LOVE LETTERS 2

CHAPTER TWO

I RECLINED ON THE chaise, shaded by a huge umbrella, beer in hand. The only thing separating the motel from the beach was a small stretch of lawn shaded by palm trees and an in-ground pool. Both were inviting and the weather was warm, but I was oblivious to the appeal of either. 

I was frustrated. 

Plan after plan, idea after idea rejected. Some brilliant. Others not so much. All brimming with revenge, with humiliation. I could take out a big double-page spread ad in the local newspaper and publish Zack’s letters; names, dates, and all. I could bide my time, put a private investigator on them and have him catch them in the act and make public the video. I could make the pair of them a hit on a bunch of porn sites. I could set myself up with an alibi and beat Zack to a pulp, maybe nail gun his balls to some park bench, or superglue his cock to one of the goal posts at the sports field down the road from his apartment. I could pay for a hooker to infect him with some STD that he, in turn, could infect Claire with. Hell, my tenth wedding anniversary was only a week away. I could organize the party to end all parties. I could put it all up on the big screen for our family and friends to see. 

Each and every idea appealed to me on some level. I wanted them to hurt, feel shame, to be humiliated. I wanted them to drown in regret for what they’d done. I wanted them to pay, and pay dearly, for their betrayal. 

But I had a dilemma. 

I wanted to achieve it without lowering myself to their level. When it was all over I wanted to be able to look at my reflection in the mirror and see a good man looking back at me. If I was to recover and move on from this, I needed to know that or I’d become an empty shell of a man. If that happened, they’d win and I’d lose. They’d metaphorically be holding me to ransom for the rest of my life. I’d never be able to trust or love again, and I did want to love again. I wanted a family of my own. I wanted to be to a son or daughter what my father is to me—a hero. He was the type of man I strived to be. If I acted on any of the plans I’d come up with thus far, as satisfying—and justified—as they would be to enact, I wouldn’t be able to do or be that. I wouldn’t be a man that either my father or child was proud of. 

And if I visited any of those plans upon them they’d know exactly how deeply they’d wounded me. I might have been able to live with that knowledge if I sincerely believed my pain would shame them and fill them with remorse, but why would they care how they’d hurt me? They’d been betraying me for twelve years. They clearly had no regard for me and my feelings whatsoever. Letting them know the depth of my hurt may even provide them with yet more satisfaction. I couldn’t give them that. 

I made my way to my room, disheartened. I needed to be alone. I couldn’t be around anyone. Not even strangers. 

Despite having no appetite, I listened to my commonsense and ordered some early dinner, and, while waiting for it to be delivered, I showered. 

I ate without tasting. I looked without seeing and heard without hearing. Bitterness and frustration consumed me, blinding me to my surroundings. 

I paced the room, but it was too small to contain my overflowing emotions, so I took my need for movement to the long stretch of beach practically on my doorstep. 

There was something satisfying in hearing the crunch of the sand under my feet and the steady crashing of the waves on the shore. 

I took my torment out on the beach, kicking the sand, picking up and hurling out to sea chunks of driftwood and shells. Outwardly, I was silent, but internally I screamed. It was unfair. Why was life so unfair? So unjust? It felt like the perpetrators would come out practically unscathed, while, I, the innocent party, would pay in every aspect—physically, mentally, financially, and emotionally. 

The injustice was like poison in my gut, its acid coursing through my veins, eating away at me. They were the wrongdoers but unless inspiration hit me the best revenge I was going to be able to exact on them would be to succeed and live well. It didn’t seem enough. Not anywhere near enough. 

# # # 

After letting myself back in my room I realized I’d had my phone off all day. As soon as it powered up it began ringing with the new ring tone I’d set for Claire. Eamon’s Fuck It (I Don’t Want You Back) was a satisfying change from the old ringtone I had for my faithless wife—John Legend’s All Of Me. Yes, the new song was definitely a much better fit for my feelings and our situation. I guess, I’d have to agree with the experts—there’s a song for every occasion. 

Acting quickly, I switched on the in-room radio which I’d previously adjusted so it wasn’t on a station, instead making a loud and irritating crackling sound. As back up, I grabbed the scrunched up sheet of paper I’d also prepared not long after checking in and then hit the speaker phone on my cell. 

“Danny? Where are you? I can’t get in the house.” 

“Claire?” I began manipulating the paper near the phone. 

“Danny, what’s that noise? I can hardly hear you and the static is terrible.” 

“What—you—? I—hear—. —breaking up,” I replied, saying only every second word in a sentence. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. 

“Danny, can you hear me? I can hardly make out what you’re saying. You’re breaking up. I can’t get in the house. My key won’t work. Where are you? When will you be home?” 

