CLICHE #4

IN THE BEST INTERESTS OF THE CHILDREN

Written by Vandemonium1

Edited by CreativityTakesCourage

Another story where most of the words and concepts are entirely well-used-to-the-point-of-being-tiresome, although I think it has a unique discovery method. Maybe the ending will break the mold; maybe it won’t.  

As one of my esteemed fellow authors says, this is a RAAC-free zone. There is no graphic sex.

One thing, please let me know if the ending is predictable.

My thanks to everyone that advised me on it, particularly Bill and Heffay. Heff is having a bad year and my thoughts go out to him.

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So much has happened in a few short months that it’s now hard to remember how my doubts started. Let me think back to what happened on that extraordinary, ordinary day.

I remember it was a Wednesday, a Wednesday that started like every other ordinary work day. I left for work at seven-thirty after kissing my wife Julie and giving my two teen sons, Pete and Mick, a squeeze on the shoulder because, apparently, they weren’t babies anymore and therefore were too old for a kiss – their words, not mine – goodbye.

Our routine was for Julie to get the lads off to school before going to work at nine. Her work was flexible enough that she could be home by four, when the boys were due back. Occasionally, she would have to work late and would ring me, and I would take off early. If not, I returned at five, my usual time. Sounds boring, doesn’t it? Maybe so, but, for me, we might only be two boring middle-income lovers, but we had two great kids and happy lives.

My Wednesday may have started like any other Wednesday but it sure as hell didn’t end like any other day. It ended with me having grave doubts about my wife’s honesty.

I came home at my regular time and greeted Julie with my usual kiss. I called a greeting to the boys who were upstairs doing their homework. Julie ran a tight ship, and they were expected to complete their homework before any computer or TV fun. I was expected to not disturb them until they finished.

“Honey, do you think you could take a look at my car? It hesitates when you push on the accelerator. Maybe one of the spark plugs isn’t working.”

Now, that was unusual. Not that she wanted me to look at her car, nothing strange there. One of the reasons we still owned two older cars was so I could service them myself. Julie might work in the head office of a chain of car dealerships as chief accountant and receive cost price mechanical services, but I still insisted on servicing them myself. The second reason for the old cars was money. Julie wanted a big house, but I hated having a huge debt hanging over our heads so by being thrifty in other areas we could pay the mortgage off quicker and also put some money aside for the kids’ further education.

No, what was unusual was Julie’s sudden mechanical knowledge.

I knew from long experience that Julie wasn’t the slightest bit mechanically minded. Shit, on two famous occasions she’d forgotten that a car even needed fuel in its tank. If she’d just said that the car hesitated, I would have thought nothing of it and, because I do know a thing or two about cars, the first thing I would have checked was the spark plugs.

Putting that thought aside, I walked into the garage and, using my spare key, unlocked her car and jumped in. As usual, I forgot to adjust the seat before hopping in. Julie being 5′ 3″ to my 6′ 1″, this normally resulted in me wearing my own testicles as earrings until I could lift the latch and push the seat all the way back. That day was different. The seat wasn’t positioned all the way back, but it wasn’t all the way forward as it usually was either. That set alarm bells ringing. It was a four-door car, with no reason to adjust the seat unless to get it in a more comfortable driving position.

Had I been a suspicious character, I would have concluded that the last person to drive the car was taller than 5′ 3″ but shorter than 6′ 1″. I might have let that pass if it wasn’t for Julie’s new-found mechanical knowledge,

I started the car and automatically began letting it warm up for a minute to be nice to the engine. Then, I thought, ‘Stupid, it was used to drive Julie home a mere hour earlier. It should still be warm.’ I glanced at the temperature gauge. The needle was wrapped around the C. The engine was cold. The car hadn’t been driven for several hours.

Putting that aside, I gunned the engine and felt the hesitation referred to. It was three minutes work to open the garage door for ventilation, grab my thick rubber gloves and remove the spark plug leads one by one. Sure enough, removing the lead from number three cylinder made no difference to the engine note. It took a further five minutes to remove the offending spark plug, clean the lead and replace with a new spark plug. The engine sounded good after that, and the unloaded hesitation was gone. Just to be certain, I took it for a test drive and declared the problem gone. My day job was mentally unstimulating, so small victories like this were very satisfying. I’d always been proud of my underutilised problem-solving skills.

That done, I mentally framed some uncomfortable questions for Julie. She couldn’t know they were uncomfortable, though. I loved her way too much to accuse her of anything outright until I was absolutely certain. I washed up before returning to Julie in the kitchen.

“All fixed, lover.”

“Great, thanks for that, sweetie.”

“How was your day? Did you manage to sneak away early?”

This wasn’t an unusual question. I knew Julie didn’t love her job and occasionally found some excuse to escape. It certainly didn’t warrant the sudden searching look she gave me.

“No. I left at the usual time.”

My heart sank into my belly at the lie, but I let it alone and forced both my face and tone to remain neutral.

“You were right; it was a dead spark plug. I’m a little surprised you picked it.”

This time, I didn’t get a searching look. This time she turned with unnatural haste back to facing the kitchen bench where she was peeling potatoes.

“I…I must have heard it somewhere.”

To a man made suddenly more observant, those two clues were enough to start the spiral into distrust. The car seat adjustment, sadly, gave me a sinking feeling about the reason for the two lies I knew I’d just heard my wife utter.

As an aside, I am not an Australian by birth. I’m an import. When I first arrived in my new home country, some of the cultural differences really stood out. One of the most amusing for me was the Australian male behaviour when sharing a car with a female. For some strange reason it was socially uncomfortable for a man to be seen being driven around by a woman. That meant that it didn’t matter whose car it was, the man usually drove. It was fading in the younger generation, but with older people it was still prevalent. So much so, that if you saw a forty-year-plus man being driven by a woman, he might as well be holding a huge neon sign saying, ‘I’ve lost my licence.’

So, if I was a suspicious man, I might think that a guy had driven Julie’s car, at least two hours prior and was mechanically minded. The problem was that I now really was a suspicious man. Luckily, the kids chose that moment to come screaming into the kitchen for their post school snacks. Not for the first time, it amazed me that teens could put away so much food at five and still handle a full meal at six-thirty. No need to admonish them with, ‘you’ll spoil your dinner’ for my thirteen and fourteen-year-olds. I focused on their excitement as a distraction from the feeling that I’d suddenly swallowed a baseball made of lead.

The rest of the evening passed in routine stuff, and we went to bed at our usual ten-thirtyish. I was suspicious enough that I worried what I would do if Julie tried to initiate sex. One of the advantages of the big house Julie wanted was that the kids’ rooms were far enough from ours that it didn’t put a crimp on our sex life.

