When I was a kid, my father cheated on my mother. I had just turned thirteen and I was dealing with the pesky emergence of hormones, as well as the insecurity that occasionally accompanies them. Having my father move out right around the same time dealt me a devastating blow. My father was taken from me, and my mother might as well have been, too.
I remember wondering why Dad didn't live with us anymore. No one would tell me. My grandparents whispered, abruptly closing their mouths and casting guilty glances my way whenever I walked into the room. And Mom... Mom cried all the time. She would forget to feed us dinner. Sometimes she forgot about us entirely. During the six months they were separated, I had been left at school for hours as secretaries and teachers desperately tried to get in contact with her to pick me up. It was a lonely time.
Abigail was so young then. I would go to her and hold her, finding comfort in the warmth of her hugs. She needed me and that felt good. Even though I was too young to fully understand the situation, I intuitively knew it was just the two of us. We had each other and that would have to be enough. I would sing to her and promise her that things would get better. A beautiful prince would come to save me and he would ask me to marry him. I would take her with me and we would never be alone again. He would swoop us off to a faraway castle where adults were happy and men stayed.
Eventually Dad moved home. I went from wondering where he was to wondering why dinner was always so silent. He never smiled anymore. Mom stopped crying; now she was just eerily silent. Some nights I would visit her in bed and lie with her.
"It feels like my heart is dead," she murmured to me one night. She wrapped her arms around me and held me close. "He doesn't love me anymore."
"He's back, Mom. He loves you."
She kissed my forehead. "That's because of you," she said. "He loves his children, I'll give him that."
"Why did he leave, Mom?"
She paused for a moment, deliberating if she should speak. She pushed my hair back from my face and gave me a weak smile. "I don't know. I don't know what went wrong."
It wasn't until I was an adult that my mother told me my father had an affair with a coworker. He had moved out voluntarily and probably wouldn't have returned had my mother not thrown herself at his feet. She told him she was clinically depressed and admitted she couldn't take care of us. It was his fault, she told him, and the remorse he must have had forced him to return.
My mother regretted her decision years later, but by that point Mom and Dad had lived together for so long that it didn't occur to them to separate. They were partners, but nothing more.
When I told her I was engaged, she wept. "Marriage is hard. So very hard. It nearly destroyed me."
"Mom, I think you're being dramatic."
She swept the hair away from my face, just like she always did, and stared at me. "Promise me that if Brendan ever cheats on you, you will walk away."
"Mom, he would never—"
"Promise me." She sighed and shook her head, staring beyond me at something that I couldn't see. "If I could do it all again, I would have walked away. I thought I pleaded with Dad to come back because of you and Abigail, but it was really because of me. I was lost without him and I was weak. Never be weak, Laura."
I remember thinking that Mom's heart was in the right place but she was talking about her own relationship, not mine. Brendan would never cheat on me and I would never cheat on him. Not me, I swore to myself. Love would be enough to keep us together. We communicated, which my parents never did, and were dedicated to one another. We loved each other; people who love each other don't cheat.
Everything was so black and white back then.
And I was so naive.
**********************************************
"Abigail," I whispered.
"Laura? Is that you? What's going on?"
I was ready to run. If he sent me this package, he knew where I lived. If he knew where I lived, he could be right outside my door. Something told me that if he stopped by, it wouldn't be a nice chat by the fire.
"Laura?"
"Can you come over?" I peered out of my window. The night was completely black. 
 "Are you okay?"
"Please just come over."
She was silent for a moment.Then she exhaled deeply. "Be there in ten."
I waited near the front door, 911 already dialed on my phone. There was a brief moment when I wondered if I was exaggerating, but a larger part of me burned with trepidation.
Abigail showed up, using her key to get in the house. Her eyes scanned the dark living room before focusing on me. "What the hell is going on? Are you okay?"
"Abigail." I began to cry.
My sister crossed the room and hugged me. We sank on the couch together. "You're scaring me."
"Please don't judge me."
"What?" She pulled back and looked at me. "I would never judge you."
I wiped angrily at my tears. "You will. Just promise me you'll try to understand."
Then I told her everything. I told her it happened so fast that it didn't seem real. I told her that I didn't have a good reason for why I did it, which made it even worse. I told her about the stranger and about how exciting he seemed at first until he all too quickly became a nightmare.
Finally, I told her about the archaic tape recorder and the gritty recording he sent me.
I told her that I was scared—scared for my life, for Brendan's life, for our marriage.
When I finished, Abigail closed her eyes for a minute. Then her eyes popped open and there was flat disappointment in them. "How could you?"
I looked away and blinked back more tears. "I don't have an answer."
"After everything we went through? After everything Mom went through?"