“What? I—understand—word—said. —reception. —charger—home. Phone—to die. Will—home—Friday. —you—. —you. 

As I extended my hand toward my phone as it rested on the bedside table I heard Claire yelling for me to not hang up. I smiled and hit the end button. I knew Claire. She’d be pissed. My darling wife was spoiled and wasn’t used to being kept waiting. I couldn’t stop smiling as I pictured her frustration. 

Was what I did petty? Yes. Childish? Yes, again. Did it feel good? Bloody oath it did. 

Still smiling, I checked my messages and texts. Sure enough, Claire had left a dozen or more. I happily read and listened to them all. She’d even emailed me a few times. They were all along the same lines as her call with the tone showing her increasing exasperation at not being able to get a hold of me or into the house. If anything, seeing and hearing her escalating aggravation made my smile widen. I gloated over her frustration, even whistled as I took a leak. 

Of course, I could have called her from the in-room phone or booted up my laptop and replied to her emails, and under normal circumstances I would have, but as I was pleased to find, there’s nothing like pissing off a slut wife to improve one’s mood. 

# # # 

My days were busy, intentionally so. I did what I’d told my father and brother I was going to do. I scouted for opportunities and accommodation. I met with builders and architects and left business cards all over the place. It would save me time when it actually became time to quote the fit-out or any other job I picked up out of my scouting efforts. 

The nights were tough and even my satisfaction in Claire’s increasingly frustrated texts and emails was hollow. Despite my resolutions, unanswered questions and the hurt and rage over how I’d been used and betrayed by Claire and Zack nagged at me. The beach took the brunt of my frustration. I walked for miles. 

Part of my anger was directed at myself. There’d been hints; I could see that now. Hindsight is definitely 20/20. Zack being Zack hadn’t been able to resist dropping a few. Why had I never noticed before his tendency to brag? 

I stopped and turned, staring out to sea. The waves lapped over my ankles, my feet sinking a little in the wet sand. It felt cool and welcome, unlike the memory from shortly after my fifth wedding anniversary. I could clearly picture Zack’s face as he teased me with snippets of information after I’d teasingly asked about his love life. 

‘She’s really cool. Loads of fun and drop dead sexy.’ ‘No, I’m not ready to introduce her to everyone.’ ‘I want to keep her to myself a while longer.’ Were just a handful of his initial hints. 

And then came the doozies. 

‘She’s married. Her old man doesn’t do it for her, but she feels sorry for him, so she stays.’ 

My disapproving look must have spoken volumes because he commented on it. He had the hide to tell me not to judge until I’d walked a mile in his lady’s shoes. And then he’d smirked and said if a bird offered to do to me what this woman did for him I’d leave my marriage vows behind without a second thought. He even spouted off a few of the kinkier things and I’d had to ask him to stop because I was worried Claire would walk in and hear him. 

He was wrong, of course, I’d never have been unfaithful to Claire, regardless of how sexy or kinky the woman making the offer had been, but I hadn’t argued at the time. 

He’d stopped, but not before asking me to keep his news to myself. Said he didn’t want Claire and the rest of the family coming down on him for screwing a married woman. 

I remembered the expression on his face, the look in his eyes. Amused, and, yet, somehow malevolent, or was it victorious? Gloating? 

Now, with the wisdom of hindsight, I understood his amusement better. He must have found it beyond funny to secure my promise to keep the secret of his affair, an affair he was having with my wife. 

# # # 

Another evening. Another walk on the beach. And I was worried I’d developed a new habit, one that was an obscene counterpoint to Claire’s. One where I replayed my life with her, studying every memory through an entirely new filter. 

In my mind, I examined everything—her hair, her make-up, her clothes, even the way she walked. Were her clothes wrinkled? Her hair disheveled? Lipstick fresh? Smeared? Unfamiliar perfume? Shampoo? I scoured each memory for evidence that, ironically, I didn’t want to find, as much because it would be one more confirmation of her betrayal, but also of my stupidity, my blind faith in my faithless wife. 

Trying to analyze something unanalyzable through unreliable memories was gut-wrenching. Soul destroying. I’d been such a fool, a huge, dumb-as-a-brick, fool. My self-belief was lower than a gnat’s belly. Never had I felt more insecure about myself in every aspect—as a man, a lover, as a friend. Not even as a teen had I felt so unsure of myself. 

Normally, I had what I’d always thought of as a healthy sex drive. Claire and I’d had sex—I could no longer call it lovemaking in my mind—three to five times a week, and usually more than once per session. Now, my dick seemed to be permanently as soft as a strand of overcooked spaghetti. 

And still I searched my memories. 

I was sick to my stomach with self-loathing that, like a scab that itched to be scratched, I couldn’t control the urge to torture myself looking for answers, for the clues I’d missed. 