I remember lying there, waiting for Julie to finish whatever she did for fifteen-minutes in the bathroom every night. I remember my internal dilemma. Should I feign sleep? No, bad move. Julie knew that I absolutely loved being roused from sleep with one of her fantastic blowjobs.

I recalled the thoughts that swirled and strained, as I tried to remember the last time Julie had done that. And I remember being jolted back to wide awake. It had been a while. A long, long while. Actually, our sex life had been sliding for some time. I realised that over a period of six or seven months we’d gradually gone from two or three times a week to maybe one. She’d gone from initiating sex approximately half the time to, gods, when was the last time she’d suggested it?

The realisation caused me to sit bolt upright. Things that had meant nothing the previous day now took on a new, evil significance. The reason our love life had dropped was that she’d stopped initiating it. Not only that, but she’d rejected my approaches with more regularity. After a while, the subtle slights of the rejections caused me to ask less often.

What else had changed that I hadn’t noticed? By the time Julie came to bed, I realised that our full on make-out sessions and even hand holding were rapidly becoming things of the past as well. Was there any other reason for such behavioural changes apart from the classic one? I couldn’t think of any. In the end, my worries were for nothing. Julie just came out of the bathroom, pecked me on the cheek, and said goodnight. 

I won’t say the two weeks following my realisation weren’t difficult. I pretended normality. It wasn’t easy. Not by a long shot. Just as an experiment, the following night I didn’t give Julie a kiss as soon as I walked into the house. I’d done that every night for sixteen years and the lack should have set her alarm bells screaming. She gave no indication that she even noticed. That hurt.

I didn’t try to initiate a make-out session, hold her hand, or propose sex. Not once. She obviously hadn’t read the ‘how to avoid being caught cheating‘ handbook as she was making just about every mistake imaginable.

This prompted me to look for other clues. Because we shared clear financial goals, I’d years ago started a spreadsheet to account for every dollar we spent. Every time a bank or credit card statement arrived, I allocated the amounts to different categories in the spreadsheet. The logic was, if you don’t know where you’re spending the money, you don’t know where to cut costs. I updated my spreadsheet and looked in detail at the last twelve-months. There were no unexplained costs, no sudden change in cash withdrawals and both our pays were input like clockwork. In short, there were no financial clues at all. Not surprising for an accountant, I suppose.

What I did do, however, was check Julie’s engine temperature and seat adjustment every night when I came home and tried to account for her movements. I took to ringing her work randomly to tell her I loved her. Sometimes the receptionist said she wasn’t at her desk, and I’d ring her cell. Thus, it was that I discovered something Julie hadn’t told me. I rang her desk phone, a fortnight after the day my suspicions started and was diverted to reception. The receptionist scolded me for forgetting it was Julie’s rostered day off. I found out later that as part of the blue-collar union negotiations, the company gave them a day off every two weeks. That perk was passed on to the white-collar staff as well. As of seven months prior, Julie had enjoyed a day off every two weeks, on a Wednesday and I knew nothing about it.

That was when my feeling of suspicion turned to one of dread.

Unsurprisingly, Julie’s engine was cold that Wednesday night and, once again, the car seat wasn’t adjusted for midget. I know I was extremely distracted during dinner and was very surprised Julie didn’t pick up on anything. Before dinner I’d checked out our bed sheets and those in the spare bedroom. I was confused to see that the sheets were the same as that morning. If the man driving her car adjusted the seat, then the journey must terminate at our house. Otherwise, Julie would adjust the seat to drive home. Any feelings of relief were quashed, however, when I noticed that the throw rug on the couch was missing. I found it on the washing line.

So, I knew the ‘when’. And also the ‘where’. I suspected the ‘what’ but couldn’t for the life of me figure out the ‘why’. And I didn’t know the ‘who’. Until two weeks prior I thought I was in a loving relationship with a woman totally devoid of the ability to deceive. My distraction at dinner was me thinking of what to do. I didn’t have nearly enough evidence to confront her.

My musings were interrupted by Julie.

“Karen rang before. She lost an earring down the bathroom plughole and wants to know if you can get it back.”

Karen was the divorcee next door. She and her husband had been regular members of our social circle until their divorce the previous year. She’d caught him cheating. There followed a very bitter divorce. Following bad advice, they’d both engaged lawyers to keep as many assets as possible. At the end of the process, of course, the lawyers owned most of the assets. The process had turned all the love they ever felt for each other into acrimony and hate.

Since then, Karen had withdrawn from our social circle; it really being suited to couples. As a good neighbour I went over there about once every two weeks, on request, to do boys stuff. You know, maintenance etc. During the process, I’d become firm friends with Karen, much more so than Julie was.

Glad of the distraction, I grabbed my tools and headed over after dinner. The U-bend under the bathroom sink was in a bitch of a spot and took some effort and swearing to remove. Karen sat on the edge of the bath, and we chatted. With the bend finally off, I retrieved the ear stud and used the opportunity to clear the pipe of years of built-up slime. Unusually, Karen ran out of things to say so I filled the void.

“Karen, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure, Dave.”

“What made you initially suspect that your husband was cheating on you?”

Karen answered openly and without hesitation that she’d noticed abrupt behavioural changes in her ex. She’d bought a GPS tracker, phone taps, a self-contained camera and recording system. Within a month, she’d caught him on camera, in their bedroom, while she was out of town. By the time she’d finished her obviously painful speech, I’d replaced the pipes and was cleaning up.

“What made you ask that, Dave?”

I just looked at her while deciding what to say. She saw my hesitation.

“Oh no, not Julie.”

With no one else to share my dread with, I opened up and told her the full story over a coffee she prepared. When I finished, she started to give possible explanations for Julie’s behaviour. None of them sounded very convincing however much I wanted to be convinced. Our conversation was interrupted by Julie knocking on the door. She was invited in but didn’t even try to explain why she’d come. If I had to guess, I would say she was suspicious of what I was up to, innocent though it was. I couldn’t help remembering that people up to sly things are often paranoid about others being sly. I took that as a good sign. Whatever she was up to, she was worried about losing me. I left to go home with her fifteen minutes later.

Karen rang me at work the next day. She assured me that she thought I was wrong about Julie and came up with an idea of how to prove it. She still had all the surveillance gear from her monitoring of her ex. She’d decided not to sell it on eBay but to use it to check on her next partner. That saddened me but I understood that’s the mindset that being cheated on gives you. It not only destroyed your trust in them but affected your ability to trust in anyone else.

Two days later I took three hours off work in the middle of the day to meet Karen. She showed me all the gear and how it worked. By the end of the session, I’d three cameras set up in my house. One facing the front door, one facing the couch and one in the master bedroom. By the next morning I had the tracker in Julie’s car, a recorder in the ceiling space and the software on my laptop.

