Truth Shattered Everything

Notes from Wyld: (I know, I know)

I never planned to release this version of the story--honestly, I was perfectly happy letting it collect digital dust in the archives. But after enough people asked (and some borderline threatened), I figured, fine, let's unleash the chaos. This version is a little different from the one I originally published. The themes are all there--betrayal, resilience, revenge, and one man's slow descent into therapy-induced madness--but it doesn't quite have the same sharp bite. Think of it as the "director's cut" that nobody asked for but is getting anyway.

That said, there's something entertaining about sharing it. This version gives a deeper look into Travis's emotional spiral, the moments that didn't make the final cut, and, of course, more ridiculous antics from his kids. It might not be as polished, but it has its own messy charm--like a guilty pleasure reality show, except with more flamingos and questionable life choices. So, for better or worse, here it is--the version I once swore would never see daylight. If it ruins your perception of the original, well... don't say I didn't warn you.

On to the show:

-------------------------

So, here I am--Travis Parker, 43 years old, IT department manager, proud owner of a green 2016 Subaru Outback (because nothing screams "family man" like a practical station wagon), and lifelong resident of Charlotte, North Carolina. I specialize in government software security, which is exactly as exciting as it sounds. Let's just say, if there were ever an Oscar for "Most Mind-Numbing PowerPoint Presentation," I'd have a shelf full of them.

I've been married to Monica for over 20 years. We met in college, fell in love, and built a life together. Three kids later, my world revolves around Traci (21, the ambitious Wall Street-bound overachiever), Francis (18, laid-back, humorous, and destined to be my retirement home DJ), and Beth (16, the hopeless romantic who still believes I can fix anything). I like to think of myself as the rock of the family, though I suspect my kids see me as the guy who tells the same stories at dinner and has an alarmingly specific knowledge of '90s sci-fi movies.

Speaking of movies, I love them--along with video games, because at heart, I'm still that nerdy kid who spent way too much time in arcades. And while I might not advertise it, I have a talent I don't talk about much. Let's just say if life had a soundtrack, I'd be able to move to it. But I digress.

Life is... stable. Maybe a little too stable. My marriage with Monica is in that "we've been together forever and now mostly communicate through sighs and eyebrow raises" phase. But I've always believed that love isn't about grand gestures--it's about showing up, being loyal, and keeping your promises. And I do. Always.

Charlotte's summers are humid enough to make you question your life choices, but I don't mind. I keep busy with work, family, and the occasional attempt to convince my kids that "dad jokes" are, in fact, an art form. Life isn't perfect, but it's good. Or so I think.

Because what I don't realize is that everything I've built, everything I've trusted, is about to be put to the ultimate test.

But hey--at least I can still move with grace. Even if no one's watching.

__________________

Summer 2022

Travis:

Life was good--predictable, stable. Sure, my marriage had settled into a comfortable routine, and work was as thrilling as watching paint dry, but I had my family, my kids, and my quiet little world. And then, my phone rang.

I almost didn't answer. I was in the middle of a report, the kind where you copy-paste numbers into a spreadsheet and try not to lose the will to live. But something made me pick up, a feeling, maybe. The voice on the other end was calm but firm. "Mr. Parker? This is Officer Delgado with the Charlotte PD. Your wife, Monica Parker, has been in an accident. She's been taken to Atrium Health Main."

The world didn't stop. It just tilted, like someone had yanked the ground out from under me.

"What? What do you mean an accident? Is she--?" My voice cracked, betraying the panic I was trying to shove down.

"She's stable. But she's sustained injuries and will need to remain in the hospital for observation. You should come down here as soon as possible."

I was already on my feet, shoving my laptop shut, barely registering the concerned look from my coworker. "I'll be there."

The drive was a blur. My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone, calling the only person I knew could hold things together while I lost my grip--Traci.

She picked up after one ring. "Dad?"

"Traci--listen. Your mom--she was in an accident. I don't have details, but she's at Atrium. I'm on my way. I need you to tell Beth and Francis and get them ready to go."

I heard her inhale sharply. Silence for half a second, then the steel in her voice. "I'm on it."

In the background, I heard her bark orders, her no-nonsense tone cutting through the house. "Beth, Francis--get up, now! Mom's in the hospital! We're leaving in five minutes!"

