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Jase
I’m the biggest piece of shit in the world. Fourteen years ago, I vowed to love my wife, be loyal to her, and not let anything come between us.
I’m a fraud.
A fake.
I fucking cheated, and I can’t take it back.
It all started with her mom dying, and from there, everything went downhill. Something inside me broke when the woman I’d sworn to protect, the one I loved above all else, my very best fucking friend asked me to let her die. Months after her mom passed, she stopped living altogether. Her heart still beat, but her soul died along with Anise’s.
She’s an empty vessel, and I can’t do this anymore.
“I have nothing to live for,” she cried after asking me to let her go once again.
“Just because she’s gone doesn’t mean you have nothing to live for, Peaches. You have everything to live for. Our children, your dad, Toby, Nate, and Ellie.”
My forceful approach isn’t working, and the way her face shows no emotion only confirms that.
Lo stands up, grabs another bottle of Moscato, and heads to our room.
Day in and out, when I’d try getting her to open up about her mom, she begged me to let her end it all, to not have her live day to day, and what could I say? What does anyone say to that?
I told her no, and it only tore the seams of our ripping marriage further. Lo has been lost to me for years, and she doesn’t care that I’ve been alone in this marriage without her.
I wanted to give my girl the world. I’d literally chop off my limbs if that’d make her happy. I’d die for her, kill for her, and be anything she needed, but let her give up and die? That’s not something I’m capable of. She knows it. I know it, and yet in the end, I failed her anyway.
“Jase, please, just let me die,” my beautifully broken wife begs while crying in my lap.
It’s been a year since Anise passed, and the song is always the same.
I feel gutted, absolutely destroyed with her words. I wipe my face, realizing I’m crying too. I don’t understand her pain. All I can do is be here and listen.
But even then, it’s hard. I don’t know what to do.
“Baby, that’s not something I can offer.” My voice cracks, proving how much my emotions reflect hers. “Please don’t ask me to let you go, I can’t.”
The pain I feel isn’t comparable to anything I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never lost someone too, but I want to be here for her, to bring her peace, and fix her broken heart.
“Let me go.”
“Never.”
But I did. I fucking let her go, and it’s something I’ve regretted since it happened. In the end, you can only regret so much, and I didn’t end my affair until now.
Everyone makes mistakes. Mine was bringing another person into our marriage. I brought another woman into our bed and slowly into my heart. It’s not the same kind of love, but it’s there.
I fell for her.
She said all the right things at the right time.
I was vulnerable, and she filled the void Lo left in me.
It wasn’t sudden. I’ve known her most of my life. It started innocently enough, a hug here, a comforting shoulder there, while my wife shut me out completely, and it felt nice. It’s easier when you say it was only fucking, but that’d be a lie. It grew before it turned into anything sexual.
Until my Christmas party last year, we were just friends, really close friends who told each other everything. Like my wife and my brother, we connected on a different level. That’s why it had to end. Divorce isn’t something I want. The straying had to stop.
And after she begged me to not divorce her, I decided to work for us.
We needed that.
Full commitment to each other and our kids.
But telling her the truth about my affair will kill her, and she may not want to keep trying when everything is laid out on the table.
*****
Past
One year ago
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU aren’t coming with me again?” I ask my wife, angry and baffled. Tonight is another work party, and I know her answer before she gives it.
“Exactly what I said, Jason,” she grumbles, scrubbing a hand down her face. “I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. You know how I get this time of year. I’m not going to some fucking party to pretend I care about people when I’m acting as if I’m not broken. No, I’m not going to your stupid event.”
This doesn’t surprise me as much as I act. This is our yearly routine. I’ve become used to her backing out of any social gathering, and don’t get me started with talking about anything graspable. Our conversations hold no context. They’re mundane subjects rather than talking about life and what you want from it. She’s a shell, and it’s fucking destroying me.
It absolutely kills me that she keeps pretending she doesn’t need therapy for her demons. Believe me, she has too many to count.
My heart constantly breaks from her separation. There’s not an emotional connection between us. It was cut, and she doesn’t want to fix it. It’s not just the sexual aspect, but the part of her heart I once owned has been given to someone else, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. She doesn’t even realize she gave it away.
“I need you there. You’re being incredibly selfish. It’s been four fucking years, Loren. I understand you miss her, but you can’t stop living because of it. She wouldn’t want that for you.” I grip my head, pacing the living room. I’ve tried sweet husband, bad husband, tough-love husband, and now I’m just fucking disappointed husband.
What is going on?
Why do we do this?
When will it change? I need a reprieve from this hell I call life.
“How the hell do you know what she’d want? She’s gone! It’s not like it fucking matters anymore,” she screeches, pointing her finger at me accusingly.
I walk away before I feel the urge to yell at her some more, and I get dressed for my party and leave. What excuse will I use this time? Last year, it was food poisoning, the year before a headache. I can’t keep this up. How about this... my wife is on a bender? Because at least that’d be accurate.
I might be a selfish prick for thinking it, but she never considers how I feel or what she’s doing to us and our family.
We haven’t even had sex in a long fucking time. I’m a motherfucker for even thinking about it. It makes me a dick, but I have needs, too.