# # # 

Usually, I enjoyed driving. Something about the way the scenery flashed by my side windows, or perhaps it was the satisfying way my Toyota seemed to gobble up the road ahead of me and spit it out the back. Whatever the case, I’d always enjoyed long distance driving. 

Not today. Today it was torture. Each mile that brought me closer to home felt like part of a drawn out walk to the gallows. 

Today I was at war with myself. Again. 

One half of me wanted answers, wanted explanations. Wanted truth. 

The other half didn’t want to have to listen to her lies, to her bullshit, self-serving excuses. Nothing she said could possibly make up for what she’d done. No word or apology was going to make one iota of difference to the outcome so what was the point? 

# # # 

At the last moment I changed my mind and swerved, changing lanes without indicating, which earned me a few honking horns and single fingered salutes, as I turned left in the direction of my parents’ house. 

I pulled up out front and stared at their front door, mentally apologizing to them for the quagmire I was about to include them in. Technically, the issues were mine, but our family was close. Mum, Dad, and Shaun, as well as Shaun’s wife, Mel, would be no more able to distance themselves from my problems than the Earth could stop orbiting the sun. Mum, in particular, I knew, would be devastated—Zack’s mother was her younger sister. 

I glanced at the passenger seat, at the display folder I’d slotted Zack’s love letters into and snorted. A display folder, like the life-destroying letters were some school project or some valuable office report. Personally, I’d rather have pissed on them, but, commonsense dictated that, at least for now, they be protected. 

Grimacing with distaste, I picked it up and let myself out of my car, and with a determined stride that was more bluff than genuine, I strode up the path to the front door and knocked. 

Mum answered. She leaned forward, grasped my bicep, and kissed me on the cheek at the same time as she spoke; talk about multitasking. 

“Sweetheart, what’s going on? We’ve had Claire calling and visiting every day saying she can’t get a hold of you and that she can’t get into the house. We’ve been worried sick. Why haven’t you been answering your phone or checking your emails?” 

“How about you let me in, call Shaun and Mel, give me one of Dad’s beers and we all sit down together and I tell you all what’s going on. I’d rather explain just the once. I don’t want to have to repeat myself.” 

“Oh dear, that sounds ominous.” She stood aside, looking concerned. She knew me. She knew it had to be something extreme to make me act so out of character. 

I followed her down the hall, continuing on when she stopped by the hall table to make the call to Shaun and Mel. I helped myself to a beer before heading out to the back patio where I knew I’d find my father. Mum always joked that they should live in a tent for all the need my father had of a house—unless it was pelting down rain, he always preferred to be outdoors. Having spent his life as a bricklayer, I guess, the preference for fresh air and sunshine had become part of his DNA. 

In our youth, Shaun and I had both wanted to follow Dad in the trade, but he’d insisted we find trades that weren’t beholden to the weather. I liked to design and build things and so I’d opted for becoming a carpenter-joiner specializing in internal fit-outs, Shaun was fascinated by lightning—he still regularly camped out on his veranda in storms, taking a mile of photos of lightning over the water—and all things electrical and so he became an electrician. Many had been a time we’d all worked on the same house, at least until Dad had retired a little over a year ago. Shaun and I still, of course, recommended each other’s services to our clients. 

Dad stood, evaluating me as he reached out to greet me and envelope me in a firm man-hug. Untangling ourselves, we sat and I placed the display folder on the low coffee table before taking a hefty pull on my beer. Dad continued to look at me, eyebrow raised in silent question. 

“It’s a long and difficult story I have to tell you all, Dad, so I want to wait until Shaun and Mel get here so I only have to tell it once.” 

My father reached out his hand, huge and rough from a lifetime of manual labor, and patted my knee, just as he had when I was a child. “Okay, Danny. I’m a patient man, I can wait.” 

This was one of the reasons I loved and respected my father; he knew when to push and when to bide his time. 

We were soon joined by my mother who had prepared a pot of tea. That in itself told me she knew I was about to confess a tragedy—hot, sweet tea was her answer to all of life’s woes. She silently offloaded the pot, along with two cups before passing Dad and I fresh beers and setting aside another for Shaun’s imminent arrival. 

And imminent it was. No sooner had Mum emptied the tray when I heard a knock at the front door. Shaun and Mel only lived a few streets away, but even so, they must have left as soon as they hung up the phone. I hoped they left the kids at home with Emily, who was their regular babysitter and conveniently lived next door to them. 

The next thing I knew I was being hugged and cuffed to the side of the head at the same time by Mel. More displays of female multitasking… 

“Oh my God. Where have you been? And why weren’t you answering your phone or emails. We’ve been worried sick. We were going to call the police if we didn’t hear from you today.” 

