The Worst Wee of My Life

If you're happily married and your wife has never cheated on you, you have absolutely no idea what it's like. The shock, the feeling of utter betrayal, the hurt, the anger, the destruction of all your trust and sense of security…. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

I'd been married to Lucy for nine years, the happiest years of my life. We met in college, when at the time each of us was dating someone else, but within a couple of months we were together, and we have been ever since.

We got married after we graduated, moved to Springfield, Illinois (where Lucy grew up) and we're there still. Lucy is a CPA and I work for the programming division of a large manufacturing company in town.

We didn't have kids yet, but we had a wonderful life. I loved Lucy's family, and they were always warm and welcoming to me. We didn't see my family so often, since they lived out west, but Lucy liked them and they adored her. We had a group of terrific friends in Springfield and socialized with them often.

When I say "terrific friends", I should probably say "with one exception". Lucy's closest friend Susan was married to Stan Marino, a real jerk. He was a big, blustery guy who talked too much, mostly about himself, and thought he was a lot funnier than he actually was.

He'd played linebacker in college, and liked to introduce himself by saying, "hi, I'm Stan Marino, the football player. Not DAN Marino, STAN Marino!" He'd laugh like crazy every time he said this (which I'd witnessed him do at least three dozen times).

He also liked his beer—not that I don't, but Stan would drink a few too many, and he could get really nasty and unpleasant when he was loaded. For the life of me I never understood why Susan stayed with him.

Lucy was much more sympathetic to Stan. She'd say to me, "he's really not so bad, honey. I know he talks too much, but he's got a real good heart, and you know how much he loves Susan and the kids."

But Lucy could never get me to warm up to the guy. She knew I just didn't want to be around Stan, so the four of us didn't get together much. But Lucy and Susan did things together, and they talked on the phone all the time.

One Sunday about two months before my life fell apart, Lucy got off the phone and came to find me, looking very upset. "Bob, Stan hit Susan!"

"What?" I cried, jumping up.

Lucy told me the whole story as she'd just heard it from Susan. Apparently Stan had had too much to drink the night before, after their two little kids were asleep. For some reason he got very jealous of Susan and started accusing her of cheating on him with some guy she knew from work (which Susan swore to Lucy she'd never done). She couldn't calm him down, and finally he'd lost control and knocked her around.

She locked herself in the bedroom and called the cops, who arrived and arrested Stan. Now Susan was furious and scared. She was going to file for divorce, as well as getting a protective order keeping Stan away from the house.

I had never liked Stan, but I was still shocked by the story. "Has he ever hit Susan before, or behaved crazy like this?"

Lucy said no, but Susan was so shook-up she was determined to divorce him. I asked where Stan was now, and she told me he was out on bail, but Susan didn't know where he'd gone.

I could tell that Lucy wanted to get involved in this mess somehow, and I said firmly, "honey, you've got to stay out of it. You can support Susan and be her friend, but don't get in the middle of a marital dispute. Whatever happens, they need to work it out themselves."

She said she agreed with me, and our conversation went on to other things.

*** *** ***

The worst week of my life began on a Monday. Each day of the week brought its measure of unhappiness and pain.

MONDAY

I was doing some lunch-time errands in downtown Springfield, and as I walked by the Chesterton Hotel I was surprised to see Lucy's car parked in the lot. I recognized the license plate, and in any case I could tell it was Lucy's because of the dent in the front passenger door that she'd put there while putting the car in our garage one night. We just hadn't gotten around to fixing it.

That night over dinner, Lucy told me that she needed to spend Saturday evening with her mother, and she hoped I wouldn't mind. "She wants me to help her go through all her pictures, especially the ones of Dad, and put them in photo albums."

"Of course, honey," I replied. "Shall I come along?"

"No, I think she wants just me. This is going to be kind of emotional, and I think it would be better if only I were there with her." Lucy's father had died just a few months earlier, so I could see what she meant, and I agreed.

I said, "maybe I'll just get together with some of the guys, watch a game on TV or go out for a beer or something."

Then I said, "by the way, Lucy, what were you doing over at the Chesterton Hotel today? I saw your car there at lunch time."

She looked at me in shock. I saw her hesitate for just a split-second, and then she said, "it wasn't me, honey—I was at the office all day. Somebody screwed up one of the corporate accounts, and we spent hours unraveling it."

