LOVE LETTERS 3

CHAPTER THREE

“ARE YOU SERIOUS? What about all your lectures to Shaun and me about not taking matters into our own hands? About violence not being the answer? Or about two wrongs not making a right?”

“I guess I did too good a job of instilling a bit of honour into you boys. Tell me something, Danny. If Zack—” My father held up his hand to silence me when I opened my mouth to interrupt. “Let me finish. If Zack came into your home a month ago and told you to your face he was going to steal Claire away from you, that he was going to take her away with him right there and then, would you have challenged him? Would you have fought him for her?”

“Of course.”

All my father did was raise one eyebrow. That was all it took for me to have my epiphany.

“Oh, okay. I get it.”

“About time,” said Shaun. “The only difference is; the fucker didn’t have the balls or decency to tell you to your face.”

“True, but Claire shares the blame, she might even have been the instigator, the letters sure sound like she came up with a lot of the shit they did, and I can’t exactly go bust her nose, can I?”

“No, you can’t, but we’ll deal with her in other ways,” my father agreed. “But when it comes to your cousin, I don’t care if the bitch stripped naked, laid herself out on a platter, and offered herself up to him with bells on her nipples, he should have said no. You’re his kin. His blood. Not only that, you were his friend. He should have walked away. Maybe, had a good look, but walked away nonetheless. He didn’t.”

“Bells on her nipples, Dad?” We all laughed. “Okay, consider me convinced. Let’s figure out how I’m going to do this so I don’t end up in jail.”

# # #

The weekend passed by quicker than I thought it would. My family rarely left me alone. They kept me busy making plans, Dad and Shaun’s somewhat different to Mum and Mel’s….

It was the best thing they could have done. It kept me focused and able to keep my pain and grief locked away. Perhaps, most of all, it changed my simmering, ready-to-boil-over, rage into something cold and implacable and determined. Something constructive rather than destructive.

Mum and Mel tweaked my notice and took over seeing it lodged in, not only the local paper, but also the free paper and another rag from the nearest city to us which was popular among the locals as it had great sports coverage. The notice would go in all the papers the following Monday and run every day for the entire week. Mum, God bless her affronted heart, wanted to make sure everyone in our fair town saw the ad.

Claire rang a few times and wrote me a long email. I let the calls go to voicemail where she left me essay length messages. They all said basically the same thing—she loved me, don’t throw away our love and the twelve happy years we’d spent together. I snorted. Had she not gone through her things and found the love letters missing? I’d repacked her books, but still… had she not figured it out yet? Was she so arrogant as to believe her affair was still unknown to me? Was she trying to bluff me? Brazen it out? Did she really know me so little that she believed my feelings could be switched off like a tap? Apparently so.

The only awkward moment was when we were all at Mum and Dad’s for dinner on Sunday evening and Claire turned up just as we were about to sit down. Mel and Shaun immediately took Maddie and Declan out to the backyard so they wouldn’t hear what passed between my mother and Claire. Thank God, they did because Claire put on one hell of a performance, crying and wailing up a storm. My already high regard for my mother climbed another notch; she remained unmoved by Claire’s emotional tour de force.

“Please, Ellie, you have to intercede on my behalf. I don’t know what’s gotten into Danny to make him behave so irrationally. Maybe he’s having some sort of emotional breakdown. Please, I’m begging you; please convince him to talk to me. He loves me. I know he does. He can’t have stopped overnight.”

“From what I understand, dear, he’s never loved you. Not much can be done about that. If by word and deed you couldn’t inspire him to love you after twelve years together, I can’t see how yet another conversation is going to change things. Now if you don’t mind, I have guests and dinner to serve.”

And then she closed the door in the bitch’s face.

# # #

Monday evening saw the first bit of shit hit the fan. Claire had either read or been informed of the separation notice and so come five-thirty I had a hysterical woman on my doorstep, blubbering the usual cheater bullshit.

Luckily for me, Shaun had stopped by after work. Knowing he was there helped me keep my composure. I was never more grateful for my family’s don’t-let-Danny-spend-too-much-time-alone plan. I knew he’d rescue me if it sounded like I was losing my self-control or deviating from our plan.

“Danny, you have to believe me. It’s not what you think. I can explain.”

Honestly, did she really think me so stupid? Perhaps she was justified; she had, after all, managed to fool me for twelve years, but, even so, what other interpretation was; Standing by Danny, watching you walk down the aisle, knowing you were full of my cum, is the kinkiest, most perverse thing I’ve ever known or Do you really want me to impregnate you? Man, the idea of you having my baby and getting old Danny Boy to raise it has my cock as hard as titanium open to? Did she really think she could convince me it was innocent? Justified? Acceptable? Reasonable behaviour? All of the above?

“Look, whatever, Claire. Doesn’t really matter. It just shows it’s time to move on—our marriage is over.”

“No!” Claire screamed loud enough I was sure our neighbours heard.

I guess my mother was right—for whatever reason; Claire wanted to hang on to our marriage.

“No. It can’t be. I love you, Danny. Please give me a chance to explain. You have to let me explain.”

“I don’t ‘have to’ anything, Claire, and allowing you to explain your screwing around with my cousin is a waste of my time—I don’t care.”

“Please, Danny. Despite what you’ve said I know I’ve hurt you and I truly didn’t mean to. Please, let me explain.”

I sighed impatiently. I’d give the bitch a chance to explain, not because I wanted to hear her lies—I’d finally moved past that morbid need, thanks to my family—but because my mother had suggested we let Claire metaphorically hang herself with her lies. Still, she was going to have to work for it. Gone were the days where looking at me with puppy dog eyes was going to get her what she wanted.

“What’s the point, Claire?”

“I need you to understand, Danny. If you let me explain, I know I can make you understand.”

I harrumphed again, looking at my watch. “Fine. I’ll make myself available at five-thirty tomorrow evening. You will have thirty minutes.” My tone was abrupt, making it clear I was reluctant.

“Thank you, Danny. You won’t regret it, I promise. Where? Where shall I meet you?”

“Here.”

I didn’t trust the slut as far as I could kick her with my little toe. I wanted more than the recording off my phone. I wanted privacy, but I also wanted witnesses in the off chance things turned ugly or she tried to lie about what was said or done during the meeting. By having it at my home, I could have a member of my family within hearing distance.

“Thank you, Danny. Thank you so much.”

Claire stepped forward, closing the distance between us, and placed her hands on my shoulders. She raised herself on her toes and leaned in as if to kiss me. Her intentions were so obvious. Did she really think if she could plant one on me I’d melt and forgive all? I couldn’t decide if she was arrogant or delusional. I grabbed her hands, and, at the same time as moving backward, I pushed her away, causing her to lose her balance and stumble.

I shuddered, allowing my revulsion to show on my face. “Please do not presume to show me affection.”

“I-I’m sorry. I just… It’s just, I love you and I miss you, Danny.”

“Whatever, Claire. I will see you tomorrow evening.”

# # #

Tuesday dawned bright and clear; giving no warning to the surprising turn the day was going to take. I was finishing a beautiful Jarrah kitchen benchtop when I was contacted by one of the local radio stations. Apparently, Haley, one half of their morning radio show; Oscar and Haley, had read the separation notice and recognized my name as she was friends with Dee, another cousin of mine on my mother’s side. Guess it’s true what they say about it being a small world.

Haley contacted Dee, who, in turn, contacted my mother and Mel. Mum and Mel happily shared the love letters with my cousin, and she, with their permission, shared them with Haley.

I fluctuated between feeling mortified at having my private affairs bandied about for all and sundry to see, and thrilled that, perhaps, Claire and Rat-Zack would be publicly humiliated, after all. To say it was embarrassing to me went without saying. I felt emasculated, like I couldn’t satisfy my wife and keep her faithful, but as the saying goes; when seeking revenge, dig two graves, and if my grave was one of embarrassment, I’d live with it. What did I care about what a bunch of strangers thought of me? The people I cared about knew what manner of man I was, and more importantly, deep down, so did I, regardless of moments of doubt.

I spoke at length with Haley. She seemed both sympathetic and nice. Somehow, her invasion of my privacy didn’t feel like an invasion at all. Dee, apparently, had given me a big talk up, which gave me a boost. For me that signalled my extended family was rallying in Corner Danny.

By the end of the call, I agreed to be interviewed on air on Friday morning and gave permission for them to use some of the letters on their website and Facebook page. To keep it PG some words or phrases would have to be blacked out, but the gist, she assured me, would remain clear.

They were going to dedicate the next few days to discussions about infidelity, encouraging listeners to ring in with their stories. My interview on Friday would be the culmination of their forum. We organized to meet the following day so I could sign a release form for the use of the letters. I ended the call feeling a little shell shocked but resolute; if the show went as planned, and the audience reacted the way Haley predicted, Claire and Zack would be judged by a jury of their peers.

No jail time for them, perhaps, more’s the pity.

But then again, not all jails have bars….

# # #

I glanced down at myself and grimaced. My clothing wasn’t exactly suitable for meeting someone at a café. I climbed out of my truck and patted down my jeans and tee to get the worst of the sawdust off. Using a rag, I wiped my work boots. I shrugged. The result wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. It couldn’t be helped. I still had a living to earn and I hadn’t had time to detour via the house to get changed.

Entering the trendy coffee shop Haley had chosen, I paused and scanned the room. I knew what Haley looked like from the billboards and side of bus adverts for her show with Oscar. I spotted her bent blonde head toward the back in one of their booths—good, at least we’d have a bit of privacy.

