Balancing the Scales Ch. 01

Quick writer's note:

Tags for this story: Cheating husbands, Cheating, Affair, Revenge.

This story was originally planned to be a three-part series. The first story in the series is the set-up. The other two were to be resolutions which will allow you to choose the direction of the story you prefer. The second chapter is a Karma induced revenge story and the third one was going to be more of a reconciliation at any cost (RAAC) story. It took so long to get this to ready for publishing that I lost interest in the third chapter. So, it will post as a two-part series with a possible third coming sometime in the future.

I've turned off comments for this part of the story but will turn them on for the other part. My hope is that you will rate the part that you chose as a complete story and comment accordingly.

I want to thank my editors for their collaboration and input in this story; Charlie, High Luster, Simepop, Kate7891, CarrotsGoMeow and KenD.

I love to collaborate with people and so I look forward to expanding my editing team. If you are interested in being a part of the collaboration team, please send me your email address through private messaging and I'll shoot you, my stories.

Kevin:

As consciousness seeps into my brain, I slowly open my eyes to a still dark room. It takes a moment for me to realize where I'm at. Shifting my feet to clear the blankets, I bump into my wife and whisper a soft "Sorry." I sit up and slide to the edge of the bed; my head is throbbing.

Shit. Denise didn't come on this trip!

I quickly turn and look; sure enough, there is a blonde mop of hair scattered along the pillow beside me -- one that definitely doesn't belong to my brunette wife!

Fuck.

As though through a dense fog, slowly the memories come back to me.

I'm in Texas, and we'd been celebrating the successful launch of a new product line. We had closed out a long day in the factory at a bar near the hotel, drinking and dancing abundantly. I vaguely remember talking to a blonde woman; who is she?

As I ponder, I again glance at the face of the woman in the bed with me; then it clicks.

That's right! Jayden... something, from our California facility. She's the materials specialist who helped set up our supply chain for this product. We'd talked, danced, and drank together; she had been nice enough, but I wouldn't have cheated on my wife with her. Would I?

I'm standing now, naked, watching the blonde come to life. Damn, she's kind of hot! I catch myself thinking. She flings the blankets clear of her body and I can see she's naked as well; oh, this isn't good.

"Hey sexy, whatcha doing up already?" she groggily asks as she tries to focus on my darkened visage.

"Fuck, Jayden, what did we do last night?"

"Exactly that!" She smiles and pats the bed next to her. "Why don't you come back to bed, and we can pick up where we left off?"

"I can't! I'm married!"

"So? I am too. That sure didn't stop you last night, lover." Her response is matter of fact and without regret.

"Jayden, you have to clear out of here; we can't be caught." Panic is starting to set in, along with a growing concern about blowback from my wife, our team, and the company. I can't be caught fucking another woman -- let alone a colleague.

"Fuck that, let's take a shower first."

"No, Jayden. You have to leave right now." I hurriedly pick up her clothes and start stacking them on the desk. I grab my own pants and slip them up over my naked lower half. When she doesn't move, I grab her clothes and bring them to her; she just stares at me when I hold them out to her. I pull her up and begin to dress her myself. Not bothering with her bra or panties, I roughly pull up her slacks.

"Stop!" She snaps at me. "Alright, asshole! I'll do it myself, just stop." I back away from her while watching her struggle to button her blouse.

Pacing about the room, I start flipping on lights, hoping to completely kill any ideas about a repeat performance. Shortly she's up and dressed.

"Where is my purse?"

I find it on the floor and hand it to her as I walk her to the door.

"Well, I'd like to say that it's been fun, but ..." she scoffs as she exits, and I lock the door behind her.

I pace the room again. Fuck, fuck, fuck! All I can think of is what a huge mess I'd just made of my life. My head continues to throb, even harder now, as I stagger into the bathroom and start the shower. Stepping into the warm stream, I let it hit the top of my head and run down my face and neck as I slump against the wall, though the cool tile shocks me into stepping back into the stream. I've never done anything like this before ... what the fuck was I thinking? What am I going to do now?

