Author's Note: Man tries to deal with being manipulated by those around him. This also addresses that wonderful cliché found in many LW stories that involve the girlfriend/ fiancée/ wife wanting the main protagonist to go back and resolve his issues with his ex-wife. Yeah right, LOL!
My thanks to blackrandl1958 for her editing and to outofshadows and Mostera1 for their beta reading. Their input has made this story a LOT better than it started out. Any errors you find are mine... hell you know why.
****
I knew things weren't as they seemed when I arrived at my parent's house. We were all gathering for a family dinner, but something was wrong. My suspicions were confirmed when I opened my car door and heard my son and my father arguing.
"Dammit, Gramps, this isn't right!"
"Watch your mouth, boy! Remember whose house you're in."
"I don't give a shit whose house it is, I'm not going to be a part of this!
"Bradley!" my mother called out.
Brad bolted out the front door and froze in front of me. There was still a scowl on his face, but his eyes widened with surprise.
"Dad, I'm sorry, I wasn't a part of this."
"What?" I said, fighting the foreboding sensation building in my stomach.
We turned and watched together as the trio filed out onto the porch. My parents stood there with my fiancée, Karen. Each face told a different story. My father bore his typical emotionless stone face, while my mother harbored a look of determination. Karen's face showcased a mixture of fear and concern.
"This isn't right," Brad shouted back at them before shaking his head in disgust and turning back towards me.
"Run, Dad, it's a trap," he said flatly. "Mom is in there."
I felt my stomach sour, and I'm sure I let out an audible groan. The thought of a confrontation with my ex-wife, even after two years, still made me ill. I didn't have the anger and bitterness I'd once had towards her, but the fallout during the divorce had caused me to try to erase her from my life. I'd only spoken to her twice after I learned about her cheating. The first was the night I left, and the second was shortly after she'd been served with the divorce papers.
I watched silently as my son walked over to his car, got in and quickly drove away. Turning, I stared at the instigators of my intervention.
Surprisingly, I felt at peace. I'd fought against this and my feelings about it weren't in doubt, but others felt I needed this. Their trap had been sprung, their choices had been made and regardless of intent, there would now be consequences. However that would occur in the future, now I needed to face my immediate situation.
In an abstract way it was like skydiving, like jumping or possibly being thrown out of a plane. A person can scream and cry, pray or piss themselves, but they're still going to fall. As long as their chute opens, they'll probably survive the experience. It was that kind of gallows' wisdom which had me calmly assessing my current situation.
As what occurs during many life threatening moments in life, my life flashed before my eyes. Unfortunately, I didn't get to revel in the good times and eventually ended up focusing on the last few years and... Deidre.
****
We'd had a good twenty-six year marriage, not great, but certainly not bad. We'd met in college, got married, graduated, got jobs, had three kids, bought cars and a house... the suburban dream. Looking back, if there were signs of our impending crash, I never saw them.
Deidre and I would never be mistaken for some of the beautiful people and were never considered part of the popular crowd. We're pretty average. I'm sort of tall but thin. At six foot two and a hundred and seventy pounds, I'm even considered scrawny by some. My curly black hair and larger nose indicate my Mediterranean heritage. My black glasses and pocket protector identify me as a nerd... um... engineer.
Deidre looks like she stepped out of a Harry Potter fan convention, a tall, thin, geeky librarian. She's five foot eleven and only weights one hundred thirty pounds. She has always had long straight brown hair and her large rimmed glasses seemed to magnify her dark brown eyes. Even though she wasn't some model, I'd always loved her long body and tiny breasts. I thought she was beautiful, and until that day she was the woman of my dreams.
I won't say everything was perfect at home. We argued, usually about money. We were doing well with me as an engineer and Deidre as a technical writer for a large local corporation, but we'd had some high dollar expenditures over the past decade. Buying a new home, putting three kids through college and paying for two weddings had left us financially tight at times. Other than the new home, I wouldn't have changed a thing.
I guess I was expecting something different when we finally became empty nesters. We were both forty-seven years-old, in good health, had decent jobs, a house, and our sex life wasn't too bad. It was pretty conservative, but we got together at least once a week. Our love life was, however, a bit more hit and miss. I'd tried to keep the romantic fires burning, but it was a challenge. We'd tried to commit to a date night once a week, but with our jobs and other distractions it was more like once a month.