I watched as she glanced at her watch and then looked up. I smiled and raised my arm in recognition. She rose and smiled too. She was average height, but that was the only thing average about her as far as I could see. She looked far better in person than her promo shots.

Her hair reminded me of Meg Ryan in the movie she did with Matthew Broderick; Addicted to… something. Love? Lust? Mum’s cooking? I couldn’t remember. The style was kind of funky; short, messy, poking out here and there, with a long fringe that swept across her forehead. Sexy. Very effing sexy.

Taken individually, her mouth might be considered a touch too wide, her chin a tad too pointed, her cheekbones a fraction too high, but somehow, when put all together, she was nothing short of breathtaking.

I was relieved to see she was casually dressed—a white tee tucked into hipster jeans held up by a wide black belt. Though the belt really didn’t have much of a job to do; I was certain her curves could handle the task all on their own. All the belt managed to do was draw attention to the difference between her waistline and her hips.

“Daniel?” she asked. Her voice had a touch of rasp à la Emma Stone or Demi Moore.

“Please; call me Danny.”

Her smile widened and we shook hands; her grip was pleasantly firm.

“I feel I already know you,” she said as she resumed her seat. “Back in high school Dee spoke often of you and Shaun. She’ll probably kill me for telling you this but she used to bemoan the fact that the pair of you were her cousins.”

“Well, you can tell her from me, that Shaun did his share of moaning about their cousinship status.”

Haley laughed and it was a nice sound, one that wrapped itself around you and made you feel warm.

“Not you?”

“No.” I chuckled. “I was too busy staring at Jilly Clark all the time—she had huge knockers. Think Dolly Parton and you’ll get the picture. I couldn’t understand how she could stand up straight with such big tits. She defied the laws of physics.”

“So, a boob man?”

“No, not really. At least, not anymore, but as a teen, yeah, I guess I was.”

I felt heat creep into my cheeks. Less than two minutes in and I was already confessing embarrassing truths.

“I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of ordering you a cappuccino. I figured that was pretty safe.”

“That’s fine; thanks.”

We smiled awkwardly at each other, neither of us knowing how to broach the elephant in the room. That made me feel a bit better; the fact she was uncomfortable about questioning me about Claire’s affair showed she had some humanity, that my pain and betrayal wasn’t an everyday event for her.

I looked into her eyes, surprised to see they weren’t the blue or grey I expected. They were green. Very green. In fact, I couldn’t recall ever having seen eyes as green before. They didn’t glitter like emeralds, but rather shone like the glossy leaves of the Peace Lily that usually sat at the centre of my mother’s dining table.

She reached across the table, touching the back of my hand. “I’ve read the letters, Danny. They’re so awful. I can’t even begin to fathom how it must have made you feel to find them. Can you tell me about it?”

I studied her, looking for signs of deceit or false sincerity. I found none.

“Can we decide afterward what will remain off the record? There are parts I definitely don’t want to share with every Tom, Dick, or Harry.”

“Of course. That goes without saying. I don’t want to know because of morbid curiosity or because of some sick voyeuristic reason. I need to know so I can plan my questions. I must warn you Oscar is irreverent and he may throw in some one liners designed to make people laugh or stir the pot. I promise I will only pass on to him the parts you don’t mind sharing with our audience.”

I nodded. Taking a deep breath, I stared down at my hands wrapped around the mug of coffee. Thank God, she’d ordered me a large—I was going to need every drop. I tried to look at her as I told my tale, but found I couldn’t hold her gaze, but every time I glanced at her, she was watching me, her expression serious but kind. I told her everything, not just about finding the letters, but also about the Claire I’d thought I’d known and our marriage. There was just something about Haley that demanded the truth, but, as each word left my mouth, I wondered at the wisdom of being so brutally honest. I could only hope my faith wasn’t misplaced.

“… so there you have it. Not very pretty is it?”

“No, it’s like some horribly perverted B-grade movie.”

“That’s what Mel said.”

“If I hadn’t heard and seen it for myself, I wouldn’t believe it was possible. It’s too bizarre. Surreal. It’s incomprehensible that two ordinary, everyday people could behave like that. Truth truly can be stranger than fiction.”

“Yes, and I’m just the blind fool who never suspected a thing.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Danny. You never saw the signs because you weren’t looking for them, and why would you? You thought you were happily married. When I was doing my Communications degree I took a few psychology classes and they had a name for it. God, what was it again?”

Haley closed her eyes and frowned, tapping her forehead in a rapid tattoo. I couldn’t help smiling; the gesture looked cute.

“I’ve got it!” She lit up like a Christmas tree. “It’s called Confirmatory Bias or something like that.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Christ that sounds like double-speak. What exactly does it mean?”

“Well, when you love someone and believe that love is reciprocated it colours how you view the loved ones words and actions. Basically, you believed Claire loved you so everything she said or did you interpreted in a way that supported your belief. It would take a bolt of lightning to make you re-evaluate. You finding the letters was your bolt of lightning.”

“So I’m not an idiot?”

“Far from it.”

I smiled. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“Did you love her very much?”

“Yes… No.” I sighed. “I loved the woman I thought she was but the woman revealed in those letters wasn’t the Claire I knew, so I guess I loved a fantasy.”

“That must be hard to come to terms with.”

“Yes.”

“You seem remarkably in control. I think I’d be a crying mess.”

“I hurt, but I’ve tucked it away to deal with later.”

“How does one ‘tuck it away’?”

“I’ll give you an analogy. Say you injured your foot so severely it got infected and gangrenous. Would you weep and moan and wail about how unfair it was, giving the infection time to spread further up your leg, or would you bite the bullet, get your foot amputated and mourn its loss after the fact, knowing you had at least saved the rest of your leg?”

“Oh, I see. Yes, that makes sense. Like biting off one piece at a time rather than trying to eat the whole loaf at once.”

I nodded, taking a sip of my coffee. I repressed a grimace of distaste—it was now tepid.

“What are your plans for the future? Do you have any? Have you thought that far?”

“To be totally honest, I feel a bit lost. Like a boat with no anchor. Up until I found the letters, my whole life had revolved around Claire and our marriage. Everything was about renovating the house, starting a family, having one last big trip before we became parents. That’s all gone now.” I took another sip of the lukewarm coffee, gathering my thoughts in the hope I’d be able to express them in a way that Haley would understand. “I’m a carpenter-joiner. I specialize in internal fit-outs—things like kitchens, wood panelled games rooms, restaurants, pubs, or man-caves etcetera—and what usually happens is the builder or architect gives me some plans and I go speak to the owner and then I design and build something to fit the space and their needs. Right now, I feel like the plan for my life, the plan I’ve been working with for the last twelve years, has been ripped out of my hands and shredded and I have to go and design a whole new life. It’s daunting. Rationally, I know it will get easier, I just have to take it one day at a time, but it’s daunting nonetheless. I mean, what are the rules now? What are the limitations? I have to go rethink what I want my future to look like.”

Haley reached across and laid her hand over mine. “That’s really profound, poetic even. We should try and incorporate that into your interview.”

We talked a little more, tossing around ideas for the questions she’d ask me to guide the conversation in the direction we wanted it to go. I told her about the upcoming meeting with Claire and we organized to speak on the phone on the Thursday evening in case we needed to change anything based on the outcome of that meeting.

I waited while Haley settled the bill, she having refused my offer to pay. I held the door open for her and walked her to her car, a sporty looking little Renault. It suited her.

“Let me guess, that’s your car across the road.”

I grinned. “What gave me away? The fact it’s a truck or all the toolboxes?”

Haley snickered. “Both were big clues, but your DAN-007 number plate was the clincher.”

I laughed. “Yep, that’s me, McCormack, Dan McCormack; licensed to build.”

“Ooh, and a comedian too. What a catch!”

We both laughed again and said our good-byes.

As I walked across the road to my truck, it struck me that for a few precious moments I’d been happy, genuinely happy.

# # #

I frowned, stopping mid-motion; I’d been about to check the time yet again.

I replaced my hand on top of the recliner, my frown deepening as my hands clenched of their own accord, my knuckles almost white with the strength of my grip. My throat hurt, feeling impossibly tight around the lump filling it. I tried to swallow it away and scowled at the pain. Gritting my teeth, I eased my grip, flexing my fingers, not surprised to see the remains of an indentation in the leather of the recliner. Slowly, as if it had tremendous weight, I dropped my chin onto my chest. The action was controlled and deliberate, but that was more from stubbornness than actual mastery over of my emotions.

One thing I couldn’t control was the pounding of my heart. That perplexed me. Why was it thundering like a freight train? Was it anger? Hurt? Nerves? Or the love that I still felt for her? No, not that. The woman I’d loved was not the woman who was about to knock on my door. That woman never existed; she’d been nothing more than a figment of my imagination, a mirage. But I mourned her. Missed her. I missed my delusion. Her loss left a huge hole in my life.

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Slow and deep and calming; an all but silent moment that could loosely be described as meditation.

It worked, like a cooling salve on an open wound. Of course, Claire and I were way past any possibility of healing. We were burnt to a crisp, charcoal, and had been since the first time she’d spread her legs for him. I just hadn’t known it.

As I continued my steady pattern of breathing and waiting for my heart to slow, I reminded myself of the plan. As much as I wanted to cut her to shreds with my words, that would have to wait. This would be Claire’s conversation; I would merely be the recipient of her words.

