Nine Months Ago

Please do not expect a sequel to any of my stories. They are just moments in time; a few days, weeks, months or years in the lives of the protagonists. Surely, the object of a story is to stir the readers imagination into creating their own sequel.

As you read this narrative remember, it is just a story, just a figment of my imagination. None of the people in this story are real. Could you imagine anything like the events in this story actually happening. If you think they have, let me know, though I doubt if I would ever believe you.

My thanks to TRCIII for his time and effort as my editor.

Nine Months Ago

After having made a frantic five-hundred-mile journey home, I was at last in the maternity ward watching my wife suckle our new baby. The fact that I had missed the birth by such a short time no longer concerned me. What concerned me was that the baby was black.

What should have been the most wonderful, joyous moment between my wife and I had become the most heart breaking, Godawful moment in my life. The room was so quiet I could even hear the baby sucking. Beside the bed sat her mother, with a grim a look on her face. My wife was trying to smile. Both just stared at me. I didn't look, but I sensed her father sitting in the corner.

How long I stood at the foot of the bed before I turned and left, I don't know. The women at the nurse's station stared at me as I passed. Their expression was more of pity, now that they knew the husband was a white man.

It was a half hour drive to the house I lived in. All the way I kept seeing the black baby in my wife's arms. Why was she letting a black baby suckle on her white tit? Was she bonding with it, had she already bonded with it. No, that woman wasn't my wife, my wife was having my baby. A white baby. A white baby girl. I'd seen the black and white pictures on the monitor. Had she lost it and been given a black replacement. Perhaps I should go back and ask her?

I didn't go back. The idea that the black baby was a replacement for her white baby just didn't seem plausible. No, my wife had given birth to a black baby. A black man's baby. Logically, she was no longer my wife, she was a black man's wife because a wife should only have her husband's baby.

By the time I got to my house I had it all thought out. I knew it was no longer our house, certainly not my wife's house because she was now a black man's wife. It must have happened while I was away, this change from my wife, to a black man's wife. If it was no longer her house, then; I had to get all her stuff out of my house.

I did it in just over an hour and phoned her father. 'David Scott,' he answered.

'Mr Scott, I'm leaving all your daughter's stuff in your driveway as I expect she will be living with you now.' I was going to ring off but he quickly butted in.

'Andrew, we didn't know.'

'Neither did I,' I replied, and rang off. Thirty minutes later I had dumped all the bags of their daughter's stuff on the drive and was leaving when their car drew up, sitting in the back I could see my ex-wife. Fortunately, because I'd parked on the road, I was able to drive away without any confrontation. I drove back to my house knowing it would never be our home anymore.

Most of the time I was wondering who the black man was that Stephany had allowed into our lives with such a devastating effect. When and where had she fucked him? How many times and for how long?

I tried to recall the last twelve months. Where had I been? Had Stephany been anywhere without me? Had we met any new people? Had she told me about any changes where she worked? Could I remember any changes in her demeanour nine months ago? No, no, no, no, nothing came to mind.

Two hours after I got home I was still trying to think of something, anything to explain it. I remembered that it was said that the husband was always the last to know. I wondered how many found out the way I did.

Then the phone rang with a number I didn't recognise, so I answered. 'Andrew,' a quiet voice asked.

For a moment I didn't recognise the voice, then I realised it was Stephanie's mother. 'Yes, Mrs. Scott.'

'Andrew, it's Beverly.'

'Yes, I know, but as you will not be my mother-in-law much longer. I think Mrs. Scott is now more appropriate.' I liked Stephanie's mother but I didn't think she was going to like me for much longer, so I was cutting my ties with her sooner rather than later.

'Andrew, is that necessary. Can we talk?'

'Why, Mrs. Scott? Your daughter did something that is inexcusable. I want nothing more to do with her.'

'Please, Andrew, Stephany has been your wife for five years, haven't you any forgiveness for her?' Mrs. Scott was a church-going woman and would probably forgive the man who murdered her husband.

'No, Mrs. Scott. I'm trying very hard not to hate her.'

'Andrew, Stephanie is distraught. She didn't know it was going to be a black baby.'