In the twelve days until her next RDO, I merely observed and learned how to effectively monitor my wife. It amazed me what an open mind sees when the blinkers are off. Nearly a month after my eyes were opened, Julie was oblivious that we hadn’t done anything but cheek pecks to say goodnight and I’d practically stopped talking to her. We’d never gone a month without sex before. I longed to know what sort of obsession would make her ignore that.

I also noticed something else. Julie was much more withdrawn from the children as well. She paid them far less attention than normal and rarely joined us on our increased weekend activities. The increase was due to my just wanting to get away from her. Pretending everything was hunky dory was exhausting.

The final observation that my new attitude revealed occurred on the Wednesday of her next secret day off. I’d never noticed before, but she wasn’t dressed in her work clothes when she emerged for breakfast. My initial reaction was one of self-recrimination. How unobservant was I to not have noticed that? Then, with a flash of anger, I recognised it as the actions of a completely trusting man.

I was so sure now that today was the day, that after driving around the block, I pulled over and fired up my laptop. Through the cameras, I saw Julie getting the kids to the bus stop then cleaning up the kitchen. When I saw that her usual departure time had come and gone, I knew I was in for a major trauma that day. She then stunned me by sitting on the couch with a coffee and watching daytime television. It looked like a regular mother having a day off.

She remained in front of the television until I saw her get up to answer the phone at about eleven. The distance of the phone to where the camera was located meant I couldn’t quite make out what she said but I did see the smile on her face. It didn’t bother me that her conversation was muffled because I knew I could listen to the phone tap recording later. After hanging up, I watched her go upstairs and change into a smart dress. I felt a little like a voyeur watching her get changed.

I was so distracted that I nearly missed the man walking toward me on the footpath. I recognised him as one of her colleagues. He ran the service arm of their dealership company. I ducked down and gave him enough time to pass. By the time I rose, he was standing opposite my house. He looked around casually, before crossing the street and walking straight into my house via the clearly unlocked front door.

I struggled to change screens back to the one showing the inside view of the front door. I was just in time for the bottom to fall out of my world. He and Julie were standing in the middle of my lounge kissing passionately. It took every last molecule of my self-control to not run over and commit murder.

I watched them walk off camera but not back out the door or toward the bedroom. Because of the unfamiliar view of the lounge the camera showed, I was a little confused. Then the movement of my garage door gave me the answer. Again, I ducked down as my wife’s lover drove her car past me.

I hadn’t played around with the GPS tracking part of my surveillance that much. I had no idea how accurate it was. Therefore, I thought it critical to keep them in sight. That worked pretty well until they left the town boundary by a quiet road. I dropped right back to avoid being spotted. Five minutes later, they turned into a building that advertised itself as the Farmhouse Restaurant. I drove past the entrance and parked well up the road.

I googled the restaurant, seeing it was just that. It didn’t have accommodation. My spirits lifted slightly. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as I thought. The memory of that kiss belied that hope though. I started to feel a little conspicuous sitting on the side of this quiet road. I drove back a few minutes and parked in a less conspicuous spot and watched the GPS tracking software.

I already had enough information to be almost certain my marriage was over. Even if he drove her home, gave her a peck on the cheek and left, she’d already crossed our mutually agreed boundary for acceptable behaviour.

An hour and a half after they arrived at the restaurant, the software beeped to indicate movement. I watched the dot on the screen moving toward me. I closed the laptop and watched until Julie’s car passed my hiding spot. I followed, not being as worried about keeping them in sight as before. I now knew the tracker was accurate enough to find them whatever happened. Waiting at some lights on the edge of town, I turned the computer on and noticed her car was heading straight back home. I arrived at my previous parking spot, just along from the house, at one-thirty, within a minute of Julie and partner. I was very aware that they’d have the house to themselves for another two and a half hours.

I switched applications and once again pulled up the camera footage. I picked the lounge view first as it was the only place I had evidence of them being. There they were, again, passionately kissing, but this time on the couch. I forced myself to watch. If I interrupted now, they could claim that was as far as they’d ever been, and some people may be bemused why I went ballistic. They continued kissing for what seemed like ages. It had certainly been a long time since I’d ever been on the receiving end of anything like that. That pissed me off as much as anything. I suppose that’s what people mean when they say, if you give yourself to a lover, someone else is robbed. Rob, that was the guy’s name. I’d met him at a few of Julie’s work functions. He was a mechanic that rose through the ranks. That explained why he knew what was wrong with Julie’s car. If he’d only fixed it for her, I would still be a clueless schmuck.

They reached the point when my new personal boundary was crossed. I watched her sit upright, him quickly strip then lift her dress above her hips and remove her panties. I saw his head dive into her groin. I saw her hips lunge upwards and the look of rapture on her face. I saw her mouth open and knew by its shape, even without the sounds coming through my laptop speakers, she was moaning. Once upon a time it was a look I’d seen often on her face. I saw red.

Now may be a good time to tell you about how I react in a crisis. I’m one of those fortunate people that don’t panic, but get coldly, clinically logical. Hence, I may have been enraged right then but I was nowhere near out of control. Not bad as I was witnessing the end of my marriage and the complete destruction of my family. Without a doubt, the two things I held most dear in my life. I’ve also never been a big planner, preferring to trust my instincts to get me through a crisis with the right decisions.

I made no attempt to enter the house stealthily. In hindsight, my entrance was missed because she had her eyes closed and was moaning, he had a pair of legs clamped over his ears.

With no particular plan in mind, except to stop the offence I was witnessing, I simply strode to the couch and grabbed a handful of his hair. On debriefing myself later, I think the intense pain I caused him, made him throw himself backwards. He certainly did a 180-degree flip and landed hard on his ass with his erection pointing proudly at the ceiling. He then span on the spot, like a crab, so he ended up still on his ass but now with his feet facing me.

This is where the cold clinical aspect of my rage worked for me. It took me less than a second to decide against stomping on his face. I knew this was all being recorded, and I might need some of the footage later. In less than a second, I had a plan. I would use the camera. I glanced briefly at the look of horror just now suffusing Julie’s face. I took one step between Rob’s legs and held my hand out towards him.

“I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said loudly for the recording.

I felt the satisfying crunch of at least one testicle being totally flattened under a heavy work boot. I watched the colour drain from his face before the scream started. He clutched his groin and started thrashing around madly. I’m not a sadist, but those screams were music to my ears. Ignoring Julie, I went outside where it was quieter and called an ambulance. When I returned, Julie was trying to comfort a still screaming Rob. I waited patiently, rehearsing my statement.

The ambulance arrived within ten-minutes. One officer assessed the damage and applied Penthrane. The other looked at the situation as a whole. Let’s see, one woman with messed up clothes and makeup; one naked man with crushed scrotum; one man calmly sitting back. You didn’t have to be as smart as most ambulance officers usually are to come up with a pretty accurate conclusion for what happened. He went outside, I’m pretty sure to call the police.

