Kim Pt. 02

© Andyhm. 2022

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. All characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities are 18 or older.

I recently found a backup file lurking in a forgotten cloud account. It held an early version of this story and a couple of others I'd shelved, and I began resurrecting them. I'd thought the working notes for this one were lost, but a couple of days ago, I found a doc with an outline of this story. I was surprised at the direction it took, yet I followed the outline, which entailed a fair amount of rewriting. The other thing the outline revealed was I'd intended this to be a relatively long story. A lot of this chapter deals with Kim's why!. It doesn't excuse her actions; it just tries to understand them from her perspective. It will help if you have read the first part. This story is a figment of my imagination, and the outcome is also my choice.

I'm sorry for the delay. Unfortunately, after posting the first part, I came down with a nasty chest infection that knocked me for six, and I had no enthusiasm to write for several weeks.

Recap:

She sat there in silence, toying with a glass of wine. A sure indication that something was playing on her mind. When she was ready, I knew she'd broach whatever worried her. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said. "I'm pregnant."

Two words that should make any husband's chest swell with manly pride.

"But I'm not sure it's yours."

And six more words were destined to tear the heart from that chest. I wasn't sure what I'd expected, but not those fatal words that threatened to explode our comfortable world. I sat in stunned silence before standing and walking over to the far side of the patio, staring out across the fields. I struggled to get my head around her last statement, hoping beyond hope that I'd misheard her.

Kim: Part 2.

The atmosphere between us was tense for the rest of the evening; Kim desperately wanted to talk. I couldn't face her; just knowing she'd slept with another man desperately hurt. The thought that she was carrying a child who could be another man's was soul-destroying. I ended up staying in the spare bedroom that evening; any sleep I got was fitful and broken. I heard Kim open the door several times, but I feigned sleep on each occasion.

When I came down in the morning, Kim was sitting at the kitchen table, and it looked like she hadn't slept. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her cheeks tear-stained.

I made a fresh pot of coffee, aware that she was following my every move. When it was ready, I poured us each a mug. I sat facing her and took a first sip of the bitter brew. The only thing I'd resolved since I'd learned the truth yesterday was that I needed more time to think, and that wouldn't happen if we were living in the same house.

"So, how do we do this," I asked. "Shall I be the one to move out, or are you going to?"

"Neither, but if it has to be someone, then it should be me," Kim said.

"Good," I said as though that settled it. "Are you ready to explain how this happened and who he is?"

"No, let's just say it was a big mistake on my part, and it won't help if I tell you who he is."

I slammed my hand down on the table hard enough for my mug to shake and a splash of coffee land on the surface. "So I'm supposed to sit here and just accept you could be pregnant with another man's child, and I'm not supposed to ask questions."

Kim shrank back in her chair and cowered as I growled, "I don't fucking think so." Then I continued in a normal voice, "You don't get to make that decision for me, Kim. For years you've been telling me that our marriage was a partnership, that we have no secrets, and now you drop this ton of shit on me."

"I know I did, but this is different. It won't help you to know who it was or why."

I shook my head in disbelief, "Are you living in a fantasy world? How stupid do you think I am? It might not help, but I fucking well want to know, and you will tell me, or pack your bags and go." I sat back in my chair and stared at her.

Her anguish was written deep across her face, "I can't tell you who or why," she whispered.

"Yet I'm supposed to live with the consequences," I replied. "Grin and accept it, Ben. Is that what you want?"

She didn't say anything. She just sat there with tears rolling down her face.

"I meant what I said yesterday," I reminded her. "I will not bring up another man's child, don't even ask. There has to be some way we can find out if this baby is mine or your mysterious lover."

She gave me the briefest of nods. "I checked; there's a way I could find out if the baby is yours," she said. "There is a simple test that can be done in a few weeks; it just needs a blood sample from me and a cheek swab from the father." She glanced towards the kitchen counter, and I saw a padded envelope that I guessed contained the test kit. "But the problem is that by the time I would have been able to get the results, you would have known I was pregnant."

And that explains why she'd felt the need to tell me about her pregnancy yesterday. She wouldn't have been able to keep the pregnancy hidden from me much longer. The window for a safe abortion was closing, and she didn't know who the father was, so she had run out of options.

"We will do the test as soon as possible, but what will you do if it turns out I'm not the father?"

"We'll deal with that after we get the results."

"Like fuck we will. I need to know what you intend to do now."

"I can't tell you what I don't know, and in any case, it's academic until we know."

"No, it's not; if it's not mine and you decide to keep it, I can't see how we'll make it. So you need to make your mind up now."

Kim looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. She sat there twisting a strand of her blonde hair around her fingers

"So, are you willing to tell me who he is and why you decided to fuck the bastard, or are you planning on leaving?"

She swallowed several, then said, "His name is Michael...Schmidt. But that's a common surname where he comes from."

Well, I had a name, and it didn't matter how common it was; I'd find him. Only I'd noticed the slight hesitation when she'd said his surname. I was under the impression that Schmidt was the German equivalent of Smith. Either she was using the first name that she thought of, or it was his real name. But what I needed to know was why?

"And are you going to tell me why, or is it just what I've always suspected, you are trading up."

