Please note: this is purely fictional, and I want to thank my wife for editing it for me and encouraging me to write again.
***
I suppose, looking back on it now, I've only experienced two gut-wrenching shocks in my lifetime. I try to be grateful I haven't had more, but man, I'm not sure I could survive any more like the two I've already had.
The first is probably predictable, given the category you're reading, but I should probably preface that one by explaining the way I met my ex-wife, Paige. Or maybe it would be more important to go back to the very beginning of me for you to understand our story.
I was born to older parents who'd tried many fruitless years to have children until, surprise, surprise, I came along. My mother was thirty-eight and my father was forty-five at the time. My father was also a policeman in the heart of Wisconsin. Yeah, you guessed it. He caught two bullets in the back one night while responding to an armed robbery. I was only four at the time, so I can't say I have many memories of him, although sometimes I think I can actually remember pieces of his funeral and some of the unfamiliar faces that hugged and coddled me while my mother silently fell to pieces in another room.
Not only was I an only child, but so were each of my parents, meaning I had no cousins, no aunts or uncles and certainly no grandparents to dote on me growing up. You might think my mother turned all of her affection toward me following my father's untimely death, but she was so depressed and lost in her grief that I often got overlooked and, yes, neglected. She did finally move us to Texas to be close to one of her best friends, and it was Lettie that often made sure I was clothed and fed and sent to school on time.
Lettie Jordan had her own husband and children to care for, but somehow she blended me into the fold. Her husband and children never took to me the way that she did though. When my mother passed away from a heart attack, I was 20 years old and barely shed a tear. When Lettie passed away, I was 31 and cried like a baby. I quickly lost all contact with her brood, who, in my opinion, had never appreciated the old gal the way I always had.
It was Lettie who had encouraged me to attend college. I can't say I had much interest in my studies growing up, and I always figured I'd spend my post-high school education selling cars or flipping burgers.
"No, Drew, you must pursue a career," Lettie had told me, and then handed me a check for $2,000 written out to the community college. "Take this and make something of yourself. You're made of better than you think."
I had no direction, hell, I had no interest in any specific career, but I took the money and enrolled anyway just to please Lettie. I was so eager to make that woman proud that I still have no idea how I ended up in Stanford's graduate program some years later.
I met Paige while working a part-time job as I finished my degree in business. I washed dishes nights, waited tables some when someone else didn't show up like they were supposed to, and often watched the cute, auburn-haired waitress from afar as she shuffled around the dining room.
Maybe it was my upbringing or maybe it was just my nature that I always kept to myself and didn't talk much. I never had many friends simply because I never went out of my way to make any. I was fairly good-looking, so I'd dated some without having to put forth much effort. I'd had a scare once when I thought I might have made a girl pregnant in high school, but it had turned out to be a false alarm. That was around the time I'd gotten serious about college, too, so I'd never had a real girlfriend, and I'd felt like a fool for even considering asking Paige out then. She was sweet-natured, kind to everyone, and seemed to come from a good family. I mean, what would she see in me? As far as I could tell, she didn't even know I existed.
Or so I had thought.
One night I'd just finished closing up and was headed to my car when I almost literally bumped into Paige in the parking lot.
"Oh, geez, you scared the hell out of me," she'd said, and then cushioned the complaint with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Drew, I didn't see you. Hey, are you the last one inside?"
"Uh, yeah," I'd responded like a fool, thinking, shit, she knows my name?
"Dammit!" She'd glanced around, looking troubled. With a hand on her forehead, she winced and sent me a sideways glance. I swear she even blushed. "Sorry. I don't usually cuss."
"Is there a problem?"
"Yeah, my car won't start. I know Frank used to be a mechanic, so I was hoping he was still here and could take a look at it." She glanced at me hopefully. "Hey, you don't know anything about cars, do you?"
I knew only enough to be dangerous, but I lied and told her I knew more. It was an excuse to give me time alone with her, to play the hero, and try to work up enough courage to ask her out. She chatted happily the whole time I was tinkering with her car, telling me all about herself. She was only a year younger than me and she was studying journalism, hoping to work in television news.
"You're sure pretty enough," I said then, speaking my thoughts aloud. It was my turn to blush.
"You really think so?"
"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."
She blushed again. I always found her blushes endearing. She said nothing, just watched as I moved some cables and wires around under the hood. When she tried the engine, nothing happened as expected.
"Sorry," I told her. "Guess I don't know as much as I thought."
She chewed her bottom lip.