What the fuck was this? I certainly knew my wife's car! She'd just lied right to my face, and I had no idea what to do about it. I just said, "oh, I was sure it was your car. But I guess there are a lot of blue Camrys around," and let it drop.

For the next couple of hours I was confused and unhappy. I had no idea why, but my wife was trying to deceive me about something—and I couldn't come up with any innocent reason why she'd done it. At bedtime, I decided to take the bull by the horns.

I was already in bed, and she was just coming out of the bathroom, wearing her usual flannel nightie. I said, "Lucy, are we OK?"

She looked at me in surprise and said, "of course we are, honey. What's bothering you?"

I persisted. "I mean, I love you so much—even more than when I married you. And our marriage makes me very happy. But I'm not quite sure that you're feeling the same way. Please, Lucy, tell me the truth: is everything OK between us?"

She started to laugh, then looked more closely at my face and saw to her surprise that I was serious.

"Of course it is, Bob! Every day I feel lucky to be married to you! Are you feeling insecure for some reason? What is this all about?"

Looking right at her, I said, "you lied to me at dinner. We both know that was your car at the Chesterton Hotel today."

There was a long silence. I watched Lucy as her face reddened. She looked away, not meeting my eye. Finally she said, "yes, honey—I'm sorry."

I waited, not speaking. There was another silence, and Lucy could see that she would have to explain.

"I … didn't want you to find out, Bob. This was going to be a surprise. I went over there to reserve a suite for us for your birthday next month. I was going to suggest we have dinner at Bentley's next door, then take you for an after-dinner drink at the hotel, and then surprise you with the hotel suite.

"I guess it's just my bad luck you saw the car today!" She smiled ruefully at me. "It would have been a nice surprise."

The relief and happiness flooded through my body. I took Lucy in my arms and kissed her again and again.

"What a sweet idea, Luce! I'm so sorry I dragged the surprise out of you. But we can still have that evening. I'll even pretend to be shocked if you like!"

She laughed and said, "it's a deal! You're too smart a man to play dumb very well, but I'll enjoy watching you try!"

In no time she was in the loving arms of her happy husband, and we concluded our reconciliation with some tender love-making. I fell asleep feeling wonderful—having no clue about the anvil that was waiting to fall on my head the next day.

TUESDAY

I went off to work with a smile on my face. Last night's sex, and even more the relief of having my wife's lie explained, left me feeling terrific.

And that feeling didn't change until I got home. My wife's car was already in the garage, and as I pulled in I decided I'd sneak inside and surprise her with a loving hug and kiss. So instead of bellowing "honey, I'm home!", I came in quietly through the garage door.

I could hear Lucy in the kitchen—she must have been on the phone.

"No, he thinks I'll be at my mother's house … un-huh, that just seemed like the best way to handle it …. No, I'm not too worried about it. He even saw my car at the Chesterton yesterday, but I managed to explain it away …. Yeah …. Yeah, listen, I should go. Bob could come in any moment …. Yeah, Saturday is going to be great! I'm really looking forward to it …. OK, me too." And she hung up.

I slumped against the wall, utterly aghast. Vaguely the sounds of Lucy puttering around the kitchen, humming, reached my ears. All the happiness I'd been feeling drained away in an instant, leaving me numb. I had never been so stunned in my life.

What the fuck was going on? I couldn't tell absolutely, but it sure seemed like my loving wife was seeing someone else! At the very least her story about spending Saturday evening with her mom appeared to be a well-planned lie.

My mind going 90 miles an hour, I continued to stand in the back hallway out of Lucy's sight, trying desperately to pull myself together. Should I walk in and confront her?

No—she'd lied to me smoothly the night before, so it seemed, and I felt sure she would do so again. I would need to find out a lot more about what the hell was going on, so that when I did confront her she wouldn't be able to lie her way out of it.

The bitch! I felt tears starting in my eyes, and I furiously wiped them away with my hand. After a couple of minutes I was able to regain my composure. If Lucy could lie so callously to me, then I ought to be able to dissemble as well.

I came into the kitchen, deliberately making a lot of noise, and said, "hi wife!" in a cheerful voice. Pulling her into my arms I gave her a big hug—though if she could have seen my face at that moment, she might have run for the nearest exit!