She didn't speak, but she didn't need to. All the insecurities I'd thought I'd managed to work past came flooding back, echoing my fear, pain and certainty that Kim had moved on.

It was a good few minutes before she broke the silence. "That would be trading down, not trading up. I told you years ago that you were the only man I would ever love."

"So what changed," I said without thinking.

She took a sharp breath. "Nothing has changed; I made a mistake that I regret. I trusted someone I thought was a good friend and ended up in a situation that got out of control."

"And Michael Schmidt is this friend?"

She looked down at her empty coffee mug and shook her head. "No, the friend was the person who arranged for me to meet Michael one weekend."

That meant I could narrow down the time and place; she'd only been away for one weekend over the past couple of months. She'd been tasked with assessing and valuing an art collection in Liechtenstein that the owner was considering sending to the auction. That weekend was the only time that all the relevant people were available. Next, I needed to know the name of the friend.

"What type of friend would do that?" I wanted to know.

"Someone who is no longer a friend," she said bitterly.

"Who is he?"

She hesitated before saying, "I never said it was a male friend, and it doesn't matter who it was; I will never have anything to do with them again. The sad thing is I thought she was a good friend at..." She stopped speaking with an edgy look.

"I'm sorry that doesn't wash," I snapped. But I noticed how careful she'd been to hide any details of the friend and how she'd cut off her last statement. The apparent next word would have been either at university or work, which made me consider that this so-called friend had some degree of influence over Kim.

"You want me to live with the consequences of your actions," and I shook my head. "Which isn't going to happen. If this marriage can survive, you need to pinpoint the people I can blame."

Her face went white, and she struggled to say anything. I wasn't willing to let it go, nor had I come to any decision about our long-term chances, so I continued. "While thinking about that, you must consider what you will do if the baby isn't mine."

She instinctively placed a protective hand over her lower abdomen, and with that simple gesture, I knew our chances of staying together were low. She was committed to having this baby regardless of who the father was. And as much as I loved her, the thought of watching her body grow if the child wasn't mine was more than I could consider.

I stood up and used the time I took to refill my empty mug with coffee from the pot to consider what I'd say next. But Kim broke into my thoughts.

"I don't know what I'll do other than pray that this baby is ours."

"And what are the chances it is?"

"It's all I've been thinking about since I found out I was pregnant. I think the odds are stacked in our favour. We'd made love every night that week before I had to travel and again when I got back. Based on my dates, my doctor believes I was probably pregnant before I went away, but she can't guarantee it."

"And how many times while you were away?"

She turned her head away, seemingly unable to look at me. "Twice," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I made sure he used a condom the first time; it's the second time I'm not sure about."

"Why did you do it? I thought you still loved me."

"I did, I do. It was nothing you did, and it's all my fault."

"So, you say you still love me, yet you went away for a weekend with another man."

"I didn't go away with him. It was supposed to be a business trip with a colleague from our restoration team. I didn't know who we would meet, and before you ask, it was the only time I'd ever met him. I was told that an owner representative would be there while I selected the pieces best suited for auction and valued them. At the same time, my colleague would assess their condition and decide if any restoration was required. Michael introduced himself as the owner's representative, but that turned out to be a lie; the painting belonged to him and his family."

"So, how did you manage to end up fucking him."

It was her turn to stand up and walk around the room. She opened the door to the garden and stood there for several long minutes, looking out, seemingly focused on the dark shadows of the South Downs in the distance. Then her stance firmed, and she appeared to be taller.

"Would you pour me another coffee?" She asked in a manner that compelled compliance. "Then can we sit on the patio, and I'll try and explain what happened. I'm fighting for us, so I'll tell you everything I know." She stepped outside, leaving me sitting at the kitchen table. It was a wise move on her behalf, my temper had been steadily rising, and the pause gave me time to get it under control.

I made a fresh pot of coffee and found a half-opened packet of digestive biscuits in the cupboard, and added them to the tray. I was performing the actions automatically as I pondered my options. Kim now seemed desperate to explain her actions, as if baring her soul to me would prevent me from acting on my threats. And they weren't idle threats, I was not inclined to bring up someone else's child, yet I was willing to listen to her.

I joined Kim on the garden bench in the far corner of the patio and placed the tray on a low table. Kim filled our mugs and nibbled on a biscuit before looking at me. "It's a long and embarrassing story, so hopefully, you'll let me finish before you throw me out."

She took a long breath and dived right in. "It all began in my first year at university before I met you. I was experimenting with my sexuality, it was the first time I was living away from home, and I guess I rebelled against my strict upbringing."

"How is this relevant to the situation we find ourselves in?" I wanted to know, at a loss, why she felt the need to begin her explanation so far in the past.

"It is; just give me a chance to explain," she insisted. Then she continued, "I decided I wanted to see what it would be like to be a lesbian," she gave me the briefest of smiles, which I ignored. "It was the ultimate fuck you to my father; he despises lesbians, calling them 'Rug Munchers.' I was going to rub it in his face."

"And did you?" I asked, trying to recall if I'd heard my father-in-law talking about lesbians. And I was also trying to understand how this was supposed to relate to her infidelity.

