I would like to thank Astordatair for giving me permission to write this sequel to his story, "
I Needed To Talk To You
." I would also like to thank those who have offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories.
Apologies for taking so long to get this up, but I have been very busy with life and other projects. And to make life more interesting, I just got out of the hospital after a heart attack, something I would not wish on anyone. To those who reached out, I am doing much better now, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Note to detractors: Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Sorry to disappoint. Well, not really...
The premise of the original story was simple - A man learns his wife is leaving him with their daughter for another man the same day he learns he has terminal brain cancer. In the original, the wife leaves for a month to be with her lover. When she returns, her husband has already passed away.
Although I enjoyed the original story, I felt it was a little too short (about 982 words), and the cheaters needed a dose of what I like to call the "Saddletramp Treatment." This story is broken into three parts. The first is from the husband's perspective, the second is from the wife's, and the third is from the perspective of the young daughter, Olivia - in my opinion, the real victim in this sad tale. I had originally planned to put the whole story in one post, but it grew a life of its own, so it will be split into three posts (Over 29,000 words total), and yes, they are all complete.
And now, the disclaimers:
For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper... In addition:
Characters in this story may participate in one or more of the following: Smoking, consumption of adult (meaning, alcoholic) beverages, utterance of profanities.
All sexual activity is between consenting adults 18 years of age or older.
Statements or views uttered by the fictional characters in this story do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author.
Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...
End of Part 01:
The next several days were awful. The constant pain, nausea, dizziness, and fuzziness were interrupted only by bouts of screaming agony. It felt like a fanged, clawed monster lived in my skull, and would randomly fight to rip its way out. I felt horrible at what my pain must have been doing to the caregivers, but they never once complained, treating me with never-ending smiles and attempts to make me feel better.
I don't know how long I lay in that state, but I recalled seeing the tearful faces of my family more than once. I wanted desperately to tell them everything would be all right, but all could manage to get out was garbled nonsense.
Early one morning, though, I opened my eyes to find that all my pain was suddenly gone. Was I cured? Did the tumor go away? I looked at the clock on the wall and saw it was 4:30 in the morning. Then I saw something else - a man.
But he wasn't just any man. He was my father. Or at least, a younger-looking version of my father. And he was smiling.
"You ready to go do some fishing? Got a prime spot picked out," he said. I remembered fishing with Dad and Bill when we were younger. Mom happily cooked the fish, but insisted we clean it ourselves.
"Fishing sounds good, Dad," I said.
"C'mon, Son. Let's go," he said, holding out a hand, which I accepted joyfully. I rose into the sunlight and gave him a hug.
...
And now, Part 02: Anne
Anne:
The limousine that ferried Michael, myself, and my daughter Olivia, from the airport, finally pulled into my driveway. The last month with my lover had been a lot of fun, but I was exhausted and happy to finally be home... soon to be just my home.
I wasn't surprised to see that Andrew's car was gone - it was well after 9:00 am, and I figured he would be at work. But something about the place was... off. Michael seemed to notice it as well.
"Your yard looks like it hasn't been touched in quite a while," he noted disapprovingly. "Don't you use a gardening service?"
"No, Andrew likes to take care of the yard himself. It's a matter of personal pride for him. He never lets it go more than a week without mowing it. His father was the same way," I replied absently. "But this has to be taken care of before the HOA complains."
"Indeed," Michael snorted, the idea of performing manual labor - especially anything involving yard equipment - was repugnant to him. "It doesn't look like he's home. That's a good thing."
"He's probably gone to work. Probably out fixing someone's little computer glitch," I sneered.
"Well, remember what I said. If he so much as thinks about looking at you cross-eyed, you call me straight away. I'll call Judge Stanton and get a restraining order on him so fast it'll make his head spin," Michael said.
The idea of seeing Andrew being led out of the house in chains as the neighbors gawked and took pictures put a smile on my face. But I knew that would never happen. Andrew was a pussy cat and wouldn't even lift a finger.
"I don't think that will be necessary," I said.
"It's not a question of necessity, Anne. It's a question of winning the game," Michael said smugly. "If all else fails, we can fall back onto Plan B. You know we have... friends... willing to do whatever is necessary."
I knew what Michael meant by "Plan B." We had discussed it in depth with Michael's Colombian friends in Cancun. As excited as I was about watching Andrew squirm while facing false drug and child trafficking and porn charges, I didn't want to hurt Olivia. Not too much, anyway.