She hugged me back, then turned back to dinner on the stove, casually asking me about our day. As we talked—me working hard to seem relaxed and friendly—I said, "I thought I heard you on the phone when I got out of the car. Did someone call?"

She had her back to me, so I couldn't see her face. After a tiny hesitation—one I never would have noticed, if I hadn't been paying such careful attention—she said, "oh, that was my mom. I was just talking to her about Saturday, letting her know I had all the albums we would need."

I was caught between rage and a kind of grudging admiration. Lucy was such a smooth liar—I was impressed! It scared me, though. How many other lies had I innocently swallowed during our marriage? Had she been deceiving me for years?

I told Lucy I was going to change before dinner, and headed upstairs to the bedroom. With the door closed I picked up the phone and dialed *69, jotting down the phone number of the previous call. I dialed it, and when I heard a voice on the other end say "Pinecrest Motel, good afternoon," I hung up.

Worse and worse! My wife was having a secret conversation with someone at a motel? Hard to see how that could mean anything besides adultery.

By sheer teeth-gritting determination I managed to get through dinner without letting Lucy see how furious I was. She had lots to tell me about things at work, and I let her go on, occasionally prompting her with questions, so I didn't have to say too much.

After dinner I went off to pay the bills while Lucy cleaned up. In the study I began with our latest cell-phone bill, which had just arrived. I scanned the bill for the number of the Pinecrest Motel—and sure enough there it was, a total of seven calls in the past three weeks. I pulled out the previous month's bill and there were two more calls to the same number.

After thinking a minute, I remembered Lucy's story of the night before about the "birthday reservation" at the Chesterton Hotel. Was that also just a lie?

I called the Chesterton Hotel and asked for the reservations desk. When a young lady picked up, I said I was calling to confirm a reservation for Bob and Lucy Fortner. She checked a minute, then said, "yes sir! I have your reservation for a double room for this Saturday night. The reservation was made yesterday by Mrs. Fortner."

I asked if there were any other reservations for Fortner, say for the following month. She checked again and told me no.

I thanked her and hung up. Then I sat back in the chair, my anger deepening. I didn't yet know all of what was going on, but it seemed pretty damn clear! And I was going to find out all the rest of it.

That evening I did all I could to avoid Lucy, telling her the bills needed some time for me to untangle them. I waited until she was asleep to go up to bed, and I lay awake for a long time.

Had I proved beyond a reasonable doubt that she was cheating on me? No, not yet—but the evidence pointed overwhelmingly in that direction. The only thing in the world that could possibly be worse than learning I was a cuckold, was feeling 99% sure that I was a cuckold but not knowing for certain. I was going to do whatever it took to get to the bottom of this.

As for what would come afterwards, I found I just couldn't face thinking about it.

WEDNESDAY

The next day I invented an errand so that I could leave work early. My plan was to get home by 3 pm, and have a couple of hours to search the house thoroughly. I didn't know what I might find, but I somehow felt sure that there would be something to confirm what my wife was up to.

My discovery came surprisingly quickly. I began with my wife's jewelry box, then moved on to her dresser drawers. At the bottom of one of them, carefully concealed beneath a lot of sweaters, was a cardboard box that might have held a blouse. I pulled it out and carefully opened it.

What I found, carefully wrapped up in tissue paper, was an absolute gorgeous, and phenomenally sexy, teddy. Maroon and black, with lots of lace that would reveal more than it hid, it was just beautiful.

Under any other circumstances I would have been excited, imagining that Lucy had bought it to wear as a surprise for me—one that would have had me hard as a rock. But now I was more than halfway convinced it was meant for some other lucky gentleman to see on my wife, perhaps on Saturday.

Cursing to myself, I carefully re-wrapped the teddy and placed it back in the drawer just as it had been. I resumed my search, but didn't find anything else incriminating that day.

Dinner that night was pretty dismal. I didn't attack Lucy, but I didn't bother trying to hide my glumness either. After a couple of attempts to cheer me up or find out what was bothering me, Lucy pretty much gave up and left me alone. She went up to bed early with a book, and I again waited until she was asleep before going upstairs.