I heard, rather than saw, Shaun come to stand behind me. Taking one last deep breath, I raised my head and turned to face him. With a reassuring smile on his face, he reached out and gripped my shoulder.

“Everything’s set up. The video camera is aimed at the table and is already on. I recharged the battery last night so, failing a malfunction, you’re covered.”

“Thanks. For everything, Shaun.”

He waved off my thanks. “You’d do the same for me. You ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be. It’s best gotten over and done with.”

Shaun nodded. “So…”

I laughed. “Yeah, I know; bland, bored, and indifferent.”

“You can do this, Danny. One talk and then the worst will be over.”

I barely had time to nod when the dreaded knock reverberated down the hall.

Shaun and I looked at each other. He smiled and gave me the thumbs up as he saw me don my neutral face.

“I’ll wait in the dining room while you let her in.”

I took one last moment to roll my neck and flex my shoulders in an effort to ease the tension knotted between them before marching down the hall to let in my traitorous wife.

One look at her revealed her anxiety. I took pleasure in it. Shucks, looks like her time at the spa was wasted. What a pity. 

“Claire, follow me. We’ll conduct this meeting in the dining room.”

“I… oh, okay.”

The click of her heels followed me as I made my way to the rear of the house. Shaun was standing by the glass sliding doors looking out over the back patio. He turned as he heard us enter the room. I registered her surprise at seeing Shaun with me.

“Danny. I… Um, hi, Shaun.”

Shaun tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Claire. I’ll wait on the patio, Danny, while you and Claire talk.”

Shaun slid the door back, and with one final look at me, stepped through. Turning to Claire, I noticed her flushed cheeks and surmised she knew why I’d organized for Shaun to be present. With him as witness there’d no chance of her pulling any tricks and accusing me of anything that could go against me in the divorce. It also disguised the fact I was taping our meeting—why do both?

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Um, water, please.”

I intentionally placed her drink where historically we’d have seated a guest, before taking my customary position at the table. Perhaps the message would be too subtle for her, but I didn’t think so as she paused before sitting in the place I’d designated. Casually, as if I had all the time in the world, I leaned back, taking a sip of my water. I neither spoke, nor encouraged her to speak. I just sat and stared and waited.

“Um. I… ah… Danny, I’m so glad we can finally talk. I’ve missed you so much. I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I need to say it—I still love—”

“Don’t, Claire.”

“I needed to say it. Please, believe me. And once I explain and make you see, maybe we could—”

“I said stop, Claire. I don’t love you. Nor do I want to hear your declarations of love. You’re wasting your thirty minutes.”

Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, you lying, traitorous bitch.

To my surprise, she only faltered for a moment. The expression of shock on her face was but fleeting thing, there and gone, and soon replaced by a flash of irritation, like I was a naughty puppy not learning a new trick fast enough. Surely, she wasn’t so misguided as to think she’d only have to say she loved me and I’d forgive and forget all? She looked down at her hands holding the glass of water in what I guessed was a ploy to hide her emotions.

“I don’t believe you. I can’t. You loved me too much to just turn it off like a light switch.” She risked a glance up at me, but didn’t find what she was looking for—I was genuinely unmoved by her declaration. Her forehead creased in a frown and she returned to staring at her hands. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Danny. It wasn’t my intention. I need you to know it wasn’t you. It wasn’t anything you did. It was something separate to us. It had absolutely nothing to do with you. With us.”

She paused as if waiting for me to say something.

I didn’t. I wanted to. Lord, how I wanted to. I wanted to scream at her. Really? That’s what you’re going with? You bringing a third person into our marriage has nothing to do with me? Next you’ll be telling me it was for my benefit.

I pressed myself more firmly against the back of the chair to stop myself from leaping to my feet and yelling at her, I’d really like you to clarify for me how you screwing my cousin had nothing to do with me. How it was good for me, for us. Explain to me how it wasn’t a betrayal of trust. Wasn’t stabbing me in the back. Wasn’t evil and selfish.

Instead, I sipped my water.

She inhaled, and I was pleased to note that seeing her breasts push against the cotton of her blouse left me unmoved. She was as gorgeous as ever but forever polluted in my eyes. In truth, the mere thought of touching her actually revolted me.

When she risked another glance at me, I made it clear I had no intention of commenting on her declaration. She hesitated, opening and closing her mouth; I could almost see the cogs turning in her brain. How much should she confess to? What ploy would reap the result she was looking for?

“Danny, there’s things you don’t know about me. Things I never wanted you to know.”

I resisted the urge to raise my eyebrows in sarcastic response, chanting to myself; calm, neutral, bored, calm, neutral, bored over and over again.

“As you know, I grew up in Broken Hill. In many ways, it’s a small town. Everybody seems to know everybody. Well, um, well, I was known as a bit of a wild child.” She sighed, turning her head to the side, showing me the extent of the flush; it went all the way down her neck and into the collar of her blouse. “More than a bit. I was a slut. I had a reputation. A bad one. When Dad got transferred to Kiama in my final year of high school I used the move as a chance to reinvent myself.”

She looked at me, trying to gauge my reaction. Getting no feedback, she persevered, “I succeeded for the most part, but, as I discovered, the whole partying, sex, and kink lifestyle can be addictive. Sometimes I felt like I was crawling out of my skin with need to cut loose. I struggled with how restrictive being good was compared to my bad girl days. I solved the issue by rationing myself. A couple of times a month, I’d go to Sydney or Wollongong, or head south to Nowra, anywhere where I wasn’t known, and I’d, um, I guess you could say, binge. By, ah, gorging myself, so to speak, I could spend the rest of the month being a good girl.”

Once again she paused, studying me, waiting for a response. Once again, I gave her nothing but an expressionless stare.

“Well, um, then I got offered a promotion if I was prepared to move to Newcastle. I met you within a month of the move and you were so sweet and wonderful, and we had such fun together. For a while the urge to slut around faded, but after about six months I got the itch again. By coincidence I had to go to Sydney for a week for work, and, well, I binged. On my last night I bumped into Zack. He saw me, um, doing stuff I shouldn’t be with some guy and cornered me. I thought, at first, he was going to tell me off, but he didn’t. He, oh God, this is so hard, he told me he liked a good slut. That’s how it started.”

Tears rolled down her red cheeks, dripping off her chin and onto her blouse.

“You need to know I didn’t make love to Zack, I swear we only fucked. It wasn’t lovemaking. It wasn’t anything like what you and I share. Please believe me when I tell you a lot of what I said to Zack was just sex talk to get him revved up. It was all just part of the game he and I played. I didn’t mean it. I-It’s hard to explain. It’s like I had two different people living inside my body with two very different needs. You satisfied sweet Claire and Zack, um, the other. From him I needed to be treated like… like…”

She had the decency to look away.

“Like a slut. It was a satisfying of that need, Danny, nothing more. I didn’t look to him to make me feel loved and cherished and safe. I didn’t want that from him—I wanted that from you because I love you. I didn’t want a life with him. It’s you I want to grow old with. I never, I swear, loved him. It was never the same with him as it is with you and me.”

I repressed the urge to snort in disgust. I couldn’t suppress my thoughts though. They silently berated her. So now you’re schizo. Well, thanks for that insight. Regardless, he still stuck his cock in you. And he must have done a good job of satisfying your, ah, ‘slutty bad girl need’, or you wouldn’t have carried on with him for twelve years.

“Danny, please try to understand. He fulfilled a sexual need. Nothing more. It wasn’t emotional.”

Only physical. Not emotional. Like that makes all the difference. Did the lack of emotion make his cock somehow less of a cock? Did it make it a phantom cock? A metaphorical one? 

It took everything I had to remain silent and calm. My gut churned with the need to reply. The bitter taste of bile filled my mouth at only being able to answer in my mind. One day, I comforted myself. One day, I’d get to say them aloud.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Danny. I wish I could take it back. Get a do-over.”

Was she for real? Didn’t mean to hurt me? How else could she possibly see the situation playing out? Hurting me was a foregone conclusion. It was just a matter of when. How could she not see that? And once done, it couldn’t be undone. That horse had left the stable. It had galloped off, trampling my heart underfoot in the process.

More tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, trekking slowly down her cheeks. Were they real? Were they part of her act? In truth, it didn’t matter if they were genuine or false because they would make no difference to the outcome of our conversation.

“Please say something, Danny. Please say you understand. You didn’t know. I truly thought that as long as you didn’t know it wouldn’t hurt you. I wanted to protect you. Protect us, our love. Our sweet sweet love. By being his slut once or twice a month I was able to be a good wife to you the rest of the time. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. Please forgive me. Please love me enough to forgive me.”

Her pleas and apologies dumbfounded me. It was clear she didn’t see herself as the villain of the story, perhaps not totally innocent, or the wronged party, but definitely not as the baddie. If anything she saw herself as a victim, a victim of her ‘addiction’ as she called it. Did she really believe I should forgive her and turn a blind eye to her slutting around so she could satisfy her need to act like a whore once or twice a month?

How could she not realize what she admitted with her confession? I’d said the Claire revealed in the letters wasn’t the Claire I’d loved and cherished; now I knew it for a fact. Her binges enabled her to play a part, the part of the sweet wife. It was a role, nothing more than a role. Sweet Claire might have gotten more air time but that didn’t change the fact that selfish slut Claire was the real Claire.