Mel was crying and managed to look angry and relieved at the same time. I opened my mouth to reply, but Mel wasn’t finished with me yet. 

“You scared the crap out of me. Out of all of us. How could you be so irresponsible? If something happened to you how would we have told Maddie and Declan? Your niece and nephew adore you. Can you imagine how devastated they would have been? God damn it, Danny, you can’t pull shit like this. No one knew where you were staying. All we knew was it was a few hours north. Have you any idea how scared we were? You better have a good explanation or I will personally cut your nuts off! Sorry, Mum, but it’s true.” 

Mum just patted Mel’s hand; she was used to Mel’s passionate personality and speech. It was something we all loved about her and part of why she was perfect for Shaun who was far more laid back. 

“Sit down, sweetie. Let’s give Danny a chance to say something.” 

“Okay, um, well, first up, I’m sorry for all the worry I’ve caused. I guess, I wasn’t thinking as clearly as I thought I was. I didn’t, um, think of the bigger picture, I guess. But I-I-I think I might have been in shock, and I, ah, needed to get away.” 

Mel looked as if she was about to tear into me again so I held up my hand. 

“Please hear me out before you rip me a new one, Mel. Once you do, I think you’ll understand why I raced off halfcocked.” 

And so I told them everything. I didn’t leave anything out, not even the parts that painted me in a bad light, such as my desire to cause Claire a few headaches and anxious moments when she found her key wouldn’t work. 

“So, if Claire’s been calling on you guys every day, can I assume she hasn’t gained access to the house?” 

“No. She’s either called or visited after work to see if we’d heard from you. We’ve all been holding off doing anything until this afternoon because you said you’d be home by today,” Mum supplied. 

I laughed. “Well, I have to say, that surprises me a bit. The lock changing worked better than I anticipated. I thought there was a good chance she’d sweet talk some gullible locksmith into letting her in. I figured at best it would keep her out, at worst, slow her down, and either way, it would cause her some gray hairs not knowing what was going on and how much I knew.” 

“She did try to con one into letting her in but he insisted she produce something other than her license to prove she lived there and wanted her to sign all these forms. She said she couldn’t show him a bill or anything because you handle all that stuff. She was pretty upset.” 

I couldn’t hold back a smile of satisfaction. So far so good for my keeping possession. 

“I wouldn’t start smiling yet, Danny. One visit to court and she’ll probably be allowed back in.” Despite his words, Shaun was smiling too. 

“Yeah, I know, but this gives me time to convince her it would be in her best interests to be the one to move out.” 

“How do you plan on doing that, son?” asked my father. 

“Simple. I’ll tell her if she moves back in, I’ll move out because there is no way known I’m living under the same roof as her. And if I go, not only will the renovations grind to a halt, because I certainly won’t be doing them, but I’ll not pay to have another tradie to do them either. On top of that, I’ll also stop paying the mortgage—she’ll have to pay it.” 

“Oh, Danny, are you sure that’s a good idea? You could lose the house.” My mother reached for my hand, squeezing gently. 

“I know it’s a gamble, Mum, but I’d rather lose the house than see it go to her when it’s been my blood, sweat, and tears that provided it.” 

“But the deposit and all the money you’ve put into it—” 

“It’s only money, Mum. I’m young; I can always make more money and I’ll be screwed six ways to Sunday before I see her profit from her lies and betrayal. She’s a whore and she fucked me over well and truly, but she’s not getting one nickel more out of me than is absolutely necessary.” 

It spoke volumes about my mother’s mood that she didn’t chide me about my language; normally, she wasn’t as tolerant of Shaun or me swearing as she was Mel. Go figure. 

“Too right. I’m with you, Danny,” chimed in Mel. “Cheaters shouldn’t prosper. In fact, that bitch should pay in spades for what she’s done. So should Rat-Zack.” 

“So where has she been staying?” 

Mum opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it, frowning before trying again. “Actually, Danny, I don’t know. She never said after she turned down my offer to have her stay here. Sorry, honey, but—” 

“It’s okay, Mum, you weren’t to know. I wanted it that way so you guys wouldn’t have to lie for me. I, um, actually, put a few different stories out there. I wanted to confuse her and have her not know where to look for me. To her work friends, I said I was going to be working out west and was organizing a surprise party and to Zack I kind of made a mixture of both stories and—” 

“You called Zack?” I could hear the shock in Mel’s voice. 

“Um, yeah.” 

“How did you not leap through the phone line and gut the bastard?” asked Shaun. 

I chuckled. “With great difficulty.” 

“I’ll bet,” muttered my father, shaking his head, a grim smile playing at the corner of his mouth. 