When we last did, it was almost emotionless. It felt like I used her for my own needs. That phrase, “fucking a corpse” felt real. In the end, I stopped, and I refuse to make love to my wife until she reciprocates. When you feel like you’re raping a wife who says she wants it, it twists something inside of you, something that you may never get back.
Driving the forty minutes all the way to my work, I make it to the parking garage before making a U-turn and driving back home. I can’t abandon her, I love her too damn much, even if she’s stubborn. We’ll get through this. We always do.
The freeway blurs as my car accelerates, and my heart is dead set on not giving up on her, or fuck, us. When I make it home, my eyes immediately spot my brother’s car. Of fucking course. It’s who she calls when she hurts.
A growl rumbles deep in my chest. They were friends first. Don’t freak out. But it hurts so goddamn much. The fact that she turns to him instead of me, it’s what led me to Nora. Lo’s friendship with Toby is the excuse I use to not feel as bad.
The door is unlocked, which isn’t safe, but I’ll talk to her about it later. Entering the foyer, I spot all of the photos we’ve gathered over the last fourteen years, even ones we found from before we started dating. My wife had a killer smile that made all others follow suit. You couldn’t not grin like a child when she was in the room. It radiated, and I loved that about her.
I love everything about her.
The way she bites her lip when she contemplates something too long, how she smirks when she knows she’s gotten her way, and most of all, the beautiful scars on her stomach from carrying our two amazing children.
Now, she doesn’t smile like this with me anymore. She doesn’t bite her lip when thinking too hard, and those scars? She covers them up every chance she has. These pictures are my only real memories of how it used to be.
By the time I enter the living room, I hear Dirty Dancing playing in the background. It’s one of Lo’s favorites. We’ve watched it more times than I care to admit. When I reach the room, what has my blood boiling is the sight in front of me.
My wife’s lips on another man’s. She’s kissing my fucking brother.
Their mouths are tenderly smashed together, his hands in her hair, and both their eyes are closed. They’re so caught up in their moment they don’t see me.
This can’t be fucking happening.
It’s bad enough she turns to him for comfort instead of the man she’s been with for over twelve years, but the fact that she’s shared herself with him? That’s too much. Did she fuck him? Is she in love with him?
My heart cracks, and inside me, the rage boils and thunders. I leave.
I don’t make a noise and escape the onslaught of emotions clouding me.
Not even realizing I called her, she answers, “Hey, Casanova.”
“Nora.” My voice is strangled. It almost sounds as broken as I feel.
“Come over. I’m home alone,” she whispers, sounding almost breathless.
So, I did.
She waited for me outside, her eyes full of concern and worry. “Hey, big guy,” she says while bringing me into a hug.
“Hey,” I reply, my voice hoarse.
It feels as if I need to swallow but don’t truly know how to. She brings her slender arms around my waist, and I hate to admit they comfort me. I want them there.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” she confirms what I already know.
“Whiskey?”
“Of course. I have some Crown for you,” she teases like this is a normal Tuesday. Like we do this on the regular.
It’s Friday, but that’s not the point.
We make our way inside her humble abode. The pictures of her daughter make me smile. She’s such a great mom.
Dread settles in, because I shouldn’t be here while this emotionally driven. I should walk out her door and never speak to her again.
This can only end badly.
But I’m too upset to walk away.
Nora heads to the kitchen, running her fingertips across the countertop. I know her mannerisms all too well. She’s thinking about something, and it’s eating her up inside.
I shouldn’t know this much about her—shouldn’t be this close.
By the time she’s pulled out the amber liquid and two tumblers, I’ve made my way to her. My body has a mind of its own. It’s leading while my mind is rebelling. Taking the glass, I pour an excessive amount of Crown.
Downing it without a chaser, I bite back the burn. My throat rebels against my harsh tactics to forget what I saw, to forget all the shit I’ve been through. I hardly cave to a temptation as wicked as alcohol, but tonight is an exception.
“She kissed Toby,” I say flatly, pouring more, gulping it back, and trying to breathe away the pain. Inhale, exhale, repeat.
Her eyes meet mine. They’re sad, not like I imagined they’d be. I know she cares, but I expected more of an I told you so, not I’m so fucking sorry.
“She doesn’t deserve you,” she says venomously and then cringes.
There are so many things I wish I could let out and say, but one thing I try not to do is bad-mouth my wife.
Then, Nora’s lips are on mine, and I get lost in the comfort of her. They feel wrong, too plump, too wide—not my wife’s—but I keep kissing her.
When I lift her up and her legs wrap around me, I know where this is going, and I no longer have it in me to stop. That was the first true night of infidelity, but it didn’t stop there.
My palms grip her thighs reverently, like I’ve imagined doing on many occasions, like I’ve avoided for years, but this time it feels healing. She’s my aphrodisiac for the unbearable emptiness.
I knew it was wrong, but I kissed her.
I knew it was wrong, but I undressed her.
I knew I couldn’t come back from it, but I wrapped up my dick and shoved it in her.
I knew it was wrong, and I knew I couldn’t come back from it, but that wasn’t the last time I fucked Nora. And though I regret it now, she saved my heart when my wife sliced it to bits.