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus on the road, on getting to Monica, not on the hundred terrible scenarios running through my head.

By the time I screeched into the hospital parking lot, my heart was pounding. I barely remembered locking the car before sprinting inside.

"I'm looking for Monica Parker," I gasped to the nurse at the front desk.

She glanced at the monitor. "She's in Room 214, second floor. She's stable, but she needs to rest."

I took the stairs two at a time. When I reached her room, I hesitated, gripping the door handle like it might burn me. Then, I pushed it open.

Monica was there. Alive. Hooked up to an IV, her auburn hair tangled, a bruise darkening on her cheekbone. Her arm was wrapped in a cast, and a bandage covered her forehead.

Her eyes flickered open. "Travis," she rasped, weak but alert.

Relief punched the air from my lungs. "Jesus, Monica." I moved to her side, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "What happened?"

She exhaled slowly. "Car ran a red light. Hit me on the passenger side. I tried to turn, but--" She winced, her hand flexing against the sheets.

A doctor walked in before I could respond, clipboard in hand. "Mr. Parker, your wife has sustained a mild concussion, a fractured wrist, and some bruised ribs. She's lucky--it could have been much worse. She'll need to stay for observation for a few days, a week at most."

A week. Not forever. Not permanent.

I nodded, trying to breathe, but it still felt like my chest was too tight. "Thank you. Just... thank you."

The door burst open, and Traci stormed in, Beth and Francis trailing behind her. Beth had tear-streaked cheeks, Francis looking pale beneath his usual easygoing demeanor.

"Oh my God, Mom," Beth whispered, rushing to her side.

Monica smiled weakly. "I'm okay, sweetheart. Just a little banged up."

Traci folded her arms, eyes narrowing as she examined Monica like she could personally fight the universe for doing this. "Did they catch the driver?"

"The police are investigating," the doctor said.

Traci didn't look satisfied. "They better."

I rubbed my face, exhaustion finally settling in now that I wasn't running on pure adrenaline. "Alright, let's take a breath. Mom's gonna be okay. That's what matters."

Beth sniffled, squeezing Monica's good hand. "We should stay with her."

Monica shook her head. "You guys should go home. I'll be fine."

Traci scoffed. "Yeah, not happening."

I sighed. "Alright, let's at least grab some food. We'll take shifts."

Monica gave me a look, one I knew all too well. The silent 'I love you' that had always been there, even when words failed us.

And despite everything, I found myself reaching for her hand, holding it tight. Because no matter how much our marriage had settled into routine, no matter how distant we'd become--when it came down to it, she was still my Monica.

And I wasn't going anywhere.

Three days had passed since the accident, and I hadn't left Monica's side except to grab a quick shower and change clothes. I had taken time off from work, knowing that nothing on my desk could possibly be as important as being here for my wife and kids.

The hospital room was small but clean, shared with another patient whose side was separated by a thin curtain. Monica was propped up on the bed, looking better but still pale, her arm in a cast, bruises fading into that ugly yellow-green stage. Despite the injuries, she was in good spirits--smiling, even joking when the kids were around.

A nurse came in, checking Monica's vitals before offering a warm smile. "The doctor will be in within the hour to go over a few things."

I nodded, rubbing the back of my neck. The last few days had been an emotional rollercoaster, and I was just hoping the news would be good.

Traci stretched and stood up from the chair where she'd been scrolling through her phone. "I'm starving. I'm gonna hit the cafeteria. Beth, Francis--let's go."

Beth looked reluctant to leave, but Francis was already on his feet. "Yeah, I could eat."

Monica glanced at me. "You should go, too."

I hesitated. "I'm fine. I'll wait until the doctor--"

"Travis," she interrupted, smiling softly. "Go. Get some coffee or something. I'm not going anywhere."

I exhaled through my nose, knowing I had no real argument. "Alright, alright."

As we stepped into the elevator, I leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, thinking about what questions I wanted to ask the doctor. The moment the doors started closing, my eyes flicked up--and I saw him.

Monica's doctor.

He was walking toward her room, clipboard in hand. My gut told me this was my only chance to catch him before rounds swept him away for the rest of the day.

