Continuing the story of The Day the Wi-Fi Betrayed Me told by Travis
Notes from the Wyld are being moved to the end as I don't want to spoil what you are about to read.
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Post-Monica, Day 1.
The next morning, I sat at the kitchen table, staring into my coffee like it held the answers to life's biggest questions. Yesterday had been... a lot. Finding out my wife had been cheating on me? Bad. Finding out she had been cheating on me with Big Rick, the neighborhood gym rat and self-proclaimed "alpha"? So much worse. But the most surprising part? I wasn't falling apart. I wasn't sobbing into my cereal or contemplating a midlife crisis motorcycle purchase. I was just... here. Drinking coffee. Alive. Functional.
I took a slow sip, letting the memories of yesterday play out like a bad daytime soap opera. Monica had stood there, throwing out every excuse in the book, acting like I was some idiot husband from a bad sitcom who would just shake my head, chuckle, and say, "Oh, you!" But what she didn't expect? My kids. Traci, Francis, and Beth flanking me like I was the president and they were my personal Secret Service.
Because the truth was, Monica had always been my kryptonite.
I had spent years letting her get her way. Not because I was weak, but because arguing with her felt like debating a hurricane. Whether it was where we lived, how we spent money, or whether I really needed another gaming console (I did, by the way), Monica always had a way of pressuring, persuading, and pushing until I eventually just gave in. Somewhere along the way, I started picking my battles--and then stopped picking them altogether. And for years, I convinced myself that was normal. That was marriage. That was just Monica being Monica.
But yesterday? That was different.
Yesterday, my kids were there, giving me the strength I didn't even know I had left. And because of that, for the first time in a long time, I didn't let Monica win. I had stood my ground, kicked her out, and even managed to sip my coffee this morning without wondering how my life had turned into a disaster movie.
I set my mug down, exhaling slowly.
Maybe Monica had been my kryptonite.
But yesterday, I had finally stopped letting her weaken me.
And honestly? It felt damn good.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at my now half-empty coffee mug, feeling something I hadn't felt in a while--clarity. Monica was gone, the kids were on my side, and for the first time in years, I was in control. But if I was going to keep it that way, I needed to get ahead of the mess before Monica--or worse, Rick--tried anything. Time to make a list.
I pulled out my phone and opened the notes app, thumb tapping away like a man on a mission. Step one: Change the locks. No telling if Monica still had a spare key, and the last thing I needed was her waltzing back in, acting like this was all just a minor inconvenience. Step two: Split the bank accounts. That was going to be fun. I could already hear the conversation with the bank rep--"Yes, I need to remove my wife from the account. No, she does not have permission to drain it before she leaves."
Then, of course, there was step three: Change all the streaming service passwords. Because if Monica thought she was going to cheat on me and still have access to my HBO Max? She had another thing coming. I had paid for that subscription, and I would die on that hill. Same with Netflix, Hulu, and Disney+. If she wanted to watch The Mandalorian, she could get her own damn account.
And speaking of moochers, I added another item: Block Rick from the Wi-Fi. Because of course, Rick had been stealing my internet for years, always somehow showing up as an "unknown device" on my router. Not anymore. I was going to rename my network to "Monica Cheated with Big Rick" just to make a point, but Traci would probably tell me to be more subtle.
I stared at the list, feeling a little lighter. This was my house, my life, and I was finally taking it back. One password change at a time.
I sat across from my new lawyer, a sharp-looking guy in his late 40s with a no-nonsense attitude and a framed quote on his wall that read: "Divorce: The screwing you get for the screwing you got." That alone told me I was in the right place. He flipped open his legal pad and started with the standard questions.
"So, Travis, let's start simple," he said, clicking his pen. "What are the grounds for the divorce?"
I leaned back in my chair. "Monica decided to pursue a new hobby."
He raised an eyebrow.
I smirked. "That hobby was Big Rick."
He let out a short laugh, nodding as he jotted something down. "Infidelity. Got it."
For the next twenty minutes, I ran through everything--the affair, how I found out, how the kids reacted, and what I wanted moving forward. When he asked about the settlement, I gave him two options.