Conversation stalled; there was silence around the table. All eyes were on me. I could feel their love and support without a word being spoken. My father was the first to break the silence. 

“Seems your reservations about Claire were justified after all, honey.” 

I turned to my mother in surprise. She’d never been cool or unwelcoming to Claire. Perhaps, there wasn’t the same closeness she shared with Mel, but she’d never been unfriendly, critical, or shown any favoritism when it came to gifts. 

“You had reservations?” 

Mum shrugged. “It was nothing I could put my finger on. She was always polite and sweet and well-spoken, but, yes, I’ve always had reservations about her. In the early days I put it down to her youth, but she’s in her thirties now and should have outgrown any flightiness. I don’t know what to say other than it was a case of women’s intuition, I guess. I never said anything to you because, well, you were head over heels in love and I had nothing to base my doubts on.” 

“Did any of you ever see anything untoward? I’ve been racking my brain but I never noticed her flirting with him any more than she did anyone else or him getting handsy at any of our family do’s.” 

Everyone shook their heads. 

“They’ve clearly been very careful about their affair,” Mel piped in, stating the obvious. 

“What’s this?” my mother asked quietly, resting her fingertips on the display folder. 

“That’s all the letters Zack wrote.” She had the folder in her hands and half-opened before I could warn her. “Ah, Mum, I don’t think you want to see those. They’re, um, rather crude and explicit. Not really love letters at all.” 

She paused, looking at me over the edge of the folder. “I’ve no doubt I’m about to be horrified, but I’ll cope.” 

We all silently watched her. Several times she closed her eyes for long moments, but other than a gasp or two that escaped her pursed lips, she didn’t make a sound. When she was done, her face a mask of revulsion, she passed the folder to my father who followed suit and began reading the folder’s vile contents. 

Reaching across the table my mother grasped both my hands. “I am so sorry you had to read something like that, sweetheart, about two people you loved and trusted. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you strangled the bitch to death and then went and did the same to Zack. I’m glad you didn’t because I don’t want you in prison, but a slow and painful death is what they deserve.” 

Silence fell again. The lack of conversation was awkward; normally we were a noisy bunch, but I knew them all well enough to know no one wanted to say much until they’d all read the letters. Mum and Mel sipped their teas while Shaun, Dad and I our beers. When Dad finished he passed the folder to Shaun and stood. 

“Give me a hand, Danny.” 

I followed my father to the kitchen where he wrapped me in a hug so tight I could barely breathe. I sank into the embrace, clinging to him like I did as a small child when my father’s arms were the safest place on Earth. When we eventually drew apart, he cupped my face and looked fiercely into my eyes. 

“This is not your fault, Danny. You never treated that bitch with anything other than love and devotion. The minute you start doubting yourself, you give me or your Mum a call. Don’t let this break you, son. She’s clearly not worth it.” 

I nodded, afraid to speak in case I lost it and cried like a baby. Sensing my dilemma, my father continued to cradle my face and stare into my eyes, trying, I think, to infuse me with his strength. 

“You will get through this, Danny. I promise you that. You have a family that loves you and will stand behind you, no matter what.” 

“I know, Dad.” 

“Good, but it doesn’t hurt to be reminded sometimes that you’re not alone.” 

He released his hold on my cheeks and drew me in for one more hug. With a final pat to my back, he pulled away and grabbed the kettle, filling it with fresh water before switching it on. He moved to the fridge, extracting three sodas which he passed to me. 

“We need clear heads. Once we have a course of action planned we can sink a few beers or brandies,” he said by way of explanation. 

We rejoined the others and I could see Shaun and Mel, who were sharing the folder, no doubt in order to save time, were almost finished. Shaun was silent, his jaw clenched in a way I knew indicated the depth of his fury. He was never noisy about his rage. I’d only seen him lose it a few times in my life, but each time had been marked by his silence and stillness before an explosion of wrath was unleashed. The cliché, the calm before the storm fit him well. Mel, on the other hand, was muttering under her breath, her cheeks flushed with what I guessed was a mixture horror and anger. 

With a look at Shaun to confirm he’d also finished, Mel tossed the folder back on the table in disgust. 

“Well, if I hadn’t seen it for myself I’d never have believed the pair of them capable of such filth. It’s like some gross B-grade porn movie.” 

As my father lowered himself onto his seat he looked at my mother. “I put the kettle on for you and Mel, love. It should have boiled by now.” 

“I’ll do it, Mum. I needed to do something or I think I might explode.” 

Mel grabbed the teapot, almost flipping the lid off in her haste. 

“Can I assume you’ll divorce her?” asked Shaun. 

“Yes, as I see, it divorce is my only option.” 

Everyone nodded. 

Mel returned, and proceeded to top up my mother’s cup. “Divorce is all well and good, but you need to make them pay for what they’ve done.” 