It was bad enough that I took her from Andrew for a month with no means of contact. She had had bouts of melancholy and surliness, which was quite unlike her, but Michael and I hadn't let that distract us. She would just have to get used to it.
"Do you think I should goad him a little? Maybe rub his nose in my infidelity?" I asked.
"Whatever it takes, my dear," Michael replied with a smirk. "Anyway, do you want me to carry your bags into the house?"
"No, I don't think that would be wise. There are a lot of prying eyes and wagging tongues. I don't want to start the rumor mill running more than it probably already is. After all, no one here has seen Olivia or me for a month."
"As you wish," Michael said.
The chauffeur popped the trunk and got out of the car as I kissed Michael deeply. I got out of the car when he opened my door and watched as Olivia politely said goodbye to Michael. When she left the car, we grabbed our bags and walked to the front door.
I was a little surprised when my key actually worked on the front door. I had read a lot of stories where cuckolded husbands changed their locks to keep their cheating wives out of the house. And to be honest, that's exactly what I had been for months - a cheating wife. But not for much longer.
Before I opened the door, I glanced at the large mailbox attached to the front of the house and saw it crammed full of mail. Didn't Andrew even bother checking the mail? I wasn't worried about our monthly bills as those were paid by automatic draft from the household account, but surely Andrew could have brought the mail inside. I shook my head in exasperation.
I opened the door and went inside, waving happily to Michael as I did so. Walking inside, I was surprised to see that everything was much as it was when I left a month ago. And the house was dark and quiet. Almost... too... dark and quiet. Like a tomb. In fact, it looked like no one had been inside the place for some time. There was even a light coat of dust on everything.
"Andrew?" I called as I walked around the lower half of the house. "Are you here? We're home." My calls were met with an eerie silence that sent chills up my spine. Something was definitely wrong here, but I couldn't place my finger on it.
"Mommy, since Daddy isn't home, I wanna go see Melissa across the street, okay?" Olivia asked.
"Sure, sweetheart," I said absently. "Be careful crossing the street."
"I will," Olivia called out. I went upstairs and put my bags on the bed, then plugged my phone in to let it charge up. I noticed there had been a number of calls from a number I didn't recognize since 4:45 this morning. Probably spammers. Andrew had put our phones on a no-call list that stopped 90 percent of spam calls, but a few still got through.
As the phone charged, I continued looking around. All of Andrew's clothes and toiletries were there, so he hadn't left the house. Still, I felt as though I was walking in a mausoleum. I gathered our clothes and prepared to put them in the wash when my phone rang. It was the same number that had called several times before, so after some hesitation, I answered it, ready to tell them to get lost.
"May I speak with Mrs. Anne Coleman, please?" a female voice asked when I answered.
"Yes, that's me," I replied, puzzled.
"Mrs. Coleman, my name is Krystin Ryerson, and I'm calling from Belleview Palliative Care Unit. We've tried to contact you several times this morning. Ma'am, it's my sad duty to inform you that your husband Andrew passed away early this morning."
I stared at the wall, not believing what I had just heard. "WHAT?" I exclaimed. "What the hell?! Palliative Care? Is this some kind of a sick joke? Because it's NOT funny!!"
The caller was quiet for a moment. "This is no joke, Mrs. Coleman. I was informed your husband never got to tell you that he had a brutally aggressive and terminal form of brain cancer before you left for Cancun."
Cancun? What the Hell? How does this little twerp know I went to Cancun? Unless this is one of Andrew's snarky little practical jokes. Still, Krystin's news threw me for a loop. Was Andrew telling the truth when he said he was dying? And what was my response? "Don't be so dramatic, Andrew. You'll survive."
The young woman's voice brought me back to reality.
"So, do you need me to come down and claim the body or something?" I asked, suddenly realizing the divorce was no longer necessary now and smiling.
"That won't be necessary, ma'am. Mr. Coleman took care of all the arrangements earlier this month. He has already been transferred to Spencer Funeral Home. I'm truly sorry for your loss, ma'am. If there's anything we can do, please feel free to call. We have counselors who can help you work through your grief if necessary."
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," I said before ending the call. I sat there, not knowing what to think, for some time before I heard the doorbell ring. What now? I answered it.