That Penthrane must have been good shit because Rob was down to moaning when they loaded him up and took him away. Julie went to go with him, but I restrained her with a firm grip on her arm. When the ambulance turned the corner out of sight, Julie looked at me as if she was seeing me for the first time, groaned, then ran off to the master bedroom. I let her go this time. I put the kettle on, it’s always best to treat the police with courtesy and respect.

They arrived shortly afterward. I gave them a quick rundown. I’d come home unexpectedly after having vague suspicions my wife was cheating on me. I’d walked in on him performing cunnilingus on her and reacted instinctively by separating them. Filled with remorse for potentially hurting him, I’d offered a helping hand and accidentally stood on his balls. I could see they weren’t convinced. Coppers aren’t dumb either. They separated to take Julie’s and my separate, more formal, statements.

When the other guy came back downstairs, he compared notes with the guy that had spoken to me. Then they both came over.

“Mr. Brown, your statement roughly aligns with your wife’s, but I must say we don’t believe you. Mr. Brown, I’m arresting you for…”

“Wait!”

The force of my voice stopped them dead in their tracks.

“I have the whole incident on a recording if that helps.”

I was hoping not to have to reveal the footage, but I couldn’t afford to be in a legally compromising position for the battle to come. I pulled some books off a shelf to reveal the camera. They followed me out to the car while I retrieved my laptop, then waited while I played back the action. They watched the critical scene three times and clearly saw that my statement was plausible. They seized the laptop, warned me that this wasn’t over and left.

Knowing the recorder in the ceiling was the only reliable evidence I had, I unhooked it and put it in my car. I then returned to sit in the kitchen and looked at various options for my future. Yes, I said my future. ‘We’, didn’t have one.

I heard the bedroom door open and the floorboards creak as Julie crept out of hiding. I waited with my back to her. I think she stopped when she caught sight of me. After a long moment she spoke in a strange, hoarse voice.

“I’m sorry, Dave…”

“Don’t say anything more, Julie. Just do me the courtesy of answering one question. Do you want to stay married to me and commit to total loyalty to me again?”

“Yes, of course, Dave.”

“In that case. you haven’t had long enough to talk, and I haven’t had long enough to listen. I’m leaving to stay in a motel for as long as it takes for you to decide what to tell me. I desperately want you to say something that I can seize and believe so we can get through this. I will only give you one chance to explain it. I’ll come here every night after work to see the kids. I’ll stay for dinner and leave after they go to bed. When you’re ready, let me know and we’ll talk.”

I said all this without once looking her way. I stood and brushed past her to go and pack. I glanced at her as I was passing. Fuck, I’d seen two-day old corpses that looked better than she did. She was pale as a ghost, with her make-up a real mess. She had a haggard look and seemed to have shrunk even shorter. I realised that was because her shoulders were stooped as if a great weight was being supported by them.

I went and packed a few things, then, without a further word, left and checked into the closest motel. As promised, I returned at 5:00 p.m. the next day. There was initially no sign of anyone. Then I found the kids doing their homework and Julie on our bed, facing the wall. I talked to the kids until six, when it was obvious that Julie was going to do nothing about dinner. I took them out for some not too unhealthy take-out.  This was where my lack of planning first started to bite. They asked what was wrong with their mum. I didn’t know what to say. I said some vague things which they didn’t buy, then just stalled them. They knew that and were anxious. On the way home, I debated with myself how much to tell them. I respect honesty above all other characteristics so decided to tell them the truth. To be fair, I decided to wait until Julie could be present.

At home, I told the lads to wait while I went to the master bedroom. When I called her name, Julie began to roll over but then stopped and remained facing the wall.

“Julie, the boys have asked me what’s wrong with you and I intend telling them the truth. If you want to be involved in the discussion, come out and join us.”

I waited five minutes and when Julie hadn’t appeared, went back to the bedroom. She hadn’t moved so I returned to the kitchen. As diplomatically as I could I explained what was going on to Pete and Mick. I told the truth as I saw it and gave a probable glimpse of the future. Neither said anything but I could see they took it hard. I told them that I would still look after them as much as they needed but they may have to step up and take more responsibility around the house. They were both empathetic little buggers and each gave me a huge hug. I guess I wasn’t hiding my hurt as much as I thought. I saw them off to bed with a promise to see them again the following day. Julie still hadn’t appeared.

I slept badly that night in my lonely motel room. I stared into the darkness, reviewing my actions to date and realised there was one possible exposure. Even if I got away with crushing lover boy’s balls as an accident, he could still sue me. With a typical decisiveness I came up with a plan to minimise that damage.

I left work an hour early the next day, bought a bag of grapes and went to the hospital. The receptionist directed me to Rob’s room. He was dozing when I entered. That changed very quickly when he sensed a presence and opened his eyes. I saw terror flit across his face. He tried to sit up but groaned from the pain and gave up. I got right in his face. I know in some cultures, when you are wronged, you reach for a lawyer. Something I appreciated about Australian men, so much so that I emulated it, is they prefer to cut out the middle-man. They reach for the axe handle. Much more satisfying.

“You, my friend, have a choice. You can accept what happened to you as just and proper punishment for fucking my wife, or you can get all legal about it. If you take the second option, then we’ll be meeting again in a very dark alley one night. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He nodded.

“Good. I hope we don’t have to meet again. If we do, I’ll be the one behind you with the axe handle.”

As I was walking down the corridor, I saw a familiar lady with two, early teen children. After I passed her, I heard her call, “Excuse me, my husband works with your wife, doesn’t he?”

Not wanting to be rude, I stopped and turned. I recognised her now from the dealership company functions.

“Yes, madam, Julie works with your Rob.”

“Can I ask what you’re doing here. I saw you walk out of my husband’s room.”

I hadn’t decided whether to tell Rob’s wife or not. Unusual for me, I dithered. She filled the silence.

“Boys, go into your father’s room. I’ll be there in a minute or two.”

We both waited until they disappeared.

I remained silent, waiting for her to initiate the conversation.

“The last time he ended up in hospital was when another man caught him with his wife.”

Something about my facial expression must have given the game away.

“Son of a bitch! I’m right, aren’t I? You caught him with Julie, didn’t you? Then you crushed his balls to uselessness.”

All I could do was nod to this obviously intelligent and perceptive woman.

“Good, that will save me cutting them off. Can I get some details please?”

As I gave her a quick, official rundown on events of the previous day, she sidled down the corridor so she could see her children through the window of the ward. I saw Rob looking at us shaking his head in a silent, but emphatic, NO!