“I can’t lie, Mel. I’ve imagined umpteen truly spectacular ways of taking revenge on them, but…” I trailed off, sighing. “But I don’t want to lower myself to their level. I’m scared if I do I won’t be able to climb back out of the filth. I don’t want to lose who I am.” 

“You don’t have to,” my mother said. “The truth and their own words and actions will damn them both.” 

She had all of our attention. 

“We’ll make a public announcement in all the local papers which will serve as formal recognition of your separation. You’ve done nothing wrong so we don’t need to sugar-coat it. We can clearly state its due to Claire’s infidelity with a member of your extended family. We can even name Zack, if you want. We follow up with what we say is a courtesy email, call, or letter to all our family and friends, including Claire’s family, where we elaborate a bit more, naming names and timeframes, and we let them know we have concrete proof which we’re happy to share. We make copies of the letters and scan them and then we let people’s natural curiosity or love of gossip do the work for us. Anyone who asks—and believe me, they will ask—we share the letters; each and every one of them. As I’ve already said, Danny, you’ve done nothing wrong. Nor have you done anything you need be ashamed of. Anyone who knows anything about you at all knows you’ve always treated Claire like a queen.” 

I thought about Mum’s plan. It was simple, honest, effective, and I’d get to keep my integrity, but oh how my heart mourned for the loss of my revenge ideas, for the chance to see the pair of them riddled with chlamydia and oozing muck with their sex organs on fire every time they peed. And it went without saying, I’d loved to have had the opportunity to shove Zack’s disease-ridden balls down his throat, but I guess I’d have to settle for the bulk of our family and friends ostracizing the pair of them. I couldn’t help thinking they were getting off light. Sometimes being honorable sucked. 

“What about Aunt Sally?” asked Shaun. 

“We have to face the possibility she won’t abandon Zack, she is his mother, after all, but if she sticks by him, then she can join him in exile, because I won’t tolerate anyone treating either of my boys the way Zack and Claire have treated Danny.” 

Her voice was determined, but I saw the sadness in her eyes; it would hurt her to lose her sister. 

“Can’t we, I don’t know, find some way to use the letters to really humiliate and embarrass them? Maybe, make posters and put them up all over town? Plaster videos all over the internet? I just feel like we need to do more.” 

It warmed me how loyal Mel was to me, to our entire family. She was fierce in her devotion. Shaun had certainly struck gold when he married her. I certainly couldn’t picture her betraying or using Shaun the way Claire had me. I looked at my family and felt blessed—without a single request from me, my battle had become theirs. That was something Claire could never take from me. 

“We could, sweetie, but I want you to think for a moment. Forget, for the time being, the legal ramifications if we did something like that. If you had a choice of having the man you wanted hate you or being totally indifferent to you, which would you prefer?” 

Mel pondered my mother’s question. “Ugh, I hate to admit it, but I’d prefer he hate me because that would mean that, at the very least, I affected him in some way. And hate can turn to love. To have him be indifferent would mean I didn’t exist in his eyes. I’d hate to feel like I was a non-entity. Like I was evaluated and dismissed as irrelevant.” 

“Exactly. To my way of thinking, the opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s indifference. It would hurt Claire far more if Danny pretended to not care one iota than if he flew of the handle and hurled insults. She’s a vain girl; she won’t like not mattering.” 

“You’re assuming, Mum, that she cares about what I think and feel and considering the woman revealed in those letters that might be a stretch.” 

“Oh she does, Danny. She wants you. It may not be for the reasons you wanted her to want you for, but she does want you. She wouldn’t have hung around for twelve years if she didn’t, nor gone to such trouble to hide her true nature. Whatever her motivations, she won’t want you pulling the plug.” 

“Yeah, she wanted a gullible chump to foot the bill for her lifestyle,” I mumbled, unable to disguise the bitterness I felt. 

The answers came thick and fast, each of them talking over the top of the other. 

“You’re not gullible; you’re trusting. There’s a difference.” 

“You’re not a chump.” 

“Don’t let her get you thinking that way. Don’t give her that power.” 

“You’re not the chump. She is. She had a wonderful man who’d do anything for her and she threw him away.” 

“Thanks, guys, but I can’t help feeling stupid and used. She fooled me for twelve years. I never suspected a thing. If I hadn’t stumbled across those letters I’d still be happily falling all over myself to make her happy.” 

“Well, then, we’re all fools,” stated my mother. “Because, reservations aside, none of us suspected anything like this either.” 

“Son, you’re not a fool, nor are we,” said my father. His voice was firm, brooking no argument. “When you fall in love and marry you give that person your trust; that’s the way marriage works. And you continue to trust until they do something to shatter it. Claire clearly excelled in deception and you weren’t to know that until she made a mistake. It would be a sad day for mankind if we entered every relationship suspicious and expecting the worst.” 