"Hold the door," I said quickly, slapping the 'Open' button.

Traci frowned. "Dad?"

"I'll be right down," I promised as I slipped back into the hallway, heading toward Monica's room.

The door was slightly ajar, so I stepped inside quietly. The curtain was still drawn around her bed, the other patient apparently asleep or gone. I was about to call out when I heard Monica's voice--low, hesitant.

"Doctor... is there any way we could run a pregnancy test?"

I froze.

The room spun slightly, but I stayed rooted in place, every nerve in my body suddenly on high alert.

The doctor's response came measured and professional. "It's likely too soon for any standard tests, but we can schedule a blood test to check for early signs if you'd like."

I felt my throat close up.

I hadn't slept with Monica the day of the accident.

In fact, I hadn't slept with Monica in weeks.

And more importantly, I had a vasectomy after Beth was born.

The silence in my head was deafening. Every rational thought drowned under the sound of my heartbeat slamming in my ears.

The doctor continued speaking, going over her post-discharge care, but I barely registered the words. My eyes stayed locked on the curtain in front of me, the thin fabric separating me from the woman I had spent over two decades with--the woman I thought I knew.

The doctor finished, and I heard his footsteps move toward the curtain. He pulled it open, revealing me standing there, stiff as a statue.

Monica's smile faltered the moment she saw me.

I didn't move.

I didn't blink.

I just stared straight ahead.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The color drained from her face, her fingers tightening around the blanket covering her lap.

She knew.

She knew I had heard everything.

And in that moment, the world I had built, the love I had trusted, the stability I had clung to--shattered.

I turned to Monica slowly, my body moving on autopilot, like a marionette controlled by something other than myself.

Inside, I was burning. A wildfire of rage, betrayal, and disbelief consuming everything in its path. But outwardly? Outwardly, I was calm. Deadly calm.

"Who?" My voice came out even, almost eerily so.

Monica's lips parted, but nothing came out. She stared at me, eyes wide, face pale.

I took a step closer. "Who, Monica?"

Her hands clenched into fists on her lap. She looked down, away, anywhere but at me.

I let out a humorless chuckle, shaking my head. "No, no. See, that's not gonna work. You don't get to sit there and play the wounded victim. You don't get to make me be the one to say it."

She swallowed hard. "Travis..."

I leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Say. His. Name."

A beat.

Then another.

Then--barely audible--"Rick."

And just like that, something inside me cracked wide open.

I let out a sharp bark of laughter, stepping back and running a hand over my face. "Oh, of course! Rick! Good ol' Rick Sullivan, the neighborhood gym bro, the walking protein shake. Well, that just ties this whole humiliating little package up with a bow, doesn't it?"

Monica flinched, but I wasn't done. Not even close.

"You know, I always wondered why he was so damn friendly. Always waving when I drove by, always offering workout advice I never asked for. And here I thought he just wanted me to join his gym. Turns out, he just wanted my wife."

She closed her eyes like she could block out the words, but I wasn't about to let her escape this.

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Tell me, Monica, was it the muscles? The grunting? The way he deadlifts his own ego in front of the whole damn neighborhood? Or was it just the sheer thrill of screwing your husband over while he was too busy working to notice?"

Tears welled in her eyes. "Travis, please--"

"Oh no. No, no, no." I wagged a finger. "You don't get to 'Travis, please' me. I just found out my wife of over twenty years has been sleeping with a man who wears tank tops in November. So, you'll have to excuse me if I don't give a damn about your feelings right now."

She wiped at her face with her good hand. "I didn't mean--"

"To get caught?" I cut in, my smile sharp and cruel. "Yeah, I figured."

She inhaled sharply, finally meeting my eyes. "It wasn't--"

"Don't," I warned, my voice low. "Don't sit there and try to tell me it wasn't what it looks like. Because I may be a lot of things, Monica, but stupid isn't one of them."

Her breath hitched. "I was lonely."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Lonely? Lonely? That's rich. I work my ass off to provide for this family, I put you and the kids first in everything, and you were lonely? Forgive me for not installing a damn confetti cannon every time you walked into the room."

Tears spilled over, but I felt nothing. No sympathy. No regret. Just a hollow, aching fury.

"Do the kids know?" I asked, voice like steel.