"Can I give you a ride, or would you prefer me to let you back inside to use the phone?" I'd asked then, thinking she was probably scared of being alone with me.
Her face lit up. "Um, yeah, a ride would be great."
And that was the beginning of my whirlwind romance with Paige Conerly. Paige had told me later that she'd been trying to get my attention for weeks and figured God must have finally intervened on her behalf that night and killed her car just to give her a chance with me. Apparently it's true that women are always attracted to the mysterious, silent types, and since I'd never said more than a few words to her in passing, she'd taken an interest. Thankfully I did something to hold it because she agreed to marry me almost two years later. She was radiant on our wedding day, a blushing almost-virgin since I'd had the privilege of deflowering her eight months after our first date.
We'd been married almost eighteen years when that first gut-wrenching shock I mentioned happened to me.
At some point early in our marriage, Paige had decided she was more interested in having a family than working, so she'd abandoned her career as a reporter for the local newspaper. She'd hated it anyway. When she never fell pregnant, she went back to work, but she never liked anything else either and was always changing jobs. She eventually she landed a part-time job at our affiliate TV news station as a producer. Finally, she'd found a job she loved, and we gave up consciously trying to have a family, figuring it would happen when it was meant to happen. We'd both been tested and both were told we were fertile. I guess God had a plan for us even then.
Looking back, I suppose my relationship with Paige fell into the same rut many marriages do. I was working so much that we didn't spend as much time together. She would sometimes get mad at me because she said I didn't open up enough to her. Certain times I would get tired of her criticizing and snap back at her. But I adored my wife, and I never doubted her love for me.
Well, not until about two years ago, that is.
I'd been putting in a lot of hours, trying to hold onto my job when I began to notice subtle changes in our relationship. One morning I found a pack of birth control pills hidden beneath some items in the bathroom. When had she gone back on birth control, and why had they been hidden?
When I asked her about it, she waved it off as nothing, saying, "I figured I might as well. You know I love my job and am not ready to give it up just yet."
Well, I figured our chances of having a kid at this point were pretty moot even without the birth control, but I tried to be understanding. I guess I was too preoccupied with the danger of losing my job to really think about it that morning. It triggered something in my subconscious though, because then I started noticing other things. When had she stopped dressing like the Paige I had married and more like the Paige I had dated? Then there were some days she came home late, supposedly from work. Not to mention, when was the last time we'd made love? A few weeks at least.
Holy hell. Was my wife cheating on me?
I watched Paige closely the next few days, watching for obvious slip-ups. I realized we hadn't been talking much lately. When had that happened? Sure, I wasn't much of a talker, but I usually enjoyed hearing about her day, enjoyed hearing her laugh whenever I had something funny to share.
She caught me looking at her one morning and she blushed self-consciously, so I walked over and put my arms around her from behind.
"How about we make time for each other tonight? It's been too long since we've had a nice night away from the house together. What do you say?" I asked her.
She looked surprised, but then she smiled brightly. "That sounds wonderful."
I decided I'd take her to her favorite restaurant that night. It was a bit pricey and upscale, but I knew we needed it. Whether she was cheating or not, we both needed some time together.
When I picked Paige up, she looked stunning. I knew she'd been insecure since turning forty, but she looked better than a lot of women half her age, I thought. I made sure I told her multiple times how beautiful she looked. Each time, I swear she blushed.
Was she cheating? Did I really want to know?
As I held my wife in my arms on the dance floor that evening, I couldn't imagine her ever being unfaithful. Her heart had always seemed so ...pure.
"I'm sorry I haven't given you much attention lately," I told her and meant it. "Work has been stressful. That's no excuse though."
She looked concerned and asked me why it was so stressful. When I told her about the impending layoffs, her face turned pale, as if something I had said had shocked her.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking at my chin. "I should have known that. You aren't the only one who hasn't been giving enough attention."
"I could have told you." I shrugged. She just shook her head, looking sad as she buried her face against my shoulder.
I think we both felt guilty and ashamed of ourselves that evening. When we made it home, she all but attacked me inside the doorway, ripping at my shirt and tie as she kissed me like she hadn't kissed me in years. I grabbed her hips and smashed my lips against hers hard. How we made it to the bedroom, I have no idea.
As I peeled off her dress, I made sure to whisper how much I adored her against her ear. I felt her shudder when my fingers found her breasts and squeezed. A few minutes of playing with her nipples were usually all it took to send her out of her mind with lust.