She fidgeted, my silence clearly unnerving her. “Danny, please. Please say something. I need to know what you’re thinking. Please give me a second chance. We were happy. For twelve years you were happy. We can be again, if you’d just let me make it up to you. Please let me come home.”

Make it up to me? How exactly do you make up for more than a decade of lies and deception? Of disrespect?

“No.” That was all I gave her. One word.

“Danny, please. I know what I did was terrible. I will spend the rest of my life being the best wife possible if you’d only give me another chance. Doesn’t our marriage mean anything to you? Can you really walk away so easily?”

I picked up my glass, draining the last of my water in an effort to quench the fire burning in my gut, to drown the fury that longed to spill over my lips. The injustice of her word tested my resolve. Me give up on our marriage? Me walk away easily? It was her. She was the one who gave up on us before we’d ever really started. It was her pretending to be something she wasn’t that doomed us to failure from the word go. I closed my eyes as I drank and envisaged immersing myself in the cool, still waters of a meadow pond and counted. By the time I got to ten I’d regained my self-control.

“Yes, I can walk away. And without so much as a backward glance.” I pointedly checked my watch. “I believe your time is up.”

The trickle of tears turned to outright weeping.

“Danny, I love you. Only you. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. He just served a purpose. Don’t give up on us, Danny. Please, give me a chance. I can make you trust me again. I can make you love me again. Just give me a chance. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never let you down again—”

“Enough, Claire. Please compose yourself. This meeting is over.”

I rose, and without looking in her direction, I made my way to the front door, opening it and waiting.

I waited a while.

She walked toward me, her step slow as if she was on the way to her execution. She stopped beside me, looking up with pleading eyes.

“I love you, Danny. I love you so much. Could we…could we try counselling? Please say you’ll at least consider it.”

“Counselling would be pointless. I don’t love you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have plans for this evening.”

I quietly closed the door, proud I didn’t succumb to my desire to slam it shut. I turned and headed down the hall. The sound of Claire’s sobs followed me but I didn’t turn around or hesitate.

# # #

Shaun was in the dining room, using one of the chairs to stand on in order to retrieve his camera from the top of the display hutch. I watched as he placed it on the dining table.

“You okay?” he asked, clasping my bicep. I knew he was ready to pull me in for a hug if I needed it but I was so full of rage I needed movement, not comfort.

“Did you hear any of it?

“A little.”

“Can you believe it? She fucking spends twelve years lying, cheating, and betraying me. Twelve fucking years of disrespect and she thinks that confessing to being addicted to being a slut somehow makes it okay? That a simple, I’m sorry accompanied by a few tears will fix everything? Nothing she could ever say or do will ever change the fact that she spent more than decade deceiving me. That’s twelve years I’ll never get back. No matter what she does to try and make amends it will always be a part of our history. She made a unilateral decision to feed her so-called addiction outside of our marriage without so much as one word of discussion with me. And now she wants to cry, ‘woe is me’, because she has to live with the repercussions? The only reason she wants me to take her back is so she doesn’t have to deal with the fall-out. She’s just scared she’s going to lose her good girl status with family and friends.”

“I agree, Danny. Whatever planet she’s living on, it ain’t planet Earth.”

“Yeah, I know. I honestly think she believes her affair should be considered on a par with the time she borrowed my car and dinged it or the time she accidentally threw my new effing phone into the washing machine.”

“But, Danny,” Shaun mimicked Claire’s voice. “I’m addicted to being a slut so I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

I snorted, pacing back and forth in front of the glass sliding doors.

“Did you hear the part where she said that while I didn’t know about the affair it wasn’t hurting me? Christ, Shaun, how fucked up is that? It took everything I had not to leap across the table and strangle the bitch. Not hurting me because I was in the dark? That’s like saying cancer isn’t harming you just because for ‘X’ amount of time you didn’t know it was lurking in your body. Try convincing a cancer victim of that logic. Whether you know it’s there or not it’s still eating away at your insides, slowly killing you. It just does so by stealth until it can’t hide its evil face anymore.”

Shaun patted my shoulder on his way to the fridge. He grabbed a couple of beers, passing me one.

“Here, I think you’ve earned this. Man, I was so proud of you. I’m not sure I’d have been able to stay calm with some of the bullshit she spouted. You even scared me; you sounded so formal and uncaring, like a school principal. Did you feel sorry for her at any time? Maybe think about working it out?”

“No. Not once. In fact, when I looked at her, I felt repulsed. All I saw was an actress playing a part. Nothing she could say or do could convince me our marriage meant anything to her. It can’t have or she wouldn’t have given in to her urges and invited him between her legs again and again and again. She did things for him things she wouldn’t for me. With me she was Little Miss Goody Two Shoes. And you read the letters. Christ, she asked him to father our children. You know how long I’ve been asking her to start a family and she was going to rob me of even that. That’s not love. That’s hate.

“But even without all of that, I refuse to live a life of quiet desperation, wondering and questioning who the real Claire is. I won’t go through life with a permanent knot in my gut, suspicious every time she’s late or not in the mood, or, heaven forbid, she is in the mood and I’m torturing myself, wondering if she’s really in the moment with me or whether she’s plastered some other bloke’s face on mine and imagining its him she’s having sex with.”

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that, Danny. I have to admit, I was worried she’d get to you and somehow convince you to forgive her. I mean, I wouldn’t have blamed you; you’ve invested a lot of time and emotion into the woman. And I would have supported you, if that was what you really wanted, but I just can’t see any happiness for you if you go down that road.”

I nodded, still pacing. I felt like a bull pawing the ground.

“What I don’t get is if Claire wanted to fuck around why marry you? Why marry anyone? Why even date seriously? She could have presented herself as a career girl and kept it light and casual, seen other people and when one or the other of you got bored or saw someone else you fancied you could have moved on with no hard feelings. She could have had all the strange cock she wanted.”

I nodded in agreement. Shaun was right. Why the hell marry at all if she needed to screw around in order to be happy? Unless the guy got off on that sort of thing it was never going to end well whoever she married.

“Exactly. For me, a huge part of what makes marriage special is that from the day you stand at the alter in front of your family and friends and take your vows you know as you speak the words you’re promising each other to be faithful forever. You know you’re promising her that she’s the only woman you’ll make love with ever again. And the same in reverse. She’s promising to be yours and only yours from that day forward. Without that vow of fidelity, what makes marriage special? What makes it different to casual dating? Why bother making the commitment? Why bother making the compromises and sacrifices that all successful marriages need?

“Without her fidelity, there was nothing special about her or us. Without that trust and commitment to be true to each other I don’t think there’s any real intimacy. And without that, she’s just another notch on my bedpost.

“Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but for me it’s simple— black or white, no shades of grey in sight—either she’s mine or she isn’t. There’s no in-between. I’m just not wired that way. And despite her reassurances that she was mine, she wasn’t. Not ever. She just pretended to be.”

“Wow, I don’t think Mum or Mel could have said it better. You should say some of this shit when they interview you.” He winked at me. “Since when did you turn into a philosopher, Dr. Dan? Must be all that sawdust you’ve inhaled over the years.”

I laughed, Shaun’s teasing deflating my rage. “Well, at least I didn’t have to be hit by a bolt of lightning which is what it would take to penetrate your thick skull.”

We clinked bottles. “Touché. It’s good to have my brother back.”

“Do you think she really believes the rubbish she spouted?” I asked.

“Who knows? Maybe she just can’t face the truth.”

I shrugged. “Well, in her case the truth certainly wasn’t pretty.”

Shaun smirked. “She disappointed me, though. I kept waiting for her to offer to turn a blind eye to you having a revenge fuck.”

I laughed and not just a chuckle. It was a deep belly laugh like I’d heard the funniest joke ever.

“That would have to be a year-long orgy to come even close to what she and that piece of shit, Rat-Zack, indulged in.”

# # #

Thursday evening saw me on my back patio, enjoying the sunset, freshly showered, beer in hand, laptop balanced on my knees, and on the phone with Haley.

I gave her the short version of Claire’s visit, not wanting to get riled up.

While we spoke, I opened my email and read through Haley’s final questions, discussing with her my answers. Knowing my plan to pretend I was indifferent, she’d framed them in such a way as to make it possible for me to speak philosophically rather than have to reveal the depth of my hurt and anger. I just hoped I wouldn’t lose my cool or give away my strategy when Oscar did his more impromptu questions and banter.

“We couldn’t use all the letters. Some, if we’d blacked out all the X-rated bits, all that would have remained is a few pronouns, and maybe the word ‘the’. If you go on Facebook you can see them. We started loading them this morning, releasing one per hour. Same on our website. A few more will go up over the next couple of hours. They’re getting a mile of comments. Most people are horrified. You have the odd jerk who thinks it’s okay, and one or two joking they’d like the number of whoever the bird is. And don’t worry; I made sure we blacked out Claire’s and your name on all the ones we used so she can’t sue you or anything.”

“Um, I’m not on Facebook.”

Haley chuckled. “Why does that not surprise me? You should think about it, though, for your business if not for a personal profile. Give me a sec and I’ll email you the ones we used.”

Moments later the email hit my inbox. I opened the first three and sure enough Claire, Rat-Zack, and I couldn’t be identified by the letters. That was important. I didn’t intend forking over big bucks to the lying bitch because she bleated to some fancy-assed lawyer that I’d invaded her privacy. In the letters, and for the interview, I would be ‘D’; Claire would be ‘C’, and Rat-Zack ‘R’. Not using ‘Z’ for Rat-Zack was a bit of insurance but anyone in our family or group of friends who had requested a copy of the letters from my mother or Mel—and they assured me plenty had—would know who I meant. I felt confident word would spread from there. With any luck Claire and Rat-Zack would be so shamed they’d leave town.