When I told her that I had it on video, she scribbled her email address on a scrap of paper that she dug out of her handbag and made me promise to send it. She was confused on one point. After she’d caught him out the first time he cheated, she hid a GPS tracker in his car and monitored it regularly. She nodded when I suggested that he’d found it and took a cab to and from work, for his rendezvous with Julie. That fit all the facts. She also checked their expenditure with a fine-toothed comb. We guessed that as she was a stay-at-home mum, my house was the meeting point as neither of the conspirators wanted motel bills to explain. After wishing each other luck, we parted. I suspected Rob’s bad day was going to get way worse.

After all that excitement, I hurried back to the house I used to live in. As I was getting out of my car, Karen was getting out of hers, next door. She came over and asked if there was anything new. I gave her a quick rundown on events. She was very upset. She knew what I was going through. After pledging to lend an ear whenever I wanted to talk, we parted, and I continued toward the house.

Julie looked bedraggled in her dressing gown. She disappeared into the bedroom as soon as I walked in the door. The kids were trawling through the pantry in search of snacks and not having much luck. I packed them up and took them out again. We grabbed some food for Julie as well. When I quizzed them, they admitted that their mother hadn’t uttered a word all day. When she hadn’t made their school lunches, they’d grabbed what they could from the pantry.

The boys going hungry was an intolerable situation. I took the kids and checked out of my motel and moved back into my own house, albeit the spare bedroom. We again went out and visited a late-night store to stock up on food. I rang my work the next day and said I’d be late. I made the lads a healthy breakfast and filled their lunch boxes before shovelling them out the door to the bus stop. In response to a telephone message from her work, I rang her company and called in sick for Julie. At work I explained my need for reduced hours to my boss.

Thus, the pattern for the next two weeks was set. Me getting the boys off in the morning, meeting them at the end of their day, shopping, and cooking. They helped out with household chores.

I watched Julie slowly recover. After a week she was dressing, putting on make-up and eating. We hardly spoke directly to each other. Before going to bed each night, I gave her an opportunity to start what I was almost sure was going to be our last conversation that was about us, but she never volunteered anything. Every two days or so I’d come home to find one friend of hers or another at the house. They always left shortly afterward, normally after giving me a condemning look. It pissed me off so much that I visited the police station and retrieved my laptop. I sent an email to everyone in our address book with a simple two sentences.

‘Dear friends, Dave and Julie are having marital problems at the moment because Dave caught Julie cheating on him. If you don’t believe it, then come and see Dave who has video evidence.’

The looks and indeed the visits dried up. I took no pleasure in my actions, but divorce polarises friendship groups. I didn’t want to start the battle with everyone on her side just because she didn’t have the strength or courage to tell them the truth. No one ever asked to see the video.

I kept my sanity by visiting Karen ever two days or so. She became a better friend than ever before. I don’t think Julie liked that much. I went over there one Saturday and Karen and I watched Julie staring at Karen’s house from the bedroom window the whole time I was there.

By the middle of the second week, Julie felt strong enough to return to work and the next day I arrived at the house to find her cooking dinner. Still, she hadn’t looked me in the eye once and avoided being alone with me. I was unaware if she’d been in contact with Rob. I’d sent a clip to Rob’s wife and received a genuine reply of gratitude. She’d arranged for him to be served in hospital. They were still unclear whether his private parts would function ever again.

The other significant event in that fortnight was a visit to a lawyer. He told me the general go in divorces and after explaining our circumstances guessed that Julie would be granted custody, the house, alimony, child support etc. Pete was old enough to have a say which parent he wanted to reside with, but Mick wasn’t. The lawyer explained that the courts always decided to keep the kids together and usually sided with the mother. I thought this was right and proper. In my view, the average mother was better at raising kids than the average father. Of course, there are exceptions. When it became obvious, I wasn’t going to retain him, he graciously explained the process and where to go to get the forms and other paraphernalia. I already knew I had no legal recourse against their employer. Australian law just isn’t like that. I could probably have got them fired but that would adversely affect me regarding child support and alimony.

 Ironically, it was a Wednesday when Julie instigated the conversation. I was in bed with the light off when she knocked quietly on the door and came in. I knew she was eating properly but not with the rest of us. Despite this, I was aware that she’d consumed the best part of a bottle of wine that evening. She left the light off and sat on the edge of the bed. Her face was in shadow as the only light was coming from the hall. I sat up.

“Do you love me, Dave?”

“Yes. I can’t turn off a feeling I’ve experienced for seventeen years just like that.”

“Were you serious when you said you desperately hoped I could present you with a reason that would convince you to stay?”

“Yes, Julie, that is still my fervent hope.”

I let her sniff for a while to let her know she was in the driving seat. Eventually she continued, “I just can’t, Dave. I love you but I just can’t justify what I’ve done. I’m begging you to give me three months. I’ll see a counsellor and maybe they can explain it to us together.”

I thought about this for a long time.

“I’m sorry, Julie, I can’t wait that long. Having things up in limbo for that length of time isn’t fair on me or on the boys. You can’t think of a reason for what you did because there isn’t one. It’s over, Julie.”

Her reaction to my response surprised me. I think it was spurred by frustration and guilt. Julie always did have a problem accepting responsibility for her actions.

“You fucking sanctimonious prick. You never were going to listen to a word I said, were you? If you’d given one bloody inch, I was going to invite you into my bed and screw your arse off. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, dearest? No sex for Davey, while his wife has been having a ball.”

This was so far from normal for Julie that I suspected she’d become unhinged. Then I remembered the wine. After she slammed my door, I had another sleepless night. She was still at home when I went to work the next day but didn’t come home that night. I checked and some of her things were missing. She reappeared three days later with no explanation but with a black eye and swollen lip.

The reason for the first part of this became evident later that night. I’d taken to checking our bank balance online every night. I noticed an electronic transfer to a local law firm for about the amount of a retainer. I figured she’d seen a lawyer who advised her that by leaving the family home, she’d put herself in a disadvantageous position.

The email that arrived that night cleared up the rest of the mystery. It was from Rob’s wife.

“FYI. I went to the hospital today to discuss my divorce with Rob. Your wife was there holding his hand. I’m sorry, but I lost it for a while.”

Could it be that realising she’d blown her last chance of reconciliation; Julie was hoping to run off into the sunset with lover boy? From what I’d heard, he was unlikely to have functioning privates ever again. I went to Julie’s room for the next phase of discussions.

“Julie, after the other night it is fairly obvious our marriage is over.”

For the first time in a long time, she looked me in the eye before nodding slightly.

“We both saw how Karen’s divorce went. By the time the lawyers were finished, no one but the lawyers had anything. I may not be able to stay married to you but that doesn’t change the fact that I still love you and the idea of us ending up hating each other makes me sick. We need to end this process with a united front, if not for us, then for the sake of the boys. How about we give the lawyers a miss and come to a mutual understanding on a divorce settlement. That way we can both come out of this with all our assets intact.”