That got to me. 'Oh my, she fucked a black man and didn't know it would produce a black baby.'

I heard a few words in the background. 'Andrew, please don't speak to my wife like that.' Her husband sounded quite angry so I rang off. No point is discussing it with them, I decided.

Somehow I survived the remainder of the day without any more phone calls. I even slept a bit until five the next morning. After tossing about an hour, I gave up and sat at the breakfast bar with a coffee. It was then that more thoughts got into my head. Why was she suckling the baby? Why didn't she get rid of it and tell me she'd had a miscarriage? Oh no, her mother would never allow that. Did she really think I would just accept it, like it appeared she had. Another man's white baby would have been bad enough, she could even had hidden that from me, but a black man's baby.

Divorce was the only solution. I decided, even though I loved her so much, I had no other choice. Even if she got rid of it, I would never be able to live with a cheating woman. Could I ever trust her again? I had never considered myself racially prejudiced but now I wasn't so certain. For a moment I felt sorry for her parents. How would Bob and Beverly cope with their daughter and a black baby?

By nine thirty my boss had agreed to let me have the rest of the week off and by ten thirty I had an appointment with a divorce lawyer he had recommended. By two, I met Mr. Hughes my attorney. I had also ignored umpteen phone messages and texts.

We had a friendly introduction before we were seated in his office. 'Mr. Andrews, please tell me why you want to divorce your wife?'

I took a deep breath. This was something I had never ever thought about before. 'My wife has just had a baby, Mr. Hughes.' I let that sink in as I wanted my next statement to shock him. 'A black baby, Mr. Hughes.' Then I just stared at him, daring him to find any objection to my divorcing my wife.

He didn't appear to have any. 'Did you have any fore knowledge about the colour of the baby?'

That was a question I had not expected. 'No, I had a phone call from her mother while I was away on business. After a fraught, five-hundred-mile return journey when I got to the hospital, she was in the maternity ward, suckling a black baby.'

'Um. You do know that even in a case like this, all assets are divided equally.'

'Yes.' I already knew that from a couple of friend's divorces.

'In your case, there will obviously be no requirement for child support.'

'Obviously,' I replied.

'There will probably be some alimony support.'

'Not if I can help it,' I told him and got another long stare before I asked him. 'How soon can you issue the divorce papers?'

'How soon do you want them served?'

'Tomorrow, if possible.'

'My secretary will help you fill in the necessary forms, Mr. Andrews. When I have the papers ready, I will phone you and we can arrange how you want your wife served.'

'She is staying with her parents. I don't expect anyone else she knows will take her in with a black baby.' He gave me another long stare.

'Mr. Andrews, have you closed any accounts or moved any assets?'

'No, should I?'

'You could close any joint accounts or take the advice of your accountant should you have one.'

'Sorry, Mr. Hughes, we both have an average income and a large mortgage.'

Mr. Hughes stood up and my time with my solicitor was terminated.

At the end of the second day of my future wifeless life I had filled in and signed all the papers that his secretary gave me. I had also closed our two joint accounts. At home alone, I drank too much whisky and deleted several more voice mails and messages from Stephany and her parents.

When I want back to work the boss called me in. 'How are you doing, Andrew?' he asked, sitting me down with a glass of whisky.

'Getting my act together. She'll be served on Saturday, then I just have to wait and see if she signs them without a fight.'

'A black baby. That's the worst betrayal possible. Any idea who the guy is or how long she was seeing him.'

'No idea. I've tried to think of something I missed a year ago, but can't think of anything.'

'Has she tried to get in contact?'

'Oh, yes, lots of texts and voice mail every day.'

'I got that after I caught my first wife.'

'Sorry, Stewart, I didn't know you had been married before.'

'How do you think I was able to give you Mr. Hughes name so quickly. He did a good job for me and he needed to, because this business needed protecting.'

After another whisky we talked about work and some ideas he had to keep me fully occupied. 'That's the way you will survive this, Andrew. Work and more work.'

The papers were served on my wife, at her parent's home four days later. Then if anything the texts and voice mails got more frequent. Even the house phone was included in their assault. Five days later the first letter arrived, disguised in a brown envelope. As soon as I opened it and saw it was from my wife I immediately screwed it up in the bin.