“Okay, so you’re saying I have to hide how hurt and angry I am and make Claire think I don’t give a shit.” 

My mother nodded. “Yes. Let her try to explain herself—information is, after all, king. She may even paint herself into a corner with her lies. Give her enough rope to hang herself with. I’d even go so far as to tape your conversations with her. Your phone can do that sort of thing, right?” She paused, seeing the look on my face. “Sweetheart, I know it will be hard to listen to, maybe don’t, maybe try to tune out while she’s blabbing. In fact, that’s a good idea; it will help you remain unemotional. Every time she pauses, just shrug or say something like ‘whatever’ or ‘are you finished yet, I’ve got such and such to do’. Look at your watch, try to look bored. Say as little as possible. Don’t rise to any of her taunts, pleas, or manipulations. She’s bound to try them all at some point.” 

“But if I do that I’ll never get to say to her any of the things I want to say. I don’t want to go through life with this shit festering away inside of me.” 

Dad grasped my knee. “It’s not forever, Danny. Think of this as a war or a chess game. This is a strategy for the early foray. She’s the enemy, son. You don’t want her to see your vulnerability. Later, when the dust settles on your divorce you can tell her whatever the hell you need or want. It will probably be better then. You’ll have heard all her bullshit excuses and arguments and have answers ready. You’ll be able to rehearse and fine tune what you want to say in your mind and deliver it calmly. Do it that way and you’ll be able to turn your words into weapons to shred her with, do it now and you’re likely to say or do something you’ll regret.” 

I nodded. He was right. If I opened my mouth now I wouldn’t be able to stop the deluge of recriminations I wanted to send her way. I wouldn’t be able to hide my pain or my rage. I’d drown her in them and then she would know how to push my buttons. 

We talked a little more and Mum and Mel even had me practice looking bland and bored while they trotted out the cliché excuses used for adultery. ‘It didn’t mean anything’, ‘It was only sex’, ‘I was bored/lonely’, and the pièce de résistance; ‘It’s you and only you I love, he means nothing to me’. 

By the time they finished with me I felt confident I could act my part as long as the confrontation didn’t last too long. 

# # # 

Prepared or not, I was relieved to see Claire wasn’t waiting for me when I got home. I knew she wouldn’t be far away as her work day normally ended just after five and it was now five-fifteen. 

I offloaded my gear, cursing the way my gut was tying itself into knots at the thought of my imminent confrontation with Claire. No amount of deep breaths was easing its stranglehold. I poured myself a finger of brandy, staring into its amber depths for a long moment before taking a sip. I closed my eyes and swirled it around my mouth, coating my tongue and gums before letting it seep, drop by drop, down the back of my throat. The burn was pleasant, calming, and just what I needed. 

At five-forty there was a knock at the door. A few deep breaths followed by a quick check in the mirror to make sure my expression was neutral and I was almost ready. I grabbed my phone, switched it to record mode and slipped it with the keys to the storage facility into my pockets. Now I was ready. 

The walk down the hall was slow; I felt as if I was walking through thick mud. I opened the door and stepped onto the front porch, forcing Claire to take a step back. The door closed behind me with a quiet thud. 

Her familiar scent wafted around me, hitting me with a force like a punch to the gut. I immediately switched to breathing through my mouth. 

“Danny? What the hell? Where have you been and why haven’t you returned any of my calls or emails? And did you change the locks?” 

As she spoke, clearly angry and frustrated, it dawned on me she didn’t know of my discovery of the love letters. She was unaware I knew about her longstanding affair. On the spur of the moment I decided to keep her in ignorance—let the bitch read about it in the papers like everyone else. Then she’d have her fifteen minutes of fame just like the celebrities she idolized. 

“Hello, Claire. Yes, I did change the locks. With our tenth anniversary looming large on the horizon I was doing some soul searching and came to the conclusion I’ve had enough of pretending to love you just so I can get some regular ass. In truth, it’s become boring and too much hard work and so I’ve decided I’m going to divorce you.” 

“What?” 

Claire’s shocked expression was priceless. It took everything I had not to smile with ferocious glee at her bewilderment. 

“You heard me. I don’t love you. I don’t want you, so I’m turfing you out.” 

“You-you-you can’t do that. I don’t believe you. I love you. You love me. I-I don’t understand. This is my home too.” 

Her disjointed sentences spoke volumes about her confusion and the part of me that hated her and what she did reveled in it. 

“I just finished telling you I don’t love you. I’ve been pretending. And I can kick you to the curb. I just did. Here’s the keys to the storage unit where I placed all your stuff. If I’ve missed anything send me an email and I’ll pack it up and leave it out the front here for you.” 