I felt okay about what I was doing—I hadn’t sought revenge. In a way, the means had found me. I merely intended to give people straight, honest answers when asked instead of whitewashing what the pair of them had done. As far as I was concerned, if they didn’t think they’d done anything wrong then they had nothing to be ashamed of—if they didn’t want to do the time, they shouldn’t have done the crime.

I wanted to keep Haley on the line but I knew she needed to get an early night and I needed to practice.

I cooked some pasta and checked the remaining love letters that the radio station had used, just in case someone referenced them in the interview. Next, I tackled my answers to Haley’s questions, tweaking them with each run-through. By my last rendition my performance was fierce, implacable, monumental. It was an execution by words.

# # #

“Danny, this is Oscar. Oscar, Danny.”

My greeting was reserved, Oscar’s anything but. I was convinced the guy had A.D.H.D.—even when seated he seemed to be in constant motion. It was clear he and Haley had as great a rapport in real life as they had on air. The banter flowed back and forth between them as easily as mine did with Shaun. I wondered if they were a couple off-air.

Their assistant, Zoe, fussed over me, placing a coffee and apple Danish in front of me and giving me a brief rundown on the use of the microphone and headset. Her actions rammed home the reality—I was about to talk about very personal things with an unseen audience that could number in the hundreds of thousands.

A wave of nausea washed over me. My stomach muscled clamped tight as they sought to contain the nest of angry hornets that had suddenly taken up residence in my gut. I couldn’t decide if the pesky things were seeking their freedom via my belly button or my throat. All I knew was I wanted them to settle down before I embarrassed myself.

An ad was running. I was on once it finished. I looked at Haley in a panic.

“You’ll be fine, Danny,” she whispered. “Everyone gets nervous. Once we get the first question out the way the nerves will disappear.”

I nodded, not trusting myself not to squeak like a mouse if I tried to speak.

Haley took charge of the introductions and early part of the interview and she was right, though it took me to the third question to forget thousands of people were listening to me. She led me down the path we’d decided on and I was happy that I got to use my gangrene and design plans analogies so I didn’t sound like a complete idiot.

“So, ‘D’,” said Oscar, “Forgiveness was never on the agenda? You don’t love ‘C’ enough to forgive her for her, ah, weakness?”

“Rather than answer that question directly, Oscar, I’d like to turn it around. Why couldn’t she love me enough to remain faithful? Or, at the very least, love me enough to be honest?”

“Good point, but, dude, I have to ask, but how did she get away with it for twelve years? Were you walking around with blinkers on?”

“Oscar, I guess in a way I was. A friend of mine who did some psychology as part of their degree explained it to me.” I glanced at Haley who was beaming. “I think it’s called Confirmatory Bias, though don’t quote me on that—”

“Christ, what’s that?” Oscar laughed. “It sounds ominous. It doesn’t mean you’re a sociopath, does it? Do I need to call security or whip out my ninja moves?”

Haley snorted. “Ninja moves?”

“Yep, I’m a master at origami. I can fold my enemy into a pretzel.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Ah, I’d best behave then. I don’t do good pretzel! Seriously though, I’m a tradie, and used to reading a set of plans, not personalities. I’m not a psychologist so cross your fingers for me that I don’t stuff up the explanation. Basically, the premise is that when you believe someone loves you, you interpret the thing they say or do in a way that supports that belief.”

I looked at Haley for confirmation. She gave me the thumbs up.

“So what you’re saying is that for twelve years you thought she loved you and so you thought the best of her and that blinded you to the signs of her affair?”

“Yes. That about sums it up.” I chuckled. “Now that I’ve been offered that explanation I’m sticking with it; makes me feel less of a gullible fool.”

“Folks, we’ve got a switchboard full of calls wanting to speak to ‘D’, so please be patient; we will get to you.”

“Hello, ‘S’, what would you to ask, ‘D’?”

“Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive ‘R’?” The woman’s voice was croaky, which may have passed as nerves to anyone who didn’t know her, but I did know her. The caller was my Aunt Sally. “I mean, he’s your cousin, after all.”

“Pity ‘R’ couldn’t remember that every time he organized to meet my wife or write her a, ah, love letter. Pity he chose to forget our kinship every time he lied to my face and stabbed me in the back. So, no, forgiveness isn’t an option. I’m afraid he’s out of my life for good.”

The woman sobbed, and my heart broke for my aunt, but I couldn’t lie to her. I caught a glance pass between Oscar and Haley who realized ‘S’ must be a relative.

Oscar fielded the rest of the call, getting ‘S’ off the line with practiced ease.

Haley mouthed to me, ‘You okay?”

I nodded, though my heart constricted; I hoped I wouldn’t get too many similar calls.

The next call had me blushing to the tips of my toes.

“Honey, you sound delicious. If you ever get sick of building things you should consider a career in radio. And if you need a bit of comforting give me a call.”

Oscar laughed. “Well, thank you, ‘B’, we’ll be sure to get your details for ‘D’ off-air. I’m sure you’ve done ‘D’s battered ego the world of good.”

I thought Oscar was joking, but two minutes later, Zoe was grinning from ear to ear as she placed a note in front of me. Sure enough; Bev or ‘B’ had left me her number.

The calls kept coming. Most were sympathetic and wished me well. One I suspected of being a friend of Claire’s as she asked if there was any way possible I could forgive ‘C’s mistake.

“Hmm, mistake. I’m not sure I could ever call it a mistake, ‘G’. For me, a mistake is coming home with lemon essence when your wife sent you out to buy lemon juice, or turning left when you were supposed to turn right. Maybe washing the colours with the whites and turning all her, ah, delicates, lilac. Can something that happened repeatedly over a twelve year period and necessitated planning, required choices being made, lies to be told, evidence to be hidden, be considered a mistake?”

The phone line went dead. I looked from Haley to Oscar.

“Oops, it looks like we lost ‘G’.”

Many of the calls offered advice on how to deal with my loss; anything from meditation to sand play therapy to going bush for a while. One even suggested using puppets representing the key players to work out my angst. Oscar, of course, couldn’t resist making a Muppet joke about that one, likening Rat-Zack to the Cookie Monster. I wanted to protest—I’d always liked the Cookie Monster as a kid.

According to Haley and Oscar the segment was a success.

Zoe laughed, agreeing. “Only Justin Bieber and Hugh Jackman received more phone numbers.”

“Dude, looks like you’ll get plenty of comforting to see you through this.”

# # #

No surprise, there was fall-out from the interview. Come five-thirty I had my soon to be ex-wife, incandescent with rage, pounding on my door.

“Daniel McCormack, you answer this door right this minute!”

I looked at my father, my designated babysitter for the evening. “Showtime.”

“Just don’t give her what she wants, Danny. And she wants a reaction, so don’t give it to her. Deny her. Let cool, calm, and collected be your bywords.”

I nodded. “Here goes nothing.”

I strode down the hall and opened the door. I even managed to smile. “Good evening, Claire.”

“How could you? How could you share my letters on radio? Because of you, they’re all over Facebook.” She screamed at me, two blotches of red staining her cheeks. If looks could kill, I’d have been ash. “They were mine. They were private. You had no right to show them to anyone.”

I smiled. Ah, finally we see the real Claire.

“Private? Really? Whether you talk about the apartment or this house, the fact is, you stored them in books on a bookcase which I, or for that matter, any guest in our home, might have plucked off the shelf to leaf through. That certainly supports my argument that you had little expectation of privacy in regard to them. In fact, by making so little effort to conceal them, one could argue you wanted them found and shared.”

“You still shouldn’t have shared them. Not without asking me.”

I shrugged. “I merely followed the precedent you set when it comes to decision-making in relation to our marriage. Besides, I’ve seen plenty of love letters posted online. Most people get all warm and fuzzy over them. You’re clearly not ashamed of yours as you kept many of them for years, so what’s the problem?”

“Don’t get fucking cute with me, Danny. I-I-I sound like a slut.”

I shrugged and smiled, raising an eyebrow.

“What I did may have been wrong, but it wasn’t hateful. What you’ve done is cruel.”

May have been wrong? There was a question mark over it? Wasn’t hateful? Asking another guy to father our child wasn’t hateful or cruel? What planet did she live on?

I nearly vented my thoughts but as I opened my mouth it was as if my father whispered in my ear. Cool, calm, and collected. Don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Whatever, Claire.”

My lack of emotion clearly infuriated her. If anything her face was redder than when I’d answered the door.

“I’ll… I’ll make you pay for this, Danny. First thing Monday I’m going to a lawyer and I’m going to take this house off you. I’m going to turf you out. I’m done with playing nice. I’m going to make you pay through the nose for humiliating me.”

“How about I save you the time and move out this weekend? You can move in, take over paying the mortgage and the tradesmen required to finish the renovations.”

“The courts will make you pay half. You might even have to pay spousal support.”

“Unlikely, Claire. You’ve watched too much American TV; it doesn’t work like that here. You’re on a good salary and able to support yourself so no spousal support for you. As far as the mortgage goes, my parents have offered to assist me but that won’t be necessary if I temporarily move in with them or Shaun.”

