial;
'I'm sure she didn't mean it the way it sounded;'...'She must have misunderstood what I said;'...'Maybe she had something in her eye;'
and of course...
'Yeah, she's had a rough day, maybe tomorrow night.'
Then comes the day...no, it's not really a day, it's a moment, really; then comes the moment when it all falls into place; when you look back on the sarcastic comments, the weird responses to something you said, the nasty looks you caught out of the corner of your eye, and the lack of passion in the bedroom; that's the moment when you look back on all that and say... why didn't I see it before now?
It's right after asking yourself that question that you start to feel the pain of her betrayal; the realization that the woman you love above all else, the person around whom your entire universe revolves, has been unfaithful.
That's when your stomach muscles tighten up, you gasp for a breath, your heart starts pounding like a drum, you break out in a cold sweat, and your eyes instantly fill with tears.
When the initial shock abates you make the same mistake every guy makes at that point, you ask yourself why. Depression hits like a sludge hammer, you start to feel inferior, like less of a man and you start to blame yourself, torture yourself.
'What did I do wrong;'... 'How did I lose her respect;'... 'How did I lose her love'...'Was I not a good husband;'... 'Was I an inadequate lover?'
I know all this because I've gone through it, all of it, every thought, every emotion; I felt totally defeated, it was the worst thing I've ever gone through; bar none.
Acting on a tip I received a little earlier in the day, I pulled into the parking lot of the cheap single story motel. Immediately I felt sick to my stomach and fought to keep from vomiting when I saw my wife's Chevy parked in front of one of the rooms.
I wedged my car between two others in the far corner of the lot and waited; it was during the next twenty minutes that I asked myself every one of those questions, experienced every emotion, and cried as my heart broke apart piece by piece.
I watched as my lovely wife exited one of the rooms hand in hand with her boss. I picked up my camera from the passenger's seat and started photographing them as they embraced for a parting kiss.
As a professional photographer I seldom relied on my camera's auto focus but thank God for the capability because there was no way I could capture a sharp image through my tears otherwise. The powerful telephoto lens allowed me to zero in on Jean as she looked amorously into the face of her lover. I don't really know why but I kept snapping away; just reflex I guess.
After they drove off in separate vehicles all I could do was sit there; why didn't I run up and punch the son-of-a-bitch in the mouth? I was pissed at myself, but the truth was, I was so stunned I didn't even think of it. I sat playing the scene I had just witnessed over and over in my head. If I didn't have the proof sitting beside me I would have questioned my own sanity and thought I was hallucinating.
I wondered how long it had been going on; were they in love, or was it just a physical thing? Then I realized it didn't matter; my marriage was over. I felt lost; I started shaking all over, that's when the tears really started to pour. I beat the palm of my hand against the steering wheel in frustration.
I think the last time I sobbed that hard was when I lost my life-long partner. He was a beautiful Doberman Pincer by the name of Brooklyn. He was my protector and constant companion every day of my life until one morning when he didn't wake up. I was ten years old.
Now what, I wondered as I tried to get control of myself; my mind went to a conversation we had not long ago about starting a family. I was just getting established in my commercial photography venture when we were married so we decided to wait before having kids because we needed Jean's paycheck.
Since then; however, I've been able to steadily build the business into a six figure income. Since ninety-nine percent of my work is done on location I didn't even need a studio, I worked from my home; in addition to saving money it also gave me some great tax breaks; all and all, we really didn't need Jean's salary any more so we talked about her quitting and becoming a stay-at-home mom. I thought she'd jump at it, but to my surprise she was reluctant saying she needed a little more time to get used to the idea; now after seeing what I just saw I believe she had a different reason for not wanting to quit.
I took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh, I wanted kids with all my heart but maybe it's better this way, I thought.
About the time I had decided to just go home and confront Jean with the pictures I had just taken, my cell phone rang. I looked at the display and saw it was Jack Northrupe, a longtime friend. Years prior I worked as a staff photographer for one of the largest newspapers in the state; Jack was an investigative reporter, one of the best. He and I worked on several assignments together and have been good friends ever since.
At first I was going to let it go to voice mail then thought why not take it; I could really use a friend about now.
"Hello," I answered trying to sound normal, evidently unsuccessfully.
"Hi buddy, you okay? You sound a little down, everything alright?"
I hesitated, did I really want to advertise that fact that my wife was cheating on me? Hell, I thought, people are going to find out anyway, it's not the kind of thing you can keep secret for long.
"Ah...no Jack, actually things are pretty shitty," I said.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Dalton, anything I can do?' he asked.
"Well, to tell you the truth, Jack, I just need someone to talk to."
"Look, I was calling to see if you could meet me for a beer at Plato's Place in a little while anyway; when can you get away?"
"Oh shit," I said just realizing what time it was, "I'm already late; I was supposed to meet a client and take shots of some model homes; he's a real estate developer. Fuck it, I'm going to call and tell him I got deathly ill; it won't be a lie, believe me. I'm going to call him right now and reschedule; I can be at Plato's in twenty minutes," I told him.
"I'll see you there, my friend."