My heart was breaking. I started to cry in helpless frustration, my tears wetting the pillow. I turned the phone to ‘Do not disturb’, so it wouldn’t wake me until I had to get up at 3am.
After a restless sleep, my alarm woke me. I was dressed and ready to go in moments, having already showered and packed before my nap. While in the cab to the airport, I looked at my phone for the first time since waking. There were numerous text messages from ‘him’. Most of the messages contained photos of my naked wife in various positions, with her legs spread for him. Her pussy was gaping and red, obviously well used. Some showed cum on her ass, tits and her stomach.
One of the texts asked, ‘Did you jack off knowing that your wife is being so well fucked?’
Replying to this message, I texted, ‘Well ‘jack-off’, let’s just say that, when I find you, it will be you who is ‘fucked’.’
The flight landed at 7 am. I ran to baggage claim to get my bags. From there I went to long-term parking to retrieve my Harley-Davidson Softail. I secured the saddle bags, jumped on the motorcycle and roared home as fast as legally possible.
Arriving at the top of the hill on my street, I pulled over and cut the engine. I could see a familiar car in my driveway, but it didn’t belong there when I was away from home. I activated the camera function on my phone, pushed the Harley forward, coasted to the driveway, turned in, and stopped. With the camera, I took several shots of the car, including the license plates.
Setting the camera to record, I pressed the start button on the bike. I revved the Harley’s engine twice, as I did every time that I started it. The exhaust roared loudly, which made it clear that I was home. The camera was focused on my bedroom window. The curtains were flung open, revealing my naked wife standing at the window, with a look of astonishment on her face. Behind her was my boss, James Johnson, with an expression on his face that was a mixture of arrogance and superiority.
This time I didn’t have any trouble throwing up. I heaved several times then looked up, just in time to see my wife run from the room. I put the camera in my pocket, pulled in the clutch, put the Softail in gear, let out the clutch, and started up the street.
I heard my wife scream from the front doorstep, “No, wait. Let me explain. Stop.”
Not even glancing back, I roared away. Briefly, I wondered if she bothered to put on a robe, or if she was giving the whole block a show. Anna was smoking hot, so I am sure the neighbors would have enjoyed it.
I went to the cheapest no-tell motel I could find and checked in for cash. Then I walked to a liquor store, bought a bottle of Jim Beam, took it to my room, and proceeded to get drunk. To tell you the truth, I wanted to drink myself to death. Unfortunately, I failed.
When I woke, or regained consciousness if you like, I turned on my phone and called a friend of mine. I told him that I needed a good divorce lawyer and, knowing that he had just gone through a horribly painful divorce, I thought of him.
He gave me his ex-wife’s lawyer’s number instead of his. “You want a good one, don’t you?” he asked.
I had to laugh. It was good to know that he hadn’t lost his sense of humor.
I was able to make an appointment for the next day, then I drove to an office supplies store. I bought a printer, some good quality photo paper, and a few other things I would need. Then I went back to my seedy motel room and began documenting a case against my wife and my boss. I had them cold, but still needed to fit everything together. I printed copies of the emails and text messages I had received.
There was a recorder on my phone, so I could transcribe the conversations, or my wife’s lies, from our calls.
After building my case as best I could, I got drunk again.
I woke in plenty of time to clean up, then go to my new lawyer’s office. I went to the bank first and withdrew half the money from our joint savings account. We had our own checking accounts, so that money was protected.
I arrived early for the appointment. When I was finally shown in to her office, I noticed that, although she had been highly recommended, she didn’t look imposing.
I handed over my attempted documentation of the case, which she accepted with approval. She asked me a few questions which I answered accurately as possible.
Then she came to one of the photos that I had taken at the house.
“Is this the man?” she quickly asked.
“Yes, that’s him.”
She slammed the file closed and jumped away from it. She gave me a look that I couldn’t read, not that I could read people very well, and said, “I will be back in a moment. Don’t leave.”
It took her almost half an hour before she walked in and handed me an address and phone number. She returned my file and told me, “I must advise you to choose a different lawyer, I cannot take your case. Go out the door, turn right to the steps, go down the steps, and turn left. Talk to the man waiting for you at the other end of the hall… I NEVER SPOKE WITH YOU. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
“Ok,” I said, a little confused, but getting up and following her directions.
Before I reached the end of the hall, I noticed a short, balding man looking at me with eager anticipation. He invited me into an office and asked for the folder. As he looked through the file, he asked me a few questions, which I did my best to answer. He took his time reading and sorting through the documents and photographs in the file.
Finally, I asked, “How much is it going to cost to get my divorce?”
He smiled and said, “I will handle your divorce pro bono. He pulled a standard form from a desk drawer. He quickly wrote on it, then slid it across the desk to me. “Like I said, the divorce I can do pro bono but, from the lawsuit, I am going to keep forty-five percent. Plus expenses. Sign here.”
I asked. “Lawsuit?”
“Yea,” he said with a grin. “Yea, we got the bastard. Tell me, are you ready for retirement?”
When I left the lawyers’ offices, I thought to myself, ‘What do I do now? I need a new job, and somewhere to live.’
The next morning, I rang Anna’s workplace and asked to speak to her. The receptionist transferred my call to her desk. The instant that I heard Anna’s voice, I disconnected. Knowing that she was at work, I casually rode my Harley to the house I used to live in. I went inside and packed my clothes, but there was not much more that I wanted. I hitched my trailer to my pickup and loaded on the Harley. Finally, I dragged what used to be our marital bed: mattress, frame, and bedding out to the driveway. Then I poured on some gasoline, stood well back, and threw a lit match at the pile. The fire took off, instantly.
I got in my pickup and left.