“Why would they have to assist you? You’re able-bodied and can work and you earn good money. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Oh, but there is, Claire. I’m afraid that because of all the stress and anxiety your betrayal has caused me my judgement was affected and I made a mistake at work today and hurt my back.” Not true, but I did have an old sports injury that flared up once in a while that required me to wear a girdle to support my lower back.

“That’s… that’s bullshit,” Claire spat.

I shrugged. “Whatever, Claire.”

I watched as she struggled with what to threaten me with next. What mode of attack would she resort to in order to get her way? Suddenly, I was weary of her and her games and decided to bring things to a head.

“Of course, Claire, we could always just jump to the finish line, split the spoils, and sell the place as is.”

“But if we do that, neither of us will come out with much of anything.”

Once again, I shrugged. I could see it annoyed her so I made a mental note to do it as often as possible in all future dealings with her.

“So what? It’s only money.”

“I’ve worked too hard to let it go for a song,” she hissed.

I swallowed the derisive laugh that welled in my throat. She’d worked too hard? She’d planted a few herbs and rose bushes. What about all the nights and weekends I’d put in?

“Buy me out then and you can finish the renovations yourself.”

Claire narrowed her eyes, glaring at me. What did she think I’d do? Wilt like a flower under the heat of her gaze. I raised an eyebrow, as if prompting her for a reply. Instead she whirled around and stomped down the path, calling back over her shoulder, “This isn’t over by a long shot, Danny. I’m going to see a lawyer and I’m going to make you pay.”

I closed the door and trudged back to the patio where I knew I’d find my father.

“Did you hear any of that?” I asked as I sat down, accepting the soda he offered me.

“Yes. Most.”

I sighed. “I wasn’t as cool, calm, and collected as I should have been. I think there was a moment or two when I let her see how pissed I am.”

“No one’s perfect, Danny, and she had her own agenda and was pretty hot under the collar herself so most of what you said probably went over her head.”

“I hope so.”

“Do you have much in the way of savings?”

“About 60K. Why?”

“Well, you remember that loan your mother and I made you when you were twenty-one to start your own business?”

“Yes.” I started smiling, immediately understanding where my father was going with the conversation.

“Well, son, your mother and I are calling in the loan. Us being retired and all, we need the dollars for our autumn years.”

I grinned from ear to ear. “I’ll have a bank check made out in your favour first thing Monday.”

“Thank you, son.”

The ‘loan’ had been my idea. Mum and Dad had always insisted it was a gift, saying they wanted to help while they were still alive. They’d done the same for Shaun when he went out on his own. Both Shaun and I had been proud and stubborn buggers and insisted on loan papers being drawn up even though we both knew Mum and Dad would never accept repayment from us. I’d never felt so grateful for my stubborn nature as I was in that moment—repaying the ‘loan’ would only leave 10K in my savings account. And it was my savings account—Claire had not contributed one cent to it so no court in the land would say I couldn’t repay my debt out of it.

My father sipped his soda, contemplating my garden. “I think we’ll call Shaun’s debt in too.”

I nodded. My father was an excellent chess player, Shaun’s and my victories against him were few and far between. I could see his strategizing mind at work—by calling in Shaun’s debt as well it couldn’t be said they were only asking me to repay in order to stop Claire getting to the money.

“Yes,” mused my father. “There’s a few investments your mother and I have been looking at. Guess we’ll have the funds now to put into them.”

# # #

The next few weeks were a rollercoaster ride, full of ups and downs, as was to be expected. Claire stayed true to her threat and saw a lawyer and I received a letter giving me seven days to declare my assets.

After discussions with my family, I decided against hiring my own shark; at least for the time being. Once Claire saw the state of our assets there was a chance she’d settle quietly and disappear out of my life.

I organized three different real estate agents to provide, in writing, a valuation. I smiled politely when they all told me it would fetch much more completed. As I suspected, their estimates all hovered a little over the value of the mortgage.

When I returned the information, along with copies of my bank statements to Claire’s lawyer, I informed them they had seven days to provide me Claire’s declaration of assets. That would piss her off.

On the upside, the love letters had gone viral. Claire and Rat-Zack were getting their fifteen minutes of fame. Downside, embarrassingly, so was I. The radio station, via Haley, had dropped off a sack filled to the brim with emails they’d received and printed for me as well as some actual letters. Oscar hadn’t been far off the mark—a lot of women were offering to comfort me.

Haley thought it was great. Me, not so much. I liked my anonymity. Mum and Mel were with Haley, though for a different reason. I think they were already looking for Claire’s replacement.

Dad, Shaun, and I had finally worked out the revenge plan. It wasn’t what I wanted. Being old-fashioned, I’d have preferred to just be able to confront the asshole and challenge him to a fight and may the best man win. Hell, I even fantasized about living a few hundred years earlier and being able to challenge him to a duel so I could shoot the bastard between the eyes. And maybe the balls.

It frustrated me that we lived in times when the laws seem to protect the guilty rather than the innocent. The way things were, if I kicked Rat-Zack’s ass, the snivelling prick could have me charge with assault and I’d end up doing time. And doing a stint behind bars protecting my own ass—literally—didn’t feel much like success. Nor did beating him to a pulp anonymously, or paying someone else to do it.

So, after a lot of teeth gnashing, I decided if I couldn’t have the satisfaction of feeling his ribs and nose break under my fist, I’d settle for something that would make me laugh in years to come. Something that would humiliate him and stay with him longer than some broken bones and bruises. When I outlined it to Dad and Shaun they laughed so hard they had to hold their sides, so I guess we were off to a good start.

The worst day, by far, was when Aunt Sally visited, begging us all to not turn our backs on Zack. She wept as she told us that he was being shunned by all and sundry. She blamed Claire, saying she’d ‘bewitched’ him.

My mother wept too, but remained firm. “Sally, I understand your need to stand by your son, but please don’t talk to me as if I’m stupid. Bewitched? It wasn’t one or two isolated incidents; it was years and years’ worth of lies and deceptions. He deserves to be shunned for the depth of his betrayal of Danny. Did you read the letters? Did you read how much he enjoyed humiliating Danny? Did you read what he did? For God’s sake he had sex with her on the day of her wedding to Danny! How can you ask us to forgive something like that?”

“Please, Ellie, for me? Please, I can’t desert him. He’s my son. And he’s so sorry for everything. I know he did wrong, but he’s my son.”

“I know, Sally, but I can’t. We can’t. Danny’s my son. And if you stick by Zack, I’m afraid you’re not welcome in my home anymore.”

My heart broke when Aunt Sally rose and grabbed her handbag, slipping it along her forearm to rest in the crook of her elbow. She reached for my mother, hugging her tightly, the bag swinging and knocking their hips. I wished I could film it to send to Claire and Rat-Zack to show them the cost of their selfishness, maybe then they’d learn none of us live in isolation. Our actions affect others. Like a pebble thrown into a pond, there are ripples.

But then again, maybe they’d learn nothing and care even less.

My mother buried herself in my father’s arms as Mel let Aunt Sally out. I stood, feeling helpless, unshed tears burning my eyes for my mother’s pain. I opened my mouth to tell her she didn’t have to say goodbye to her sister on my behalf, but before I could say a word my father shook his head and waved me away.

Witnessing my mother’s anguish strengthened my resolve—I’d never forgive Claire or Rat-Zack for hurting her.

# # #

“Oh my God, it’s working. It’s actually working,” I whispered so quietly the sound of the waves gently lapping against the side of Dad’s cabin cruiser almost drowned me out. I wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular, though Dad and Shaun could hear me as they were huddled right beside me as we listened to the muffled conversation coming through on the burner phone.

“Did you think it wouldn’t?” asked Shaun quietly.

I nodded. “It’s so over-the-top, so much is left to chance. I mean what if he hadn’t fancied Crystal?”

“All I can say is; pity she only has to get him drunk. I’d have liked to see her give him a good dose of the clap,” murmured my father. “After the pain he and Claire caused your mother, I think I want payback as much as you do.”

The hooker, or Lady Of The Night, as Dad called her, didn’t look like a pro. Crystal looked quite classy, actually. We were paying her a pretty penny but she was proving to be worth every cent. By the sounds of things, Zack was practically drooling over her. Clearly, Claire never figured into his thinking. Maybe the thrill of fucking her was gone now that I was no longer in the dark.

Dad being Dad had taken all kinds of precautions; he’d even gotten Crystal to sign a confidentiality agreement. I bet that was a first for her. I had no idea if it would hold up in court, or even if she’d used her real name, but if it made Dad feel better I wasn’t going to argue the point.

When she realized who I was—she apparently listened to Haley and Oscar—she even roped in one of her friends to act as her wingman and help her score Zack at no extra cost. Apparently, even hookers don’t like liars and cheaters.

Shaun had bought with some cash I gave him two burner phones. Our Night Lady had one, us the other. The only number programmed into hers was ours. Following our instructions she was phoning in so we could eavesdrop on her night with Rat-Zack. It was the third such call and I’d learned a whole lot I never suspected about my cousin’s true feelings about me.

He called me a ‘boy scout’ and ‘boy wonder’ and shared with Crystal and Amber quite openly what he’d done. He showed no remorse whatsoever. He even bragged how he’d put one over me for so long. So much for telling his mother how sorry he was. He cursed me for ‘causing’ his shunning by family and mates. Said was I was a spoiled ‘pretty boy’ who’d always had everything handed to me on a platter. That one had me scratching my head. Me, a pretty boy? Shaun copped some of his angst too. Neither of us suspected his jealousy and resentment ran so deep, nor that it stemmed back to childhood.