"I told you that I don't have an answer." I was developing a killer headache. "There is no good reason. I can't even make an excuse. I'm so embarrassed."
Abigail gave me a weak pat on the shoulder. "What are you going to do?"
"Should I call the police?"
She shook her head. "I don't think there is anything they can do for you right now. You don't even know his name and I'm not sure you can prove he sent it to you, anyway."
I stared at my hands. "Should I tell Brendan?"
Abigail blew out a breath. "Are things better between you guys right now?"
"Much better." I started crying again. "This will kill him."
"Don't tell him. Not yet." She toyed with the ends of her hair as she thought. "Hopefully it was just a prank."
"What do I do with this?" I asked. I shook the tape recorder in my hands. "Throw it out?"
"That's a good question." She took it from me and analyzed it with a sick expression. "I say get rid of it as soon as possible."
Abigail stayed for a little while after. She loved me no matter what, and that was the only comfort I had.
"Make sure you lock up after I leave," she said as she was leaving. "Call me if any other weird shit happens. Okay?"
I hugged her in response and then stood to throw out the tape recorder. I walked out with her as she left and threw it in the bin in the garage. It was over, I thought.
After she was gone, I didn't know what to do with myself. Brendan was running late and I wasn't in the mood to watch television. I decided to make dinner for us. I wasn't sure I could eat, but it would give me something to do. My hand was frozen around my cell phone, ready to call the police in a heartbeat.
Brendan came home shortly after. He called my name as he entered. I felt safe for the first time since opening that horrid package. He found me in the kitchen, smiling as he saw me and the multiple eggshells on the counter.
"I was trying to make omelettes," I said. I bit my lip and felt my cheeks reddening. "I may have burnt the first few attempts."
"Why don't I make them and you go relax?"
"But you just got home from work. I'm sure you're tired."
He leaned over and kissed me deeply. Normally I lost myself in his kisses, but this kiss made me feel the guilt acutely. It simmered in my chest, causing my heart to ache. Brendan's thoughtfulness made it worse. All I could think about was the man I had slept with, along with the implied threat he had sent along with the tape of us having sex. I was no better than my father.
If I told Brendan, I wondered if I would destroy him like my dad had destroyed my mother. Even now, she smiled cautiously as if the brief amount of humor or happiness she felt could be snatched away. I couldn't do that to him.
I kissed him back, pressing against him in fear that he would be ripped away from me.
He leaned back eventually. His eyes gleamed with lust. "Would you mind terribly if we fucked before I made us omelettes?"
There was a second where I wanted to confess. I wasn't sure how long I had. A part of me knew that the stranger wasn't done with me and eventually there would be hell to pay. Brendan still looked at me like he loved me, however, and I needed to hold onto that. There was a boyishness about his desire that I loved, an honest, direct and affectionate yearning.
I took his hand to my mouth and licked his fingertips. "Not at all."
He took me to the bedroom and undressed me slowly. The shame I felt still clung to me, even as he teased my nipples and slipped a greedy finger deep inside my pussy. I watched him take off our clothes and was aware of a disconnect between us. He didn't feel it, of course. He had no reason to think anything was wrong. He grunted as he penetrated me, not noticing my faraway eyes and distraction. He took what he needed, kissing me as he reached orgasm. He rolled over and fell asleep just as the tears slipped from my eyes.
***************************
The mall was filled with hundreds of annoyed shoppers. More than a dozen people had body-slammed me and a woman yelled at me for standing in her way. I was impatient to get home and far away from the holiday crowd.
"Laura, you're not listening."
I focused on my sister and offered a sheepish smile. "Sorry."
Abigail pulled a dress off the rack and rolled her eyes. "I need a perfect dress for the dress rehearsal. I thought you'd be interested in helping. You obviously don't want to be here."
"Hey, of course I want to be here. Isn't it my job to talk you out of a skanky dress?"
"Not funny." She yanked a particularly low-cut dress off the hanger. "Does this fall under the skanky category?"
"Definitely. The first dress is still the best. I'm not even sure why you're getting a dress this early. You're not even getting married for another two months." I caught her rolling her eyes again. "Come on, Abigail. Be nice to me."
I had only just told her about the nightmares I had been having. It was the beginning of December—a month and a half after meeting the man in Atlantic City. I hadn't received anything since the tape of us having sex, but something inside of me told me I hadn't heard the last of him. To make matters worse, things were going exceptionally well between Brendan and me. He made an effort to come home as early as possible and spent free moments romancing me. In spite of the sweetness, I experienced the worst kind of remorse. It seemed to coat my skin and cloak my soul.
The guilt I felt was a fire and his kind words and actions stoked it. And I deserved it.