I saw the wisdom of this dawn in her eyes. We had enough that we could both live frugally but well. Give a big slug of it to the lawyers and at least one of us was going to have to take a major haircut. I’m guessing the lawyers she’d seen hadn’t convinced her it wouldn’t be her.

“You’ll have to do all the work, Dave. I don’t want a divorce. I don’t think I can raise enough enthusiasm to do any of it.”

“Don’t worry, Julie, I’m happy to do the leg work.”

I left the next discussion for two days. I didn’t want to let on that I’d already done a considerable amount of research. Again, it was me that initiated the discussion after the boys were in bed.

“Right, Julie, I’ve looked into it and there seems to be two ways we can go. Either we can live apart for twelve-months or we can go to three compulsory sessions of government sponsored counselling. If the counsellor is convinced after three sessions that our marriage is irretrievable, then they issue a certificate that we attach to the divorce application.”

I saw Julie’s eyes light up with hope at the mention of counselling, then dull as she realised what she’d be asked to publicly admit to. Eventually, she just nodded. 

“Okay, as I see it, we both fill in the divorce application and register it with the Family Court and they arrange the counselling. Along with the divorce application, we lodge a child support agreement that must be approved by the Child Support Agency. They just want to know that there will be enough to support Pete and Mick, so they won’t be stuck having to fork out for them.  A parenting plan is a common law agreement between us on how we intend dealing with the kids. The last thing is not compulsory, but highly recommended. It’s a separation agreement that details how we split everything else. If we do it all ourselves and use friends as witnesses, it should be very cheap and simple. Are you willing for me to start drawing them up?”  

I eventually received a reluctant nod. The next night we jointly filled in the online divorce application. Julie didn’t help much but didn’t hinder either. The next day we received an acknowledgement, and the following week were contacted by a counselling company.

The counselling lasted two weeks and was a lot more interesting than I expected. The counsellor was a lady and while it was clear she was just doing a job; it was also obvious she was good at it. The first session was just us handing over the facts. Julie didn’t say much, leaving me as the main speaker. The lady pushed fairly hard on Julie to list her reasons for her transgression, but Julie remained silent. I think she had it in the back of her mind that if she could come up with a good reason, I’d forgive her. The counsellor then scheduled a solo session for Julie, then one for me two days later.

Julie’s session was supposed to be two hours long, the following Monday. She was increasingly withdrawn up till the day and it turned out the session lasted three and a half hours. I examined her demeanour when she returned for some clues, but if anything, all I saw was an increased reluctance to make eye contact with me. She didn’t volunteer anything about her session with the counsellor.

My session was also scheduled to be two hours long but lasted only an hour and a half. The counsellor was very businesslike.

“Mr. Brown. You should know that your wife has authorised me to tell you anything I like about our session Monday. Firstly, can I confirm what she told me, that you would be willing to continue with your marriage if she gave you a reasonable justification for her actions?”

“Yes, that’s what I told her. I have to tell you, though, that the burden of proof was always going to be very high. Something that would make me forget that she split my heart in half, put one of the pieces in her hand and then had me watch her piss on it.”

The counsellor just gave me a hard look, then sighed.

“Why do you people always come to me when it’s too late?”

“I can’t answer you generally on that, but I can on my specific case.”

She just raised an eyebrow. I took that as an indication she wanted me to keep going.

“I imagine people come and see counsellors when they think their relationship is in trouble. I never had a clue. As far as I was concerned, we had a wonderful family and a perfectly happy marriage. She’d never complained about anything to do with me or our relationship. Why see a counsellor when nothing is apparently wrong?”

“Yes, that conforms with everything Julie said. Of all the justifications she gave me, she never once raised an issue about you. In fact, when I probed about your relationship, it sounded almost idyllic. In my experience with similar cases I know those types of cases hit the husbands the hardest. They find it hard to get over the shock of being blindsided.”

She paused to sigh deeply again.

“Let me preface my next statements by saying that I am aware that you aren’t communicating very well.”

I nodded.

“Your wife loves you very much and deeply regrets what she did. The guilt is killing her, and she just doesn’t have the strength to face you at the moment. It would be fair to give her some more time to process this.”

“I’m sorry, the moment she let me know she was capable of that much deceit, was the moment I stopped fighting fair.”

“I understand. Julie is also aware that you know she went to see her lover in the hospital. She is scared that you may have interpreted that as her wanting to continue a relationship with him. She sees it as just common decency on her part. She wants you to know that she defended you when he accused you of permanently destroying his testicles deliberately.”

My shit eating grin brought a smile to her face.

“Thanks for that, Mr. Brown. Us counsellors, more than anyone else, need a good laugh every now and then. Now, where were we? That’s right, her justification. I will tell you what she said, then give you my analysis but I just wanted to pre-warn you, none of it is very convincing. In cases of previously happy marriages, it never is.”

“Why don’t we just get on with it, Doc?”

“Right. Well, Julie must have repeated about fifty times that she knew what she was doing was wrong and you would never accept it. As in every case like this, she never worried about how you would react because she never dreamed you would find out.”

She paused, half expecting me to fill in that knowledge gap. I stayed silent.

“Well, the underlying reason is almost as old as time itself. Your wife was starting to fear middle age, when along came a younger, attractive man who showed sexual interest in her and pursued her. As a woman she was extremely flattered. She resisted for a long time until he appeared to give up. That is when she gave in. On a subliminal level, she thought that meant she was no longer attractive and that hurt her ego. I think she finally justified it by convincing herself that she loved him. She insisted that he always took her to lunch first. It made it appear that the sex was him getting lucky after a date. She was escaping to her younger days when life was simpler. In my opinion, it was never about the sex, Dave. That was just the price she had to pay for the continued romance. Your wife stressed that she never had unprotected sex with him and never disrespected your marital bedroom and all their, er, activities, occurred on the couch. Of course, you know that she used your house, so no motel expenses ever showed in either of their credit card records. Their lunch costs were modest and paid for in cash.”

I just nodded. It all made sense so far.

“Your wife was genuinely horrified when she realised that she’d stopped having sex with you, pretty much for the duration of the affair. She was even more devastated when I prompted her on other aspects of the intimacy between you and she suddenly realised you’d stopped kissing her a month before the end. I presume that’s when you first started suspecting her.

Again, I nodded.

“I was forced to point out to her that because she’d convinced herself she loved him, then subliminally, any intimacy with you would feel like cheating on him. It’s bizarre what castles some people build in the air.”

“What is it they say, Doc? Neurotics build castles in the air. Psychotics live in them; and psychologists collect the rent.”

“Ha, ha, ha, touché.”

“Was there any other justification, Doc?”