“I wish we could slip him something to speed things up,” groaned Shaun. “The prick drinks like a fish. At this rate it’s going to take Crystal and Amber until midnight to get him plastered. I was kind of hoping we would actually get to do some fishing tonight.”

I snickered. “You just want to see him shit himself.”

Shaun snickered back. “Well, yeah. As if you don’t. This was your idea. Remember?”

“Patience, you two. Good things come to he who waits, though I’m looking forward to the shitting business too.”

My father grinned and in the dim light of the cabin cruiser—it looked evil.

That had been one of my criteria. I wanted Rat-Zack to literally wallow in shit. The other was he had to have both hands broken. A lovely metaphorical message to keep his hands off things—and wives—that didn’t belong to him.

The fact that, after the breaking of hands and wallowing in shit, he wouldn’t be able to wipe his own ass for a while was just an added bonus to help reinforce an important lesson.

But first Crystal and her friend had to get him shitfaced and con him into inviting the pair of them home with him. Home being a lovely little heritage townhouse with steep narrow steps up to his bedroom that he’d joked many a time he was lucky he’d never broken his neck on when tackling them drunk… Tonight he wasn’t going to be quite so lucky.

“How about you take me and Amber back to you place and we party there, sugar?”

I clunked heads with Dad and Shaun as we all instinctively leaned closer to the phone, silently urging Rat-Zack to take the bait.

“Sure, sexy,” he slurred. “Let’s go party.” A bit of slurping could be heard. I looked at Dad and Shaun and we all shrugged our shoulders—it was impossible to tell if it was someone draining their drink or exchanging wet sloppy kisses.

We listened for a few more moments to confirm they were actually leaving before standing ourselves.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” crowed Shaun, grinning from ear to ear.

Suddenly, he didn’t look like my thirty-four year old responsible brother and father of two. All I saw was the fourteen-year old boy who’d helped me spread vegemite on all the black toilet seats in the girls’ toilets while at school camp. Neither of us got done for that joke, though it was common knowledge we were guilty, our reputation as pranksters having preceded us. We got away with it because neither of us cracked under questioning by the teachers.

“This will be like old times for you two,” teased my father.

“Guess the apples didn’t fall too far the tree, hey, Dad?” quipped Shaun, a grin still splitting his face.

Shaun was right—Dad’s practical jokes drove Mum crazy. I smiled at the pair of them—I couldn’t think of two better co-conspirators to pull this stunt off with.

One by one we clambered off the boat and piled into dad’s black SUV, chosen for the escapade precisely because of its colour. It was a clear night with, thankfully, only a sliver of moon. Perfect for what we had in mind.

Luckily for us, Rat-Zack lived near the harbor in an older part of town that had seen a resurgence of popularity with many young couples buying and doing up the houses. Rat-Zack’s little terrace was in the far corner of the suburb, beyond which lay the harbor itself. The street had two entries and we knew he generally used the one that was city-side and so we used the one that was port-side, parking in the shadow of a building, away from any street lights. Despite the lack of lighting we still huddled low as a precaution while we waited for a signal from Crystal or Amber that it was safe for us to enter.

It didn’t take long; fifteen minutes max. We all donned balaclavas, gloves, and dark baseball caps we’d bought in preparation. We looked like a parody on ninjas. One by one, hugging the side of buildings to use the shadows they cast as cover, we made our way to Rat-Zack’s terrace. I felt like I was in some covert spy op. My pulse thundered, but at the same time it was hard not to laugh. I could just picture what the three would look like to someone if the scene was being filmed. I was thinking more Will Ferrell than Matt Damon. Shaun using his two fingers to point to his eyes and then to the front door of Rat-Zack’s house, in the age old sign for look/watch almost did me in.

The girls had kindly, as instructed, left his door open just a fraction. We slipped in making our silent way to Rat-Zack’s kitchen. We could hear the music, murmurs, and giggling going on upstairs where the master bedroom was situated. He must have thought he was going to be in for one hell of a raunchy night, getting it on with two good-looking birds, though, with the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, I did have to wonder how he thought he was going to get it up.

I slipped the baseball bat out from my trouser leg. I leaned it against the wall. None of us looked at it. That part of the plan was going to be the hardest.

“I’ll go down and get us refills.” I couldn’t tell if it was Amber or Crystal who’d spoken, but it was Crystal who appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

Ever cautious, Dad, put his fingers to his lips, signalling her not to speak. Nodding she made her way to the fridge and brought out three mudslides. Excellent; its sweet flavour would cover the taste of the laxative better than Rat-Zack’s usual poisons—beer or a vodka cruiser—would. The deftness with which she opened them told me she was far from drunk. She let the caps roll across the benchtop and lifted one bottle to her lips, swallowing a generous mouthful.

Dad pulled his contribution to the evening’s festivities; what he called ‘industrial strength’ laxative, it being stronger and faster acting than anything that could be bought over the counter. He’d gone to his doctor complaining of severe constipation and walked out with a script.

Crystal held the mudslide toward Dad and he tipped in some of the crushed tablets. Winking at my father, Crystal placed her thumb over the bottle’s opening and gently swished and turned the bottle this way and that to dissolve the powder. After wiping her thumb on a tea towel, she winked at us once more before making her way back up the stairs.

We listened to clinking glass and more merrymaking and it didn’t seem that long before Crystal was back for refills. She and my father repeated their ritual. It took six more trips to use all the crushed laxatives. As Crystal made her way up the stairs for the last time, Shaun had to place his hand over his mouth to suppress a laugh.

“He’s going to be shitting through the eye of a needle,” he gasped.

“That’s if he doesn’t explode first,” whispered my father, equally amused.

“Come on, sugar, drink up,” we heard Crystal urge.

Five long minutes passed. It was excruciating. Finally, both girls descended the stairs not looking in the least tipsy, let alone drunk. If drinking was an Olympic sport, the pair would have been medallists.

“He’s out for the count,” whispered Amber, though it probably was no longer necessary.

“Have fun, boys. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

As soon as they were out the door we tiptoed up the stairs, me leading. Rat-Zack was sprawled face down across his bed, his jeans around his ankles. Perfect; another excuse for why he ‘fell’.

As a precaution, I slapped his cheek and then his ass; no reaction. He was out cold. I rolled him over and maneuvered him so I could get a grip around his upper torso. Shaun grabbed his legs. It was awkward, and I nearly took a tumble myself, but we made it down the stairs without a mishap. Rat-Zack didn’t make so much as one sound. He really was out of it.

We placed him at the bottom of the stairs and I retrieved the bat. This was the hard part. In a fight, I’d have had no problems breaking his bones—I’d even have taken pleasure in it—but beating and unconscious, defenceless man went against the grain.

I took a few deep breaths, reminding myself of all the things he’d done with Claire, all the dissing of me, all the betrayals, all the times he’d looked me in the eye and lied. I pictured my mother weeping as she farewelled her sister for the last time. I remembered the way he’d made me a party to his lie for his own amusement. I thought of him fucking Claire on my wedding day, of him crowing at the idea of getting her pregnant and having me unknowingly raising his kid.

And then I took a swing.

I tempered the blow, only hitting hard enough leave a bruise. I picked spots on his body I imagined he might hit on the stairs had he tumbled down them. Other than a low grunt or two, Rat-Zack hardly made a sound.

Dad and Shaun didn’t turn away and I was grateful for that. It eased my guilt for hitting an unconscious man. Their grim solidarity made me feel justified.

I passed the bat to Shaun before kneeling beside Rat-Zack. Steeling myself, I grasped the wrist closest to me, and with my head turned away so I didn’t have to watch, I bent it back until I heard it snap. It was a sickening sound. My stomach rolled at it. Swallowing hard, I grabbed his other wrist and, before I could lose courage, repeated the action. I let go of his wrist and leaned forward, resting my hands on the floor in front of me and dry heaved.

Dad placed his hand on my shoulder. “It’s good to not take pleasure in meting out a hard justice, but I don’t want you to ever regret this. The punishment is deserved.”

I staggered to my feet and nodded, unable to speak. I looked down at Rat-Zack, stunned he’d hardly reacted at all to all I’d done to him.

For a moment we all looked at each other, suddenly not knowing what to do. Did we leave? Wait a bit for the, ah, fireworks?

Rat-Zack answered that for us by letting rip a loud and noxious fart.

“Stand back,” warned my father. “Vesuvi-ass is about to erupt.”

Shaun giggled; my strapping adult brother actually giggled like a prepubescent teen.

His giggles didn’t last long—the smell could strip paint from walls and laughter from bellies. As we watched a brown stain spread with alarming speed across the back of Rat-Zack’s underwear. It seeped out of the waistband and legs, dribbling down his sides to pool on the floor beside him. The stench was enough to fell an army.

“Oh my God! What crawled up his ass and died?” Shaun asked to no one in particular.

“Definitely not a rose,” I offered.

“I think it’s time we left, boys.”

We left as stealthily as we’d arrived. Not a word was spoken until we were back on the cabin cruiser. We all laughed, but it was forced. I hoped it would be one of those things that would gain in humour over time, like the time I got absolutely stonkered and did a cock’n’run and had the misfortune of knocking, stark naked, on the door of a cop who nabbed me before I could get to the run stage of the party game. That was the night I discovered I didn’t possess superhuman speed or reflexes when drunk. At the time, it was no fun getting locked up naked as a jaybird and then bailed out the next morning by my not so amused mother. Now, it was a story trotted out with regularity, much to everyone’s amusement.