A week later another letter arrived and got the same treatment. Then a week later my lawyer phoned me. 'Andrey, we need to talk,' he told me, sounding very serious.

I wasn't expecting anything more from him until the papers were signed. 'Oh, yes, what about?' I asked suspiciously.

'I've had a letter from your wife's solicitor requesting an urgent meeting between you and your wife.'

'Is that usual?'

'Yes, it's often part of the divorce negotiations, but we need to discuss it first.'

Three days later I was again in my solicitors' office with a coffee beside me on the table. He showed me a letter. 'This letter, from your wife's solicitor, is insisting I advise you to agree to an urgent meeting with your wife. I haven't seen it, but he apparently received a letter from your wife's mother that has convinced him you should have the meeting. Your wife apparently has something vitally important to tell you.'

I was about to ask him what was in the letter when he passed a letter across to me. It was from my wife's solicitor and did indeed request an urgent meeting between the two of us.

'Have you asked him what was in her mother's letter?'

'Yes, and all he would tell me was that it was vitally important that you allow your wife to talk to you.'

It all sounded very conspiratorial, but he was my legal advisor and it was costing me a lot, so I decided to go along with it. 'Where is the meeting going to be?'

'It will be in our conference room. You give me a date and time and they will agree to it.'

I did not want to meet my wife, but she must have something to say that had convinced both our lawyers to set up a meeting. 'OK, Wednesday next week.' I thought a little delay wouldn't matter. Might also show how reluctant I was to have a meeting with her.

'I'll set it up and confirm it with you tomorrow.' He stood up and another meeting was over. Probably another couple of hundred on my bill.

There were no more texts or voice mails. Then on the Wednesday, I was again in my solicitor's office, only this time his secretary had shown me to the conference room and told me he would join me shortly. When he entered there was another man with him. We shook hands and he introduced the other guy as Mr. Butler, my wife's solicitor. 'Mr. Butler needs to have a word with you before you meet your wife, my solicitor told me.'

Well, this was unexpected, I thought, as I sat beside my solicitor opposite to Mr. Butler. After we were all settled I waited for my solicitor to open the meeting.

'Andrew, I am going to ask Mr. Butler explain things to you.'

'Mr. Hartley, after reading the letter Mrs. Scott sent to me I talked with her and Mr. Scott. Since she left hospital the deterioration in their daughter has caused her mother and father considerable distress. Both realised there was more involved than just your decision to divorce her. Eventually they got her to tell them and when they told me it was obvious that a meeting with your wife was imperative before the divorce proceeded any further.'

He finished his coffee. Then looked directly at me. 'Mr. Hartley, may I call you Andrew?' I nodded in agreement.

'Andrew, when your wife and her mother come in I must warn you, you will be surprised, no, shocked at her appearance. She will not make any excuses for what she has to tell you. She will not try to offer any justification. All she wants to do is tell you the facts. Then she will leave. There will be no opportunity for you to question her or comment.'

The room fell silent, not even a chair squeaked as I stared at her solicitor. There were things I wanted to ask him but I knew he had nothing more to say. I didn't really but I told him I understood.

Then he stood up. 'I'll go and get Mrs. Hartley.' Then he left.

Mr. Hughes put his hand on my arm. "Just let your wife talk, Andrew. I'm sure this is going to be very difficult for her, for both of you, please try not to interrupt."

'Do you know why she is here?'

'All I was told is that your wife has something she has to tell you personally.'

Then the door opened and my wife with her mother holding her arm came into the room. Instinctively I stood up. Out of courtesy or shock, I don't know. Shock more likely, because Stephany was almost unrecognisable. Gaunt, haggard, emaciated, all in just one month. Mr. Butler glanced at me as he pulled a chair out for her and they both helped her sit down.

I sat down slowly and just stared at her, instinctively knowing her deterioration had been caused by much more than just our separation over a black baby.

Slowly she raised her blood shot, deeply recessed, blank looking eyes to me and just stared. Her mother whispered something to her and stroked her arm. 'My daughter has something to tell you, Andrew.'