“No, nothing worth taking seriously. I did promise you some analysis, though. In my opinion, your wife cheated on you for the same reason most do. She had an opportunity and didn’t have the strength or the will to resist it. Also in my opinion, your wife suffers from mild depression or even a low form of psychosis. I’ve recommended she sees a professional about that. Most depressives have self-destructive tendencies. I will finish by saying that with the remorse she is showing and the genuine regret she has, then with the correct medication, she is highly unlikely to ever be unfaithful again. Is any of that good enough for you?”

I didn’t hesitate.

“No. Not nearly.”

She smiled, reached into a folder and handed me an envelope.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a gift certificate, good at any courthouse for one divorce.”

I knew then that this charade was over much less painfully than I’d expected.

“Now, Mr. Brown, I sure would appreciate knowing how you caught her. I’m doing a dissertation on cheaters and trying to compile some statistics.”

Perhaps I felt grateful for her not trying to guilt me or pressuring me to stick to a suddenly loveless marriage. Whatever the reason, I told her about Robert catching a cab to my place because his wife was tracking his car, and them driving Julie’s car to their lunches. The counsellor smiled at the seat adjustment and spark plug deductions.

“Well, that’s an original one, thanks.”

We parted and I went home. I got there before the kids returned from their after-school activities. Julie was waiting with a slightly expectant look on her face. I’m not a cruel man, so I simply sat opposite her and placed the envelope in front of her. Her face fell as she read it, then took on a resigned look.

“I guess that’s it then, Dave. I’m sorry and I know I’ve lost your respect, but please believe me when I say that I still love you. I can only think of one way of proving it to you and that is to not stand in the way of what you think you need to do. I won’t oppose the divorce and agree that doing it ourselves is the best way to go. I hope you can get over my betrayal and have a good life with me as a friend. You don’t have to move out straight away, do you?”

At that point, her emotions were starting to get out of her control. She stood abruptly and started to walk away but stopped before she was out of earshot.

“I don’t know if our counsellor said this to you today, but I really didn’t realise that I’d cut you off so completely. I regret that along with everything else. If you feel like using me, you know, in the bedroom, I’m just across the hall.”

With that, she left. The whole episode would have been very touching if I hadn’t been expecting it. You see, I was still monitoring the tap on our phone. I’d heard her contingency planning with her best friend, Cheryl. Keep the relationship friendly, try to fuck her way back into my good books and lull me into giving her more than her fair share of our assets. The whole conversation reminded me of one of those cliché stories. Brothers and sisters existing in friendship and fraternity until their parent’s will is read out and they promptly dissolve into a feeding frenzy.

I made dinner for the kids. We’d finished and cleaned up without Julie putting in an appearance. I decided that the kids had been kept in the dark long enough. I went to Julie’s room to request she join me in updating the kids. Her answer made me angrier than I’d been since THAT day.

“You do it, Dave. I can’t face them yet.”

“You cowardly fucking bitch! You fucking caused this, now you want to hide your fucking head in the sand like an ostrich while I do all the painful work with our two innocent children.”

This was so far from how I’d ever spoken to her before that her jaw dropped. She made the mistake of looking in my eyes and saw the depths of my disdain. She covered her face with her hands as I stormed out. Four minutes later she joined us very sheepishly in the lounge. As she was the last there, she was forced to sit by herself on a chair while the three of us sat together on the couch. I’m guessing that between this conversation and our last one they’d done some research on what adultery actually was. They kept interrupting my explanation by asking Julie really hard questions. Why? How could you? Did you think of your family when you did this? Did you think of us? Julie couldn’t answer any of them, her gaze just got lower and lower as the questions hammered in.

Finally, when I’d made them understand that soon their parents would be living apart, they both expressed a wish to stay with me. Let’s face it, I’d always been fun, the one who took them to do things – parks, camping, sport – and their mother had been emotionally absent for a long time. Teenage boys have the memory span of a boiled potato. Their desire to live with me made Julie sit up and take notice.

“Boys, the mother is almost always given custody of children in cases like this.”

She glared at me. I could almost smell the lawyers. It surprised me so much that I didn’t respond immediately, which allowed Pete to get in first.

“That doesn’t seem right, Mum. Dad did nothing wrong, you stab him in the back, and he’s the one that suffers.”

Julie didn’t say anything. There was no viable answer to that simple statement. I dispelled them with the fact that their mother and I hadn’t started discussing details yet. I went on to tell them that the courts always had the best interests of children in mind and committed to going along with whatever that august body thought was best. The welfare of his children is the highest duty of a father, I stressed.

The next night, Julie surprised me again by volunteering to do the Child Support Agreement and the Parenting Plan, leaving me with the Separation Agreement. I thanked her for her offer and, after I reminded her that everything we did should be in the best interests of the children, accepted, inviting her to use my laptop. We tentatively made an appointment to talk to each other in a week.

For the next week we alternated, with one of us looking after the kids and the other working on the laptop. On the second day of that week, she came to my room while I was reading to get sleepy and reminded me of her offer. I politely declined. Two days later, she slid into my bed naked after I was asleep. I again rebuffed her for sex but agreed to cuddle her until she went to sleep. I left after she was asleep and the next morning she found me in the master bedroom. She took the hint after that.

Exactly a week later, we had enough to start negotiating. I went first with the separation agreement. I told her that it was a common law contract, nothing to do with the family court. I then ran her through the salient points. The house was to be controlled by the primary caregiver, no changes to wills, no debts to be incurred in joint names, keeping own retirement plans, and pre-nups to protect our family’s assets if new partners were involved. I was agreeing to cover the children under my more generous health insurance, Julie was dropped. There was the usual catchall of the agreement being final and binding and that in the case of a dispute, the losing party was responsible for all court costs. All liquid assets were split 50/50.

Julie was happy with all this but did raise her eyebrows when I read the sentence where we agreed not to pay each other alimony. She started to argue but I pointed out that it was linked to the other two agreements, so it was inappropriate to discuss it yet.

She kicked off by saying that the Parenting Plan and Limited Child Support Agreement were interlinked. The Parenting Plan, another common law contract, spelled out who was the primary caregiver and the proportion of time the children would spend with each parent. Julie handed over an academic paper that concluded that children were generally better off with the mother in cases of separation. I let the fact that the paper was written by a woman from the Melbourne Centre for Women’s Studies and, thus, of obviously feminist influence, pass and said that I’d heard similar reports. Julie was pleased at that. She then trotted out another paper from the same institute saying that it was emotionally unhealthy for the non-primary caregiver to have more than two days per fortnight custody. I said I’d defer to the experts on that one. I suggested putting in the same legalese about court costs as my agreement and also stipulations that the children wouldn’t be removed from the state and conditions about Christmas, birthdays, and holidays.