Even more, I hoped my father and brother would never come to regret having helped me gain my justice.

As Dad motored us out to open waters, Shaun and I cut up our clothes, gloves, balaclavas, and caps and disposed of them overboard. The bat lived on the boat; Dad used it for the odd time he hooked a shark and so I just replaced it in the small utility cupboard.

We dropped anchor, threw out a line, and sipped brandy and talked about all manner of things except what was in the forefront of all our minds.

# # #

“Oh my God, guys, you will not believe what happened at work today,” called Mel as she threw her handbag on the kitchen bench and joined us on the patio.

As soon as Declan and Maddie heard their mother they abandoned Shaun and I, leaving us lying on our backs on the lawn where we’d been play wrestling them.

“Mum!”

I rolled to my side. “Well, I guess that shows us where we stand.”

Shaun chuckled. “Be grateful for small mercies. They’ll be bored with Mum in about an hour and then they’ll want some more Daddy and Uncle Danny tickles. Rest and recuperate while you can.”

For a moment, my heart gave a little squeeze. I wondered if I’d ever have the opportunity to have my own child be bored with me.

I scrambled to my feet, offering Shaun my hand. I heaved him up and we dusted ourselves off before sauntering over to join Mum and Dad. Mum passed us both a beer.

Moments later we were joined by Mel who had parked the kids in front of the TV with a movie.

“Nemo should keep them busy for a bit.”

“So what happened at work?” asked my mother.

“You won’t believe it! The paramedics brought Zack in with both his wrists broken. Looks like he got drunk and fell down his stairs. But—” Mel burst out laughing. She tried to calm herself. “But, the best bit is—” She lost it again. “He-he, oh my God.” Once again she couldn’t continue for laughing. “He shit himself!” she howled, clapping her hand over her mouth. “He’s got the absolute worst case of nappy rash!” Mel was now crying she was laughing so hard.

We all laughed, and I resisted the urge to look at Shaun and Dad, keeping my gaze on Mel.

“Nappy rash?” I asked.

Mel mopped her face with her fingertips, nodding. “Yes. He laid in his own muck so long he’s got the most terrible case of nappy rash. It’s even all over his crotch. They’ve had to put him in his own room because they have to have him lying on his stomach with pillows propping his butt up, ’cause his ass and balls need airing. He’s the laughing stock of the hospital. And to top it off, with two broken wrists, he’s going to need either a nurse or his mother to hold his dick and wipe his ass every time he has to go to the loo for weeks.”

“Karma. What goes around, comes around,” my mother murmured with satisfaction.

I smiled. The Universe had given me a bonus with the nappy rash.

“He always did drink too much,” added my father, smirking.

# # #

The months that followed proved to be a long and terrible journey. Claire was true to her word—the gloves were off—she was intent on making me pay for making public her love letters. Apparently, forgiveness was a thing for other people to dish out, not her.

Of course, her ire was kept simmering by the letters refusing to die a natural death. Like a bad smell they kept returning. It seemed like every other week they appeared on some forum or on social media. There was even some joker parodying them on Youtube. I understand it went viral. Their persistence kept Claire fired up and determined to bring me to ruin.

First, she tried to get her hands on half of my loan repayment to my parents but the courts upheld that the debt would have had to be repaid prior to her receiving her share of any savings. Her next gambit was to have me forced out of the cottage but the judge saw no reason to change the status quo, especially after I offered to go to mediation in order to settle our financial differences, saving the court time and money.

Mediation worked against Claire. The more detached I was the more heated she became. More than once the mediator had to ask her to calm herself. She tried to gain a share of my business but wasn’t able to due to the way my parents had made me set it up—one more bit of sage advice I’d be forever indebted to them for.

After one particularly vicious late night text message, prompted, I think, by a fresh wave of shares and comments on social media of many of the letters, I went to the next mediation session armed with a list designed to embarrass Claire. I scored points over her lack of savings—she was meant to have saved ten percent of her income, as was I, and her bank records showed she hadn’t saved a cent since we’d moved into the house whereas I’d put away far more than we’d agreed upon. The mediator, who was actually a woman, was shocked when I listed off the number of shoes—fifty-seven pairs—Claire owned. I’d let that hang in the air for a moment before adding the number of designer handbags she’d had in our walk-in-robe at the time of separation—a whopping one-hundred and twenty-seven—asking if she would like to give me access so I could choose thirty or forty as part of my division of her assets seeing as that was all she had to show from her supposed ‘savings’. In the end, Claire was encouraged by the mediator to not try for half of my 10K of savings, saying in light of my evidence showing how I’d paid for just about everything other than groceries over the course of our marriage, she would recommend to the courts I not be penalized for diligently saving when Claire had not.

As the year drew to a close, though, I got sick of the games and maneuvered Claire into agreeing to sell the house unfinished. I no longer wanted it. I wanted to move on with my life with nothing surrounding me to remind me of the devil in disguise who’d been my wife. The mediator was all for the idea. It sold rather quickly and, I must admit, I did receive a great deal of satisfaction in only have to hand Claire a check for a little over a thousand dollars once it was all finalized. That equated to about one hundred dollars per year for our marriage. I could live with that.

With the money side of things finally sorted, I lodged my application for divorce. I had Claire served at her place of work, not so much out of a desire to humiliate her but because I didn’t know where she’d spent the last twelve months. That had been by choice. I’d wanted—needed—the distance.

The first evening, only a matter of days prior to applying, when I realized I’d spent an entire day without thinking of her once, the feeling was indescribable. There were no words in any language known to man to say what a sense of elation I experienced. I felt, as I imagined a dying man must, when told his disease was in remission.

I actually cried. I laid my forehead on the table and bawled like a baby with gratitude. Wave after wave of tears washed out of me but I didn’t fight them. Not this time. I didn’t fight because they weren’t tears for Claire. They weren’t for the loss of my marriage. They weren’t tears of hurt and pain, nor even of anger and rage. They were relief. Pure, unadulterated relief. They were knowledge that there would be life after Claire. Maybe even love after Claire.

They were the final cleansing of my heart. The final release of negative emotion. They were washing away all that was tying me to Claire. They weren’t harmful. They were healing. They were liberating me from my past and so I let them flow and when they finally waned, I laughed—I was free. Sure, there were still some details to be ironed out, but emotionally, in all the ways that mattered, I was free.

It was a powerful feeling; a life changing feeling.

That night was the beginning. The true new beginning where I was finally able to sleep the night through. Was finally able to enjoy a meal and truly taste the food that passed my lips. And best of all, finally experience a measure of peace. It was so healing, so therapeutic I did all I could to nurture it—I didn’t want to regress to obsessing over Claire and our sham of a marriage.

And somewhere along the line I realized I no longer felt compelled to rip Claire to shreds with my words. I had what I wanted; indifference, complete and utter indifference.

Throughout it all my family stood by me, putting up with my mood swings, my ranting over Claire’s latest antics, my bad days when I despaired of the nightmare ever ending. I don’t know how I would have gotten through without their love, patience, and support.

Rat-Zack left town never suspecting it was me who had broken his wrists and caused his ass and cock to be burnt raw by shit. Just goes to show you shouldn’t drink yourself into oblivion. I heard on the grapevine he’d moved to Sydney. In a weird kind of way, I felt sorry for him. Our family was a large but close one. There were a lot of birthdays, anniversaries, engagements, and weddings and he was no longer on the guest list for any of them. And he had to carry the guilt of his mother not being invited either. I hoped it weighed heavily on him.

One of the bright spots in the year was Haley. We became friends.

She asked me one night why I no longer felt the need to speak to Claire about what she’d done. Putting into words my feeling made me realize it would have been pointless. Claire wouldn’t have heard me. She wasn’t capable of it. At best, it would have been a back and forth slanging match of accusations going absolutely nowhere. At worst, it would have helped her vindicate her actions to herself. As much as she no longer had the power to hurt me, I wasn’t going to help her ease her conscience at my expense and subject my ears to her attempts at whitewashing her actions with a bunch of lies and self-deceptions.

It was during another evening with Haley that I had an epiphany of sorts. While I’d been the romantic who married for love, Claire had been the actress and married her co-star, her leading man who was meant to showcase her beauty and skills.

My time with Haley was spent platonically. I fancied her like crazy, and her small touches and warm glances told me she liked me too, but I didn’t want to fall into a rebound relationship and hurt her, or myself, for that matter. When and if I made my move, I wanted to be sure I was acting, not reacting. I wanted the decision to come from a good place, not a needy one. I was upfront with her—she deserved my honesty. I told her I was in a tunnel and, out of admiration and respect for her, I didn’t want to escalate our friendship until I’d worked my way through the darkness.

I’ll never forget her smile when she asked me, “Are you telling me I’m your light at the end of the tunnel?”

# # #

I stood at the letterbox of my new home, staring at the official looking envelope in my hand. I knew what it contained without opening it. It was my Decree Absolut.

Without a backward glance, I walked to my truck and climbed in. With each stop sign, each traffic light, I glanced at the envelope on the passenger seat. It was over. It was finally over.

And then I stopped looking at it and focused on the road ahead. The road to my future. Who knew how things would go with Haley? Not me. Not her. But I had a good feeling about it, about her, a feeling I was ready to gamble on. A feeling I wanted to explore.

I accelerated, eager now; I wanted my light at the end of the tunnel and I was going to go get her.

~ THE END ~