She accepted the keys, looking down at them as if she’d never seen a key before in her life. 

“But-but this is my house too. You can’t kick me out. I have just as much right as you to live here.” 

“True, but if you move in, I’ll move out and who’s going to finish the renovations then? And I sure as hell won’t pay the mortgage on a place I’m not living at so if you really want to live here in an unfinished house, be my guest, but you’ll be the one paying the bank loan and for any work done. I won’t cough up a cent.” 

Tears trickled down Claire’s cheeks. I hardened my heart and fought against the training of twelve years that urged me to reach out and comfort her. I glanced at my watch, trying to look bland. 

“I don’t understand, Danny. What’s going on? When I left for the spa you said you loved me when you kissed me goodbye. And now… now you want a divorce?” 

Her voice shook. She reached for my arm. I pulled away. 

“Yes, I want a divorce.” 

“Why? What’s happened to bring this on? Have you met someone? Are you having an affair?” 

It took every ounce of self-restraint to breathe normally and keep my expression neutral. My hands literally itched to wrap themselves around her neck and squeeze until not a drop of air remained in her lungs. I wanted to look in her eyes as life left her. She’d killed a part of me, it seemed only fair a part of her die too. 

“Nope. No affair. Just bored with you and ready for a change.” 

“Why, Danny? Why are you being like this? I don’t understand how you can so suddenly change. How you can be so cruel. This isn’t like you.” 

I was reaching the limit of my acting ability. I had to end this soon or I’d either murder the bitch or vomit ugly words all over her. 

“Look, I’m going out tonight and I’d like to have a shower and change so can we talk about this some other time?” 

She stood with her mouth open, tears crawling down her cheeks. Score one to me—she didn’t have a clue what was going on. 

I let myself back in the house, leaving her standing on the porch in tears. Once inside, I leaned against the wall for support, drained. Christ, this pretending business was exhausting; how had she managed it for twelve years? 

# # # 

I sat back in my recliner, reading over what I’d written. Thank God for laptops and word processing software—had I been on the old pen and paper gig I’m sure I’d have gone through a ream of paper as I wrote and rewrote the separation notification. Technically, I didn’t need to place an advert to register my separation from Claire, but it served my purpose for many reasons. 

I, Daniel Jonathon McCormack, born 12 January, 1982, hereby state that as of 21 March, 2017, I have separated from my wife, Claire Elizabeth McCormack, nee Johnson, born 11 November, 1985, due to my discovery of her betrayal of our wedding vows. Namely the one where she promised to forsake all others. 

Due to her longstanding affair with a member of my extended family, I will no longer be responsible for any debts incurred by Claire Elizabeth McCormack as of the aforementioned date. 

I glanced at the corner of the screen; it was a little after nine and I’d had enough. The notification wasn’t that lengthy, less than one hundred words. I should have had it written in a matter of minutes rather than hours. I couldn’t decide how much to say and whether to put Zack’s name in or not. I’d chopped and changed it so many times I couldn’t think straight any more. 

I closed the program down, deciding I’d look at it again in the morning with fresh eyes. Placing my laptop on the table beside me, I tossed up whether to put a movie on or go to bed and try and get some sleep. I hadn’t made up my mind yet when I heard a knock at the door. Thinking it was Claire back for round two; I dropped my chin to my chest and said a silent prayer for calm and strength. 

On my way to the front door I paused in front of the hall mirror to check I had my bland face in place and to set my phone to record mode. 

I opened the door. “Look, Claire—Dad? Shaun?” 

They smiled at me. 

“Good bored face, son.” 

We all laughed—it felt good. I stood aside and with familiarity of having been many times in my home they made their own way to my kitchen and helped themselves to a beer. 

“I see you weren’t joking about having done a little un-renovating,” observed Shaun as he settled himself at one end of the sofa. 

I snorted. “I’m a man of my word. So did Mum send the pair of you over to check up on me?” 

“Nope. It was my idea, but Shaun and I aren’t here to babysit you. We’re here to help you plan a little whoop-ass for Rat-Zack. We figured you’d need a little more payback than a red face for the slimy bastard. Though if your Mum asks, we just played cards and got you drunk.” 

“Dad, you sly dog!” 

“A little white lie to protect her sensibilities does her no harm.” He winked at me. “And it does a husband good if he wants a little nooky.” Shaun and I chuckled. “Your mum is a good, gentle woman, and I love her dearly, but, like most women, she doesn’t understand the way a man’s mind works. Women don’t get a man’s need to keep his, ah, balls.” My father shrugged, grinning. “Sometimes a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. 

TO BE CONTINUED.