Pleased at my acquiescence so far, Julie went on to the Child Support Agreement. This was the only agreement that had to be ratified by a government agency. She explained there was a formula that was based on our combined incomes, the age of the children and percentages of time the children spent at each separated parent’s house. The result of the formula was that the non-custodial parent owed the primary caregiver $1,200 per fortnight. I told her I trusted her on this one. I did suggest more words on what expenses were covered by the payment.

We then returned to the subject of alimony, the only disputed point thus far. I pointed out that with such a high child support payment and the other terms, the inclusion of alimony meant that the primary caregiver would be living high, fat, and happy, while the other was doomed to a poor, lonely life. She relented and the subject was over.

Julie was obviously surprised by my lack of fight, but when I told her I was acting in the best interests of the children, she understood. I suggested that if we typed up a new CSA, we could sign it now and I could drop it off. This we did. We broke for the night, thanking each other for making it as painless as possible.

Eight days later we received a certified copy of the CSA back from the relevant agency, stating that it passed their guidelines and a copy had been forwarded to the Family Court. We already had agreed copies of the other two legal documents, we just needed to sign them and get our signatures witnessed. Julie wanted her friend, Cheryl as witness, I wanted my best friend, Karen. It was my suggestion we make the signing ceremony a type of wake, with drinks and nibbles.

Thus, the following Friday found Julie, Karen, Cheryl, and I sitting at our kitchen table with glasses of champagne. Karen didn’t socialise much but was reading the agreements in their manila folder. When she’d finished, she caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. I maintained a neutral expression. Shortly after that, Cheryl accidently knocked over my third glass of champagne. It ran across the table and spilled into Julie’s lap. She jumped up, cursing, while Cheryl and Karen raced to the sink to get a cloth. Cheryl apologised while Julie went to get changed. When things had settled down, everyone concerned signed both agreements.

The next day I delivered them to the family court. We were both a little surprised when we were summoned to the dissolution hearing. We’d both been advised this wasn’t a requirement. That’s why we were both sitting in front of a judge six weeks later.

He explained that as this was a ‘pro se’ case, that is, no lawyers were involved, he was scrutinising it thoroughly to make sure due process had been followed. He confirmed that we’d both signed the agreements freely and without duress, after laboriously reading each title. He then entered all four documents into the record and issued the degree nisi. We would be automatically divorced in thirty days with no objections. He ended the process by congratulating us on a fine example of an amicable, non-confrontational ending to our union.

I spent the next month spending time with the kids and compiling a list of apartments for rent. On the 32^nd day I rang the court to confirm there were no objections. I invited Karen to join Julie and I in another celebration. Again, we were sitting in the kitchen with champagne.

“Well, Julie, here’s to sixteen wonderful years and two great kids.”

We chinked glasses.

“Here is a list of available apartments for rent, Julie. When are you leaving?”

I’d seen it on cartoons, but never thought I’d see it in real life. Julie’s mouthful of champagne sprayed across the table.

“What the hell?”

“You’ll have to get a modest one. With your salary, paying $1,200 a fortnight in child support won’t leave you with a great deal.”

I threw copies of the court certified agreements across to her. She was ashen faced as she tore open the folder and read. Primary caregiver, David Brown to stay in the family home, child support $1,200 per fortnight payable by Julie Brown, visitation two days every fourteen.

“I bet you’re starting to regret bumping the child support from the $900 that the formula indicated to the $1,200 your greed substituted, aren’t you? Yes, I was tapping your phone calls to Cheryl. That’s how I heard you laughing when you told her that I had ‘forgotten’ to stipulate that the house be sold when our youngest reached eighteen. Your greed knew no bounds, did it?”

“But the kids…”

“If you’d done some proper research, rather than just looking at the Melbourne School of Advanced Lesbianism, you would know that boys of Pete and Mick’s age don’t need a mother as much as they need a strong father figure. For the record, Julie, I considered my obligation to you ended as soon as you allowed that shithead what you’d promised to me only. After that, I simply had to choose between two mutually exclusive options, harmony or pride. I chose pride but swallowed it long enough to lull you into trusting me enough to exclude lawyers from our life. I also had two other choices. Did I want to show my sons how two people that used to love each other ended a relationship nicely? I must say that was tempting. Or did I want to teach them about justice. That when one person breaches the other’s trust, badly, bad things happen to them. Guess which one I chose, Julie?”

I let Julie digest all this. I watched her turmoil change to determination.

“I’ll fight this, you prick.”

“Good luck with that. You signed all the documents in front of two witnesses. You stood in front of a judge and attested to them. Remember, Julie, if you lose, you get to pay all costs. Do you really want to start the rest of your life with nothing?”

“I have witnesses. Cheryl and Karen will attest to me being tricked.”

We both looked at Karen. This was the weak point in my plan. Karen had no idea what I’d done. She looked discomfited, but not for long.

“How did my marriage end, Julie? Do you honestly think I would ever side with a cheater?”

Seeing her total defeat, Julie just seemed to mentally collapse. It wasn’t a nice sight. It might have hurt me if I didn’t vividly remember the effort I’d had to expend pretending to still respect her over the last few months. The fact she was willing to consign me to the poor house while she sat back in comparative luxury, helped as well. She finally rallied slightly.

“But I trusted you, Dave.”

“And once upon a time I trusted you as well. I guess we both fucked up. Now please get out of my house. You can still use the half of our money that’s still in the bank account. Let me know which two days you want the boys the week after next.”

I left to go back to Karen’s house with her.

 “You sneaky little bastard. You swapped folders when that glass of champagne was knocked over, didn’t you? What would you have done if Cheryl hadn’t been so clumsy?”

“I refuse to answer your first question on the grounds it will tend to incriminate me. But, as to your second question, I will say if Cheryl hadn’t done it, I might have been a bit clumsy myself.”

“Righto. Well. I’m glad you did something. I was starting to lose respect for you when I thought you were just rolling over.”

“Come on, Karen, you know me better than that.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. Um, now you’re officially not married any more, I would like to get to know you even better.”

“I’d like that.”

THE END

I did confirm with a lawyer that this scenario was plausible. Sure, he is a defence attorney from the states, not a divorce lawyer from Australia, but what the heck. Thanks B.

PLEASE, don’t be a boring prick and point out what probably would have happened in reality. THIS IS FICTION, IT’S MY UNIVERSE AND IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE ANY MORE REALISTIC THAN A JAMES BOND MOVIE!

Yes, the bit about Australian males and cars is true for the older generation.

NOW LIGHTEN THE FUCK UP.

The following jokes was provided by member JohnChild, thanks John.

Two hillbillies are drinking in a bar.

One says, “If I give your missus a baby, will it make us kin?”

The other thinks and says, “No, just even.”