Several times she opened her mouth before she eventually spoke. 'Andrew.' Her voice was weak and raspy. She stopped and dropped her head. Eventually she raised her head. 'Andrew, the baby is black.' She took a breath. 'The baby is black because.' She stopped in mid-sentence, just staring blankly at me. Then seemed to recover and whispered. 'Because ten months ago I was gang raped by three black men.' In her eyes I saw all the pain and grief of a broken woman. She started to say something else, then she just slumped onto the table as her shoulders shook in silent sobbing.

My shock was profound. My wife was gang raped by three black men. Any doubt in what she had just told me never entered my head. When? Where? Why hadn't she told me? Why hadn't I noticed anything? Where had I been?

Before I could say anything, her mother and solicitor were helping her leave the room.

My solicitor and I just sat in silence for a long time. Then he handed me a letter. 'This, I am told by your wife's solicitor, will explain everything to you.'

'Did you know about this?' I asked him.

"No, I am as shocked as you are.'

When I left his office my wife, her mother and solicitor had long gone. I had a meeting arranged with both solicitors in two days' time. Long enough for me to read the letter and come to some decisions.

When I got home it took me over an hour before I felt able to open the letter. The letter was hand written in my wife's handwriting.

My Darling Husband.

On the 27 May I was raped for three hours by three black men, on a mattress, in a large white van.

The previous weekend and the rest of that week we had been trying for a baby. On the Saturday you were with Mat Stokes launching his boat for the season. Sally was unable to come shopping with me so instead of spending the day with her I just went to the supermarket for some groceries. A large white van was parked very close to my car so after putting the groceries in the back I had difficulty opening my door.

It was then that the side door of the van opened and I was dragged inside. The only thing I need to tell you about the rape was that it was not brutal.

When they had finished with me they showed me some of the pictures and videos they had taken and told me they would send them to you if I told anyone what they had done to me. When they told me our address I knew I had to keep quiet about it.

When I got home I had three hours to sort myself out before you got in. You wanted me that evening but I managed to convince you then and for most of the following week that I had a woman's problem.

Three months afterwards there was a television news item about the arrest of the three men. They were in the process of doing the same thing to another young woman. You were with me when we saw it and I don't know how, but I managed to keep my emotions to myself.

I was convinced the baby was ours, after all, I was at my most fertile while we were making love the previous week.

The only reason I can think why I have kept Jessica is some sort of Stockholm Syndrome. A need to have a connection to the events that created her.

You will receive the signed divorce papers when you next meet your lawyer.

I love you my darling husband and always will.

Stephanie.

As I read and re-read her letter my imagination about the rape, even though she said it hadn't been brutal, became more and more vivid as did my horror of what Stephanie had suffered during it and for the nine months afterwards and then when she gave birth to a black baby.

My heart was breaking when I eventually put the letter down. Why hadn't I realised something was wrong right from the day it happened? How had I been so callous to refuse any contact with my wife since the day the baby was born? I cried for my beautiful Stephanie because now I knew just how desperately she must have needed me every day since the baby was born. At that moment my opinion of myself and my behaviour toward Stephany was one of total disgust.

I made the spontaneous decision to see Stephany and was driving to her mother's house before I even realised. When I got there, I hoped the most difficult thing I might have to do was persuade my wife to give the baby up for adoption. There was no way I would be able to bring up a black child with such an awful connection between us.

When her mother opened the door, the relief on her face at seeing me was amazing. Without a word she literally dragged me in and pushed me up the stairs and into the bedroom where Stephany was nursing the baby. Before I realised I heard the door close.

Stephany just stared at me like I was a ghost. Slowly a smile appeared.

'Stephany,' I whispered.

Eventually she said my name. 'Andrew.' Then she looked down at the baby suckling on her right tit. 'You don't mind if I continue feeding the baby?' Her voice was only a choky whisper.

What could I say. 'No, I don't mind, carry on.' I wanted to say more, but now didn't seem the right time.

All the time the baby suckled she looked at me, and I couldn't make myself take my eyes off either of them. My wife looked just as bad as she had in the solicitor's office and I wondered if it was all down to me. I felt so guilty knowing I could have prevented it if only I had thought about her and not just myself when I saw her in the hospital.