She shook her head quickly. "No! God, no. Travis, please don't--"

"Oh, don't worry," I cut her off, stepping back. "I wouldn't want to tarnish their perfect image of their mother. You've done such a great job keeping this secret, after all."

The door opened slightly, and the nurse poked her head in. "Mr. Parker? Is everything alright?"

I exhaled through my nose, forcing my rage down, back into its cage. "Peachy," I said with a tight smile. "Just discussing post-care instructions."

The nurse gave me a hesitant nod before retreating.

I turned back to Monica, shaking my head. "You know what the worst part is?"

She sniffled, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes.

"I thought we were just in a rough patch. I thought we'd figure it out, like we always did." I swallowed hard, voice turning hoarse. "But you weren't just slipping away, were you? You were already gone."

She opened her mouth, but I didn't wait to hear whatever weak excuse she had left.

I turned on my heel and walked out the door, leaving her sitting in the bed with nothing but the truth between us.

And for the first time in my life, I had no idea where to go from here.

As I stepped out of the hospital, the automatic doors whooshing shut behind me, sealing Monica inside while I stood alone in the thick summer heat. The air smelled like asphalt and exhaust, the usual city grime clinging to everything. But I barely noticed.

My hands clenched at my sides, my pulse hammering in my ears. The rage inside me hadn't burned out--it had only intensified. My breath came sharp, my vision narrowed, my body coiled so tight I thought I might explode right there on the goddamn sidewalk.

Rick.

Monica and Rick.

It played over and over in my head like a sick joke, a punchline I never saw coming. My wife of over two decades had been screwing the neighborhood meathead. And if she was asking for a pregnancy test, it hadn't been a one-time mistake. No, this was something else. This was an affair, deliberate, intentional.

I ran my hands through my hair, pacing along the curb, my shoes scuffing against the concrete. What the hell do I do now?

I had spent the last twenty years building a life with Monica, raising three incredible kids, being the husband who worked late, but always came home, the father who put his family first. And for what? For this?

For a woman who looked me in the eyes, kissed me goodnight, and still betrayed me behind my back?

The urge to punch something was overwhelming. I imagined Rick's stupid, smug face, the way he always carried himself like he was the king of the damn neighborhood. Had he been laughing at me this whole time? Had Monica?

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to keep myself from snapping. Because there were things I could do--storm into Rick's gym and break his nose, throw Monica's things out on the front lawn, scream at her until my voice was raw. But what would that fix? Nothing.

I needed to focus on what mattered.

My kids.

Beth. Francis. Traci.

They were my whole world. And they were about to have it shattered.

How the hell was I supposed to tell them?

Beth, who idolized her mother. Francis, who always made light of things but would be gutted underneath. Traci, who already carried the weight of the world on her shoulders--how would she even process this?

My life with Monica? It was over.

I couldn't see a way forward. Not after this. Not after Rick.

I had always been a man of commitment, of responsibility. I believed in family, in loyalty, in us. But that foundation was gone now, replaced with a bitter, gaping void.

Could I ever trust her again? No.

Could I stay married to her for the sake of the kids? Maybe. But would that be any kind of life? Could I really sleep next to her at night knowing what she'd done? Could I kiss her, hold her, pretend that we were still a team?

No.

That part of me had been obliterated the second I heard her say his name.

But what came next?

Divorce? The word felt foreign, ugly. But the reality was that I would never look at Monica the same way again. No amount of apologies or explanations could erase the truth of what she had done.

I thought about the house. Would I move out? Would she? Would we split time with the kids, shuffling them between two broken parents?

God, how the hell did it come to this?

A car horn blared from the parking lot, jolting me from my spiraling thoughts. I sucked in a breath, forcing my shoulders to drop, unclenching my fists.

I needed a plan.

But more than that, I needed to get the hell away from this hospital.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, my thumb hovering over Traci's number. She was the strongest of the three, the one who could take bad news and process it, but still--how do you tell your daughter that her mother just blew up your entire family?

I swallowed hard and slid the phone back into my pocket.

Not yet.

For now, I just needed to drive. To think. To put some distance between myself and the wreckage of the life I once thought was unbreakable.

Because no matter what happened next, one thing was certain.