Suddenly, my stomach heaves and I drop to my knees and vomit. I watch the bile swirl the drain, just like my life right now. I'm not sure if it's the alcohol from last night or the realization of what I had done; my body seems to be rejecting the entire situation.

Finally, I stand and wash off; I know I have to move forward. I'm flying out today. I'll be seeing my wife of nine years tonight. How am I going to face her?

How will I face our kids?

Oh fuck, James and Kelli will never understand. How do you explain to a six-year-old boy and his three-year-old sister that dad got drunk and fucked up everything?

I vomit again.

Despite the Tylenol, my head is throbbing, aching as I try to focus on the task of getting dressed and packing. As I head out the door, almost as an afterthought I pull a bottle of water from the mini bar, thinking it might help calm the rumbling in my stomach.

From the time I leave my hotel room, I'm on autopilot. I somehow manage to check out without much trouble; my whole focus is on avoiding other members of my team, especially Jayden. There is no way I can face her or anyone else at this moment. Exiting the hotel to wait for my ride, I wipe the sweat from my brow and try to convince myself that I'd escaped unnoticed.

Outside, I can't hold still. I pace up and down the sidewalk, wringing my hands, as I await the arrival of my Uber. Finishing the water bottle, I recycle it when I see my ride pull up, another damn Prius, now regretting drinking it at all - I can feel it bubbling and churning in my gut as I slide into my Uber. What a fucked-up day.

The Uber drops me at the airport, and after getting through the check-in gauntlet, I realize there is still quite some time before my flight. As I sit at my gate, I decide to call my mom. Since my dad died when I was nineteen, my mom has been my guide, confidant, and mentor; she will be able to give me advice.

"Good morning sweetheart," she answers cheerfully.

"Morning."

I'm sure she can sense that something is wrong immediately; I seldom lie to her, and I don't have the energy to do so now. I start the conversation before her questions can begin.

"I'm hung-over, mom."

"Oh honey," she chuckles.

"I messed up big time. I really screwed up."

"What happened?" her voice sounds suddenly much more serious and concerned. She probably already has some guesses about what I had done. My stomach is doing backflips as I gather the courage to relate my transgressions. Fortunately, I've only had water to drink so far; I'm not sure I'll even be able to keep that down.

"I got drunk... and... uh..." I began haltingly, only to hurriedly finish off with, "Iwokeupwithanotherwomaninmybed"

"Oh dear."

Her short response managed to reflect all my fears, doubts and frustration. She doesn't ask questions or hurl hate at me. We simply sit silently, listening to each other breathe.

"Does Denise know?"

"Not yet."

"Oh."

"How do I tell her something like this?"

"I don't know, sweetheart, but you need to tell her. She needs an opportunity to make her own decision."

"Are you sure? Can't I just live with it and make it up to her?" I ask, almost pleading. I don't want to have to accept my failure, and I'm afraid of losing my family.

"I know you Kevin, this will eat you alive. Denise will know something is wrong and when it finally comes out - and it will come out - it will be a disaster." She huffs out a breath, clearly at a loss. "If you give her a chance to decide her own fate, you may live to see another day. If you hide this from her, and lie to her, when she finds out, the consequences will be ten times worse."

She's right. She always is. I don't want her to be, but I know deep down that what she's saying makes sense; I'm at a crossroads, and my next actions may determine the rest of my life and the fate of my marriage.

We talk for the next thirty minutes or so, during which time she scolds me for being stupid, she consoles me for being stupid, and she commiserates with me for being stupid. I eventually agree that I will tell Denise, but that I'll wait until tomorrow, when we will have time and energy to work through all the emotions and feelings that are sure to be exposed.

After ending the call with my mother, I spend the rest of the time before boarding further contemplating what Denise's reaction might be. While Denise and I have had discussions before about celebrities or friends who got caught cheating, and her responses have always seemed to be mild and on the neutral side, I also know that Denise has a mean streak in her, that she can hold a grudge. This scares me. She told me once that in college, a girlfriend of hers had gone on a date with a guy that Denise had liked. Denise had waited a year, deciding to seek revenge when she found out that the friend was dating another guy and really liked him. Denise had seduced the guy, causing their break-up, and then had taunted the girl about it, ending their friendship. That was a year or so before we met, and she has claimed since that she isn't like that anymore, but I've done something much worse than date her crush.