"Option A is straightforward," I said, steepling my fingers like some budget version of a Bond villain. "A 50/50 split. I keep custody of Beth, but I won't ask for child support. In exchange, Monica gets no spousal maintenance. She gets half the assets, we sign, and we both walk away."
He nodded. "Sounds fair. And Option B?"
I grinned. "She gets nothing. Not the house, not a dime--not even the crappy knick-knacks she bought from Target over the years."
The lawyer chuckled. "Ah. The 'scorched earth' approach."
"Exactly," I said. "If she wants to fight, I'll go for the jugular."
He leaned back in his chair, appraising me. "Sounds like you know what you want."
"Yeah, I do."
Before I left, he asked one final question. "What if Monica asks for counseling? Wants to 'work things out'?"
I didn't even hesitate. "Use Option B."
He nodded. "As advertised, we'll get started."
I shook his hand and left, stepping out into the cool afternoon air, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.
Divorce was expensive, sure. But considering the alternative? Staying married to Monica would have cost me my sanity.
I climbed into my car, smirking to myself. "Lawyers. The only people who make therapists look affordable."
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Post-Monica, Day 2.
After wrapping up my meeting with the lawyer, I headed straight to work, determined to focus on anything but my impending divorce. That plan lasted all of ten minutes before my co-workers started noticing. I wasn't grumpy, distracted, or snapping at people. No, it was worse. I was in a suspiciously good mood. And in the world of office politics, nothing gets people talking faster than a man suddenly looking like he just dropped fifty pounds of emotional baggage overnight.
By mid-morning, I had a steady rotation of people popping by my cubicle, each trying to snoop without being obvious.
"You're in a weirdly good mood today, Parker," my desk neighbor, Mike, noted, leaning against the partition.
I shrugged, keeping my eyes on my monitor. "Just enjoying life, Mike. Breathing in that fresh office air, soaking up the fluorescent lighting."
Mike narrowed his eyes. "You got a raise?"
"Not unless my paycheck has been lying to me."
Mike crossed his arms. "You win the lottery?"
"Not unless the prize was 'one free midlife crisis.'"
The man wasn't stupid. He lingered for a second, then his eyes widened. "Oh, damn. Did you and Monica...?"
I held up a hand. "If you're about to say, 'Did you and Monica swing with Big Rick?' I will throw my stapler at you."
His face twisted. "Dude, what?"
"Good. Glad we're not going there."
Eventually, he walked off, but word had already spread like office wildfire. A few more people dropped by, fishing for details, and I deflected with half-hearted jokes and sarcastic comments. But the truth was, I wasn't trying to avoid it. I was just waiting.
Because by lunch, I knew exactly who was going to show up at my desk.
And sure enough, at 12:03 PM, my boss, Karen Matthews, appeared with her signature mug of judgmental coffee. She leaned on my cubicle wall, raised an eyebrow, and said, "Alright, Parker. Spill it."
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. It was going to be a long lunch.
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly. If there was one thing I knew about Karen Matthews, it was that she had the tenacity of a bloodhound when it came to office gossip. I could try to dodge, deflect, play dumb--but she'd keep circling until I caved. And honestly? What was the point in hiding it? It wasn't exactly a state secret.
"Alright," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "Monica and I are getting divorced."
Karen's eyebrow arched. "Whoa. That's... a big one." She took a sip of her coffee, eyes scanning my face like she was reading between the lines. "Okay, I'll bite. Why?"
I huffed a short laugh. "Oh, you know. The usual. Found my wife sneaking off to the neighbor's house, caught her getting a little too friendly, checked the security camera footage--"
Karen nearly choked on her coffee. "Wait, what? Hold on--what exactly did you see?"
I tilted my head. "You want the legal version or the soap opera version?"
She smirked. "Hit me with the soap opera."
I sighed dramatically. "Picture this: It's a peaceful, ordinary day. Birds are chirping. My Wi-Fi is suspiciously slow. I check the router logs and find an unknown device mysteriously named 'Big Rick's iPhone.' That leads me to check the security cameras. And lo and behold, there's my wife, prancing over to our next-door neighbor's house, disappearing into his backyard for some afternoon delight."
