Chapter 3

I had ensured that all of my contracts that required travel included a clause that said I was to be home for two days every weekend and at least 1 week of every month; I didn't think I could go any longer without seeing my wife and son. It was the one immutable rule I had made for myself and I'd never broken it until this past weekend, opting to finish my work on Saturday and Sunday so I could get an extra week with Amber and Mikey.

I pulled into the driveway in my 1998 Buick Skylark. I'd read once that when people who had nothing all their lives came into money, they tended to either spend it lavishly or hoard it religiously. I fell on the hoarding side, I'm sure, but I never saw the reason in buying anything flashy. I preferred simple, reliable things and my Skylark was old but reliable. It got me from point A to point B and that's all I needed. The company had a few cars on lease in case I needed to entertain potential clients but I almost hated to use them. A simple gold wedding band, a simple, reliable auto, usable clothing; I could shop at Brook's Brothers but why when I could get a good, tailored suit nearby for 1/10th of the cost? These things were transient, disposable and not worth dropping large sums of cash into.

My home, on the other hand, was permanent so I'd spent money on it. I'd bought a large, 4,500 sq. foot house; 5 bedrooms, 4.5 baths, a swimming pool, media room, 3 car garage on 5 acres. I'd splurged because this was my refuge; this was where my wife and I made our home. This was where I'd happily spend the rest of my life.

I didn't pull into the garage because I had plans to take the Skylark in for an oil change and general maintenance the next day; the change oil light had come on, and I wanted to take care of it – if you wanted dependable transportation, you had to put in the maintenance.

I didn't make a lot of noise coming in but it wasn't intentional. I guess I was just tired or drained from the long flight. For whatever reason, the door didn't make much noise opening or closing, my shoes didn't make much noise when I took them off my feet, and my bags didn't make a lot of noise when I put them down.

The house was quiet, but that was normal. Mikey would be in preschool and I'm sure Amber was out shopping or whatever. I was disappointed; I was hoping to surprise Amber and spend some time with her, but it could wait. I smiled as I looked at the box in my hand; seeing Amber later could be even better, actually. I'd just leave the box on the table with a note and catch a nap; that way when Amber got home I would be refreshed and we could spend time together, just the three of us ... just the two of us tonight.

I stopped to glance at some mail sitting on the counter, picking up a pen and sheet of paper for a brief note to accompany Amber's present, when I heard something coming from the back of the house. Curious, I started down the hallway towards the master bedroom when I stopped cold, my heart pounding. There was moaning coming from my bedroom. Moaning I recognized and moaning I didn't. Two voices ... and one of them was Amber's.

I wanted to rush down that hallway. I wanted to storm in that room. Something held me back though. Anger, fear, betrayal ... it all welled within me and froze me to that spot. When I could finally move, it wasn't the quick, indignant, angry stride I wanted. It was more of a slow, methodical, disbelieving stagger. I know what I heard but I didn't want to believe it. Maybe she was watching a video or maybe I was just hearing things.

I wasn't. I didn't enter the doorway; I stopped just shy of it. I stopped when I could make out my bed. I stopped when I could make out my wife lying nude on the bed, her soft, wavy red hair fanned out behind her, her arms around some man, her legs wrapped around his naked thighs, as his ass flexed and released, driving himself in and out of her. I stopped, stunned, not wanting to believe it but unable to argue with what my eyes saw.

Somehow, I backed up. Somehow, my back made contact with the wall. Somehow, I slid down, defeated, tears rolling down my cheeks. I could literally feel my heart breaking. I could feel the pieces of it falling into my stomach and forming a knot there.

I wondered for a moment where my righteous indignation was. I felt I should be in there, killing them both. Isn't that what you see in movies? Isn't that what they show on those insipid crime procedurals on television? I was not a weak man. I had grown up in the system. Sure, it had beat me down at times, but I had always gotten up afterwards, stronger and more sure of myself. Why was I just sitting here while my wife was betraying me?

I looked into the room. My wife's mother had given us an antique vanity whose mirror was no longer attached as firmly as it should have been and it tilted slightly downward. I thought absently about how I was supposed to have fixed it some time ago ... but now I was happy and yet sad that I hadn't. It afforded me a view of the bed; it let me watch my wife and her lover.

Her wailing was increasing. My wife was not a quiet lover; her passion started as low moans, almost growls, that kept rising in volume and pitch until her climax. I could tell she was near, could hear her wailing rising to a fever pitch.