Denise:

Kevin will be home tonight; I've missed him this week. It's been a crappy week, between pressures at work and looking after our two children on my own. I'd arranged for my mom to pick up the kids from childcare today so Kevin and I can have a romantic evening. I am craving his touch; I need to feel him beside me tonight.

Ever since I got home from work, my mind has been running a hundred miles a minute. I'm thinking about his touch; the way he lays sweet kisses on my neck, the feel of his hands exploring my body - my heart is racing now, my nipples have hardened imagining the attention they are going to get later. Oh, the things I plan on doing to that man of mine.

I had ordered Italian take out and had just begun serving it when I hear the car in the driveway. I light the candles and start pouring the wine.

Damn I need this.

Kevin:

I can see dim lights through the window. I steel myself and paste on a fake smile, even as my gut starts churning again. On my walk inside, I'm wishing that I could go back 24 hours and make different choices.

There she is, at the table pouring a glass of wine. She is so beautiful; at 32 she still causes me to gasp when she graces me with her smile. She greets me with a kiss, her body molded to mine, her skin warm to the touch. I feel my face flush as my body responds to her affection. We begin chatting about her week and my trip as we move to sit down, continuing over dinner, though I have a difficult time focusing on the conversation.

We each have had several glasses of wine by the time we finish eating; she is buzzed now and has that lustful glint in her eyes. She makes all those sexy little moves I've memorized and come to love over the years; clearly, she has love on her mind, and plans to be the aggressor. She's become a huntress and I, her prey.

She takes my hand and leads me into the living room, kissing me, groping my crotch, causing my breathing to become quicker and shallower. I can feel my pulse in my neck, racing, pumping blood to the vital areas of my body required for what she has planned next. She grinds herself against me for a time, stimulating us both, and then pulls me down onto the couch. I reach up under her shirt and find that she isn't wearing a bra. As my hand encompasses her bare breast it occurs to me that she had planned this seduction.

At that realization, guilt takes over; my lust instantly leaves me, and my dick softens.

I stand up, and back away from her.

"I, I-I-I ... I'm sorry." My voice cracks with emotion. I can't do this with her, not with this barrier between us. She needs to know; I need to tell her before I do anything else with her.

"I f-fu-fucked up Denise."

Tears are rimming my eyes as I try to stay focused on her and come to grips with what to say; she knows from my face that it's serious. She has always been able to read me; she's already figured out that I was unfaithful to her.

"I got drunk..."

"You bastard!"

I sit on the coffee table; my head hanging in shame.

"I want to hear you say it," she states icily. I can feel her glare, like laser beams boring holes into my soul.

"Ahhh," I start, "I slept, I slept with someone." My words are barely audible but sound like shouts to me.

She sits there, adjusting her shirt to cover her chest - nipples no longer hard and pointing.

As she stares at me, I lift my head a time or two during this interminable standoff, only to drop it again. I feel sick; now that I have alcohol in my stomach, I don't know if I'm going to keep it down. I glance up and watch as emotions - fear, hate, disgust - flash across her face. I lose track of how long we sit in silence, the ticking of the clock sounding like gunshots in my ears. I continue to sit quietly, waiting for the storm that is sure to come.

Then, it comes.

"Do you love her? Who is she? Do I know her? How many times? Are you leaving me? Do you want a divorce? Answer me you stupid bastard!" It all tumbles out of her at once, sending my head swimming, and I can't keep up with her barrage of questions. I begin to answer, hesitantly:

"No, no. I don't want a divorce. I'll answer any questions you have, but please slow down and ask them one at a time, please."

I feel like a defeated man; this isn't what I had planned on, how I had hoped to tell her, but I couldn't allow it to fester inside of me any longer. I begin to answer her questions:

"Who is she? Do I know her?"

"Jayden Morris; she's a materials specialist from California and, no, you don't know her. I only met her in person for the first time this week."

"So, what? She is so much hotter than me that you just had to fuck her?"