Falling asleep was no easier than it had been the previous night. What was happening to me? How could my marriage be in such terrible shape that Lucy was cheating on me, when I hadn't even noticed that we were having problems?

All I could do was resolve to keep digging until I had caught her red-handed. Then at least I'd have the leverage I needed.

That was my plan, such as it was. But it left me feeling pretty cold and empty.

THURSDAY

During my lunch hour I drove over to the Pinecrest Motel, a somewhat rundown place on the western edge of town. I had a brief conversation with an elaborately bored desk clerk, a lean fellow of about 50 who needed a shave.

I passed him a picture of my wife, and asked if this woman had visited the motel in the past couple of weeks. As he took the photo from me his fingers also grasped the $20 bill I was holding behind it, and a hint of a smile crossed his face.

Studying it, he said he thought she'd been in the office about two weeks earlier, asking for one of the guests.

I asked for the name of that guest, casually showing him another $20 between my fingers. He smiled again, taking the bill, and said, "let me check the register".

After looking through the names of the recently-registered guests, he pointed to a name and said, "it was this guy. Stanley Marino. He's been here a couple of months now."

I was stunned—I felt like I'd been hit over the head with a beer bottle. Leaning heavily on the counter, I said slowly, "you're sure it was him?"

The man nodded. "She came in one day asking which room was Mr. Marino's, and I sent her down to 129. Haven't seen her since then, but she may have paid him some other visits—I can't see the door to 129 from here."

On the drive back to the office I started to feel dizzy, and had to pull quickly into a restaurant parking lot. Stan Marino! That loud, drunken, wife-beating son-of-a-bitch! Lucy had always had a soft spot for him.

But it just floored me! First, he was the husband of Lucy's best friend, even if Susan had thrown him out. And second, she'd thrown him out because he'd beaten her! How on earth could Lucy be cheating on me with that low-life?

I sat in that damn parking lot for a long time, thinking. If Lucy would tell me the truth, would confess to me everything that was going on, then maybe our marriage might have a chance. I was furious—angry beyond anything I'd ever felt in my life—but I also loved her. Perhaps, somehow, this was not quite as bad as it looked.

That night, after a very quiet dinner, I asked Lucy to come sit in the living room with me. Looking right into her eyes, I began to speak.

"Lucy, you know that I love you. But you also know that something is going on, something that you're keeping from me.

"If you care about me enough to want our marriage to continue, you need to tell me about your cheating—now. Maybe there's some …"

I never got to finish my sentence. Lucy leaped to her feet, her face growing red with anger.

"How dare you accuse me of cheating? You bastard! I have been faithful to you since the day we met! This is the second time this week you've asked me to justify my behavior to you.

"Well, if you don't trust your own wife that's just too damn bad! I have nothing to apologize for and nothing to tell you!"

"Lucy," I replied hotly, "you've already been caught in one lie this week, and I know about a lot more of them…"

But by then she was stomping out of the room and up the stairs. I don't know if she had ever walked out on me in the middle of an argument before—I certainly couldn't remember her doing it.

And it was hard to see her behavior as anything other than guilt, or the desire to hide her guilt. Considering what I had learned that week, I thought that my side of the conversation had been pretty restrained.

For the first time, it struck me that my marriage really was probably over. In just four days I'd gone from being a contented and beloved husband to a humiliated cuckold.

Now I had to decide what I was going to do about it.

There was clearly no point in trying to talk to Lucy any further that night. I sat and thought, and finally realized that her planned tryst on Saturday night at the Chesterton would be the last straw. If she went off to that hotel to fuck Stan Marino—however many times they may have done it before—I was leaving.

Somehow making that grim decision made me feel a little better. I settled down in the guest room and got the first decent night's sleep I'd had in several days.

FRIDAY

I got up early, ate breakfast and left the house without seeing Lucy. There didn't seem much point—I couldn't imagine things being any more friendly than they'd been the night before.

Work was miserable. It wasn't involving enough to keep my mind off my marriage, and on the other hand my worries about my marriage prevented me from getting much accomplished.

I left work a little early and was sitting in the kitchen, staring distractedly out the window, when Lucy came home. She dumped her bag on the counter, gave me a cold "hello" and headed upstairs. In a minute I could hear the shower running.