Twice Shy

750 words, a sequel to Once Bitten, this time from the wife's perspective. No dialogue, this is an introspective piece. It's short and deliberately so. Is this follow up needed? No. But I had always considered writing it, to finish the saying in 2 parts. 'Once Bitten, Twice Shy'.

[ --- ]

He'd left me.

My wonderful husband, my friend, my lover, the man with whom I harboured desires of life ever after. He'd left me, and I had no more chances.

I could blame nobody else. I was alone. Oh, I still had custody of our nine year old son, Jarrod, but he looked more like Mark every day, and it broke my heart to look upon him.

I couldn't believe my stupidity. I'd been so caught in my own self-deceptions that I didn't see the train of destruction hurtling towards me in a tunnel of my own delusion and naivety.

Seven years earlier, I'd had a short but torrid affair. Patrick was everything Mark wasn't. He was sleek, effeminate, short and slim, with a soft voice and smooth words. He hadn't really pursued me, but been open to me. Without knowing how, I fell.

Truthfully, the sex with Patrick was good, but sex with Mark was better. In reality, it was the illicitness that made it so captivating, so addictive and made the sex burn hot like an uncontrollable fire.

I was caught.

The fallout was swift and terrible. It shook me, and only interminable pleading, including by both our families, broke through to Mark's beautiful soul, now cowering behind the pain. Still, I knew everyone held me contemptible. His mother rebuked me publicly, that if not for Jarrod, they'd have helped Mark torch everything I held dear.

Our reconciliation was hard fought and harder earned. The postnuptial agreement, a Binding Financial Agreement in Australia, was my own father's idea. It became mandatory for Mark to even contemplate taking me back. Mark could trigger it at any time and walk away, but good man that he was, he gave me his word that would only happen if I breached a personal contract between us.

I stumbled on point four two years later.

I met Patrick again by chance at The Bean Counter. Seeing him set my pulse racing, but now it was due to nerves for what could happen to my still fragile marriage. He claimed he was only interested in friendship. He'd found his great love, Sophie, and was sickened by his part in the near-destruction of my marriage. He wanted to talk, to grow as a person so that he wouldn't fall again, and break her heart.

Dangerously, we met weekly over coffee to chat. Yet, my mind railed and my heart ached at this fresh betrayal. Perhaps that's why I subconsciously started to seek confrontation with Mark. I knew my actions were wrong, I knew the ramifications would be dire. However, I couldn't rationalise that bright light of friendship becoming an unrelenting force that meant me harm.

When he inevitably found out and confronted us, I knew it was over. Mark's rage was of puritanical vengeance, the blinding, scalding anger was palpable. Patrick was terrified, and rightfully so, Mark is a powerfully built man. I tried to justify my actions but even though nothing untoward had happened, the implication that it might was like The Sword of Damocles dangling above me. Worse, I had broken the promise to never see Pat again.

This time it was savage. Mark simply left, instructing his solicitor to enforce the BFA. It legally couldn't include custody arrangements, or I have no doubt that Mark would have taken Jarrod. So he sought primary, failing. That was a small and bitter win, for my son now had a part-time father, and the fault was mine.

As the divorce continued, my family nearly disavowed me, Mark's surely had. It took just over thirteen months to be final. I was nearly broke financially and was destitute spiritually.

Friends abandoned me. The love of my life refused to speak to me about anything bar Jarrod, and Patrick cowardly fled, fearing for his life from Mark's last words to him. I heard he coldly abandoned Sophie, his supposed 'true love', and moved to Adelaide to hide.

It's been over three years now and I can't look at men anymore. The consequences have made me unreceptive to them. I'm saddened for my future. If I hurt Mark so easily, I fear what I could do to someone I love less. Perhaps I still hold out hope that Mark will return, though I know he won't. That man hates me now, or is as close to hate as he can be.

Apprehensive to move on with my life, I fear this is now my penance. Frightened to love again.