"No. The team was celebrating the launch at a bar. We got drunk, danced and somehow she ended up in my room."

"Like magic? You prick."

Through all her questions, she is fluctuating between anger and sadness, spewing venom and shedding tears equally. I can see the hurt my actions have caused, and it only makes me feel worse.

I fill her in on the whole ordeal, at least what I remember of it -- the celebration, the drunken sex, and the morning after. We spend several hours discussing the situation, the thoughts and fears we each have, and her disappointment in me. I answer each question truthfully, hoping it might allow me some reprieve, but to no avail. She continues to get angrier, until she storms off to the bedroom.

From the sound of that door crashing into its frame, I expect to find it in a million pieces.

Denise:

I jump at how hard the door slams; I'm furious with my stupid husband, but I hadn't meant to act out. I pace the room trying to figure out what to do next. My phone! I need my phone; I need my friends' support. I frantically search my purse for my phone, getting more and more desperate until I remember I'd left it in the kitchen. After sneaking down the hall, I retrieve my cell and retreat to the room. I call my friend Ellen, telling her of the affair; we cry and curse men together.

Ellen is one of my best friends, has been since college, and we have shared many broken hearts, joys and successes in each other's lives. She can be eccentric and over the top at times, but I trust her and have always used her as one of my confidants; I need her now more than ever.

I know Ellen still hasn't forgiven her ex-husband for leaving her when he caught her cheating. I figured she might take Kevin's side a little since she was in his position just eighteen months ago.

She does not.

Ellen's suggested approach makes Sherman's march through Atlanta look like a birthday party. She suggests a scorched earth philosophy which I'm not sure I'm ready for just yet. I tell her so, and she changes tactics and insists I kick him out of the house to wake him up.

I decide this course of action is best for now. I got the distinct impression he knew just what he wagered in telling me what had happened, and I could see on his face he understood the ramifications as he confessed to me. He had looked as lost as I now feel.

It's early in the morning before I tiptoe out of the bedroom to present Kevin with my decisions. I grab the handle of his travel case as I go out the door. He's still sitting where I had left him, looking crushed. His head pops up, eyes shining with anticipation until he spots his suitcase.

Kevin:

I haven't moved from the coffee table. Not sure how long it has been, I jump when I hear the bedroom door creak and open. A disheveled Denise steps out to stand in the hall; she's no longer amorous and is in fact looking rather overwhelmed. She is pulling my suitcase behind her.

"Kevin, you know I love you... right?" Her voice sounds ragged from crying but steady; she's on a mission.

"And I hope you know that I'm still in love with you Denise."

"I need some time. Can you stay at your mom's this week?"

"Yes." I answer simply. I decide not to explain that I had already looped my mother into the situation.

"The kids are at my mom's until Sunday night. I want you to come by each night after work and have dinner with us, then go back to your mom's. Please don't call me; we'll discuss what we are going to do next Saturday. I'll just tell the kids that your mom needs you and you're helping her... God, I don't know how to explain this to them." She is in tears again by the time she finishes speaking.

I have no other choice than to accept Denise's request; she's in charge now. I know if I try to push her that I'll only make things worse. I nod my head to confirm my acceptance of her decision, take the bag from her, and head out the door.

Ashamed, and alone.

Denise:

I watch Kevin shuffle out the door, my shattered heart breaking even further in seeing the shame and disgust on his face. I know he doesn't blame me; he only has blame for himself.

I have never slept well when Kevin is missing from my bed; this week had been horrible, and next week is sure to be worse.

Ellen and Aimee arrive at the front door with coffee and bagels at nine in the morning. Aimee is my first cousin, but we were raised as sisters and are best friends. They move into the kitchen and sit around our table. Ellen had texted Aimee that morning to come support me but hadn't filled her in on the details. For the next thirty minutes I catch them both up.

I can tell Ellen hasn't softened on her burn-him-down position, but I can see empathy and sadness in Aimee's expression.

"Kick him to the curb!" Ellen remains adamant. "Once a cheater, always a cheater!"

"And you would know." Aimee isn't loud, but her comment is thunderous. "I wouldn't take advice from a woman who threw her own marriage away."