After our youngest child, Brad, left for college, Deidre poured herself into her job. She was already highly thought of within her company, but with her new intensity she was quickly given the lead on a huge corporate project. She headed up a large team to rewrite the training materials for the corporation.
The amount of time she spent at work soon replaced money as the biggest contention in our marriage. I was proud of her, but the zeal she dove into her project sometimes scared me. It seemed her job had become the main priority in her life.
Fifteen months later, she'd completed the project to great accolades from upper management. She and her team had done such a great job they were up for some national awards with both the national technical writer's association, and the professional association her company belonged to.
I went to see her receive her award at the national tech writer's conference. I was extremely proud of her even though the project had monopolized her time over the past year. Deidre beamed as she basked in her night of recognition.
The corporation's association annual conference was a month later and was a circus. It was huge compared to the previous conference, since tech writing was only one of several categories being recognized. Deidre's team was so large her company agreed to pay traveling expenses for each employee, but not for the spouses.
I'd used up most of my vacation leave and we'd already splurged on the previous conference, so Deidre went to this one by herself. She roomed with another woman from her office. It wasn't a big deal since she'd gone to conferences without me over the years, but had I known what would happen during those four days in Chicago, I would've found a way to have been there. As they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty.
I hadn't even realized my marriage had been gutted at that time. Deidre had come back ill. She'd said she'd caught some type of flu bug and gotten sick the last night there. Thankfully, it wasn't at the awards banquet, but it'd happened at the reception party afterwards. She'd drunk quite a bit at the reception and had gotten very sick. At least that's what I believed for three months until I received an unexpected visit.
Mrs. Jordan was a very well dressed, attractive woman in her early sixties. She was also the wife of Thomas Jordan, Vice President of Deidre's division at work. I'd met him a few times at corporate functions. He was a distinguished looking, trim man in his late fifties with salt and pepper hair. He'd always hit me as somewhat arrogant, but I couldn't tell if that was his personality or simply a by-product of his position.
My meeting with his wife was very enlightening. Apparently, Mr. Jordan had always had an eye for the ladies. She'd caught him in an affair earlier in their marriage, but they'd reconciled. She believed he'd remained faithful after that until two years ago. Then the lies and suspicion had begun again. Six months ago, she'd had enough.
Mrs. Jordan had hired someone to get evidence for her impending divorce. She'd told me she had proof of his long-time affair however it wasn't with Deidre. Unfortunately she also had evidence of his night with my wife in Chicago. It appeared to be a one-night-stand, but she couldn't be sure. She'd stopped the investigation shortly after the Chicago trip since she had what she needed for the divorce.
The pictures she handed me of my wife and her husband were enough to make my heart quit beating. They showed my wife and her VP dirty dancing in the ballroom. There were photos of them making out and even a few of Jordan with his hands under my wife's little black dress with an expression of pure lust and ecstasy written across Deidre's face.
There was also a set of them sneaking into one of the hotel restrooms. Several minutes later, they exited and it was obvious Deidre's dress had been straightened and her make up reapplied. Her face was flushed, and she'd what is commonly referred to as a freshly fucked look.
The final set of photos showed them draped together as they entered his hotel room. Although none were overly explicit, there was no doubt of what had occurred on the last night of the conference. Mrs. Jordan left me copies of her report and pictures.
I knew immediately that my marriage was over. Could I've gotten past a one-time mistake? Doubtful, but I guess it was possible. Whatever trust I might've still had though, was now gone. Her betrayal in hiding it from me those past months was as damaging to our marriage as her cheating.
That night when I got home, Deidre was working late again. I wondered if she was actually working or was getting together with Jordan or some other workmate behind those protective office doors.
That's the thing, isn't it? Once trust is destroyed, it's a pain in the ass to ever regain it. Most times it never comes back, and if it does it's never as strong as it once was. The poison of doubt insidiously creeps into every area, making you question every action, past and present. Things that were once thought of as simply innocent were now looked on with suspicion.