"What do you mean, tell him, or become one?"

"Both, I guess."

"I never got up the courage to tell him that I was considering sleeping with women. But yes, I had a couple of affairs with women that year. The first was a girl on my course, but the person I spent most of my time with was Simone, a French artist I met when she hired me to pose for her. I'd told her I was interested in women, and she took me under her wing, and I fell in love with her."

I tried to remember if I'd ever met Simone, but I came up blank. Kim must have recognised my expression and added, "She was one of the artists in that first class we modelled for, the beautiful brunette who left after the first semester. But by then, our relationship had run its course, and we were just good friends."

Now a possible face appeared in my memory, "Was she the one I thought looked like an elfin warrior woman from the Lord of the Rings."

It was her turn to nod. "That was her."

"I would never have guessed that she and you were lovers," I said. "I would have sworn you were exclusively dating men at uni."

"That was my plan; I wasn't sure if being a lesbian would be long-term. I enjoyed women lovers, but I was still happy to date men, so I was hedging my bets, using dates with the group I hung out with as camouflage, especially Martin. I was sure that anything I said or did with him was ultimately relayed to my father, and I used that. Unfortunately, staying close to Martin came back to bite me. Martin believed my feelings for him were real; that's why my parents thought I would agree to his proposal."

We both paused; that event had been the turning point in our relationship that led to cementing our relationship and marriage. Just as this event looked like it was overseeing its demise, I'd agreed to hear her out, so I sat back and nursed my coffee, waiting to see what she said next.

"By then, I'd met you and knew that you were the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, but I had the same problem with my father over you. I couldn't tell him how I felt, or he would have done his damnedest to destroy you. That's why I kept telling everyone that you were only helping me out with an art project. It was only when you left that I understood how stupid I'd been."

"I know all this; what's the point of rehashing it?"

"What I never told you was that the day after that damn meal, I told my parents that I had been lesbian all the last year. Then I told them I had met a man I felt comfortable with, and I was falling in love with him. If they tried to come between us, I'd disown them and tell our family and all their friends I was gay."

I'd never know that; after Kim had dug me out of my summer funk, she'd taken me to meet her family, and while I wasn't received like the prodigal son, they had been pleasant enough; now I understood why. But it also raised another question.

"And are you still trying to find your feminine side?"

Kim sat stone-still and looked at me. "Not in that way; I suppose I'm still interested in women," she told me. "Honestly, I guess if I had ever wanted to have an affair, it probably been with a woman."

"It looks like you got over that. So I guess you had been thinking about cheating for some time."

"Damn it, no, that's not what I meant; you are putting words into my mouth. I'm saying that a woman would have had a better chance of seducing me. Sleeping with other men never interested me. But I didn't set out to cheat on you, and the whole thing was one big fucking mistake," she stressed.

"So, where is all this going?"

"Occasionally, I'd meet a woman who ticked most of my boxes, and I'd get that warm fuzzy feeling again, not that I acted on it," she insisted.

No, you just fucked a man! I thought. "In what way is this relevant to our situation?"

"A year ago, a woman started working at our Zurich office, and she had already ticked all of my boxes a long time ago."

I interrupted, "Are you trying to tell me that you've been having an affair with a woman."

"No, no," she said animatedly. "That's not what I'm saying; it was Simone, my girlfriend from university. She'd returned to France after university and took a position as an art restorer at a museum while painting in her spare time. She's now in charge of our Zurich restoration department. I was happy to see her again; we'd kept in touch over the years, emails and such, but we hadn't seen each other for over six years."

I was struggling with how this related to the pregnancy. "And?"

"She was happy to see me and as friendly as ever; she's in a serious relationship and introduced me to her girlfriend, Helen. The three of us would go out for dinner and drinks whenever I had to stay in Zurich. I considered both of them to be good friends. I was thinking about inviting them over for a weekend so that you could meet them, that is, until the trip to Lichtenstein."

"What happened?" I repeated.

"The client had contacted the auction house about selling several selected pieces of his art collection. He'd also requested that Simone should be part of the evaluation team. She was the one that asked my boss for me to be included. My role was to research the provenance of the painting, their authenticity, and because of the location, ensure that none were on the database of Nazi stolen or looted artwork, then come up with a reserve valuation. Simone was to evaluate the physical state of the pieces, as if any restoration was needed, it would affect my valuation."

"I thought she was being helpful--so when she'd said she'd organised a weekend for us to check over the pieces, we would drive to the site on a Friday afternoon and spend the Saturday evaluating the artwork. If we needed more time, we could use Sunday morning and return to Zurich in the afternoon. I was fine with the idea, and everything sounded above board. I was told that the contact we would meet was called Michael--yes, the same Michael. It turned out that the pair of them were old friends, very close old friends."

"Simone suggested we use her car. Usually, I don't like to depend on someone else when I'm travelling, but that time I did, and that became part of the problem. It's not a long journey, only a couple of hours by road. The art was at an isolated estate, and it looks a bit like a fairytale castle," she glanced over at me and added softly. "I think you would find the architecture interesting."

I gave her a grunt, not appreciating her attempt to deflect me.