Michael - His life

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Rebecca

What a stupid whore that woman, Amanda, is. She has a fantastic husband at home and still she fucks around on him shagging all the horny lawyers that she works with. Well, at least two of them. My resources in NYC are keeping an eye to her recreational activities and I can tell you that Michael is not the father of this new baby.

How stupid can the woman be? Michael is tight-lipped about it all and I suppose his pride and ego dictate that whatever he plans to do, will be a closely guarded secret. Eventually I'll find out. I'm a very patient person and it was a couple of years ago, after I learned that Amanda was involved with other men, that I decided to hold on and I knew that I eventually would get what I want. Michael.

***********

Michael

I've avoided the obvious for too long now. I know that I have to act. I weighed my options.

If I do nothing, and that might be the easiest, then I have to accept that Amanda is not really my wife. Not in the sense that she is mine alone. I will have to accept that she has never been, and likely never will be, just mine. I'll have to share her with whomever she chooses.

If I reveal to Amanda that I'm aware of her affairs, then this means that there is a strong likelihood that we will separate. She is as stubborn as an old mule and to have me demand that she give up her affairs might not sit well. Initially she will agree but six months or a year later her needs will overcome everything else. Her sense of self-entitlement is so big that to have me demand something...well, this would be tantamount to a declaration of war. Marriage should not be about war. It should be about love. It should be about caring. It should be lots of things. It shouldn't be forced.

No matter what Amanda wanted to do, I had some conditions that I wanted met, or there wasn't any hope of us remaining together. Fidelity, monogamy, those are simple issues for me. Yes or No. If it was no, then we would go our separate ways.

So, to give myself some space and to figure thing out I went back to Washington, there was lots of work for me to do there. I had briefings to prepare and other plans that needed my attention. I stayed at the apartment and called Amanda every day to check on her and the children. After a week, I got on my motorcycle and drove back to NYC. During the ride I revisited all the various arguments that I had considered during the last week and I knew what I had to do. And how I had to do it.

**********

The Next Day

"Amanda, let's go out for dinner tonight. Maria has agreed to stay in and look after the kids. I think you and I need some time together away from the kids. Just you and me."

Amanda looked at me, "Great idea, Sweetie. There is our favourite Italian restaurant that we haven't been to for months. Let's go there."

So, I made a reservation and that night we both got cleaned up and walked out. I ordered a bottle of Amanda's favourite wine and we got a glass. We were both very quiet and then, after we ate, it was time for me to get down to business.

"Amanda, I have some things that I want to talk about that we need to figure out. After Emma was born, you know that the agency does DNA sampling of all dependents, just in case there is a need to verify identity. I know it's not a nice thing to think about but if something were to happen to me or, god forbid, you or the kids become targets, then to have DNA is often helpful. Now, the DNA is kept on a data base and used only if needed. Michael Jr.'s DNA is there as well; I did a cheek swab of him not long after he was born.'

The colour drained from Amanda's face and her eyes were as wide as saucers. Her head started to get wobbly and then her eyes rolled back and then she briefly fainted. I grabbed her and held her so that she didn't fall out of her chair and hurt herself.

************

Amanda

Oh shit! He knows. My vision suddenly disappeared, and the room was moving. Is there an earthquake?

Michael had his arm around my shoulder and was holding a glass of water in front of me. "Here, drink some of this, Amanda."

I took a sip, then a huge gulp of it. My heart was pounding and my head the same. My entire life flashed in front of my eyes in a nanosecond. What have I done? Oh fuck! What now?

It took a few minutes for me to regain control of my faculties, stop hyperventilating and I realized that I desperately needed to pee.

I stood up and with a very quiet, almost whispery voice, "I'll be right back." I dashed off to the Ladies Room. My legs were rubbery, and I held on to things to steady myself.

I emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Then, after flushing the thing five times, I sat there on the toilet for a few minutes and tried to think of a plan. The truth was an option, but right at that moment any plan I might have was a bit fuzzy. My infidelity was clearly exposed and to add insult to injury, Michael was in possession of proof of my infidelity; his daughter. It doesn't get any clearer than that. So, I decided that it might be best to be honest and own up to my actions.

After, what seemed like an hour, I walked back to the table. I half expected Michael to be gone. I was surprised to see that he was still there. He was not a man to suffer injustice easily, so I knew that whatever payback he had planned was well thought out and would fit the crime that I had committed.

We just sat there, not saying a word for what seemed an eternity. I couldn't look him in the eye, but I knew that his eyes were firmly engaged on my face. He was watching for every sign, every nuance of my soul that might be a signal to him. A signal that I might tell the truth. A signal that I wouldn't try and bullshit my way out of this.

Why isn't he blowing up at me? We're in a restaurant, that's why. The explosion and fireworks will come later when we get home.

His tone was very quiet when he finally spoke. "Have another drink of water. I think you need it."

I took the glass and just about emptied it. It did help. But I couldn't speak. There were a million things racing through my brain but nothing coherent seemed to want to come out. Michael sat there and stared at my face.

After what seemed like an eternity, he stood. "Time for us to go." I realized that he didn't say 'go home,' just 'go.'

But we did go home.

What was he going to say to me when we got there? Moreover, what was I going to say to him? I was busted like the stupid person that I am. I couldn't talk my way of this. No, DNA doesn't lie. But I did.

Not a word was spoken by either of us on the way to the apartment. When we got in the door, our nanny greeted us and let us know that both the kids were sound asleep and that she was going out.

After the door shut I sat in a chair and waited for the axe to fall.

Michael went to the kitchen and got himself a beer and brought me a glass of wine. I looked up at him as I took the glass.

There was more silence. Then he started.

*********

Michael

When I confirmed the DNA evidence, I was without a doubt, devastated. I wanted to be a father. I knew that one day I would be a father and it was something that I looked forward to, at the time. I knew that Amanda was a woman with 'needs.' And I knew that when I wasn't around, she would fulfill those needs in very discreet ways. I suppose some might find my attitude crazy and stupid, but I though I was being a realist in a modern world. Stupid me. Especially for thinking that my wife would beg-off her liaisons when we decided to start a family.

Well, now it was all out on the table. I wasn't a father. My wife had gotten pregnant, twice, by other men. That was a big kick in the nuts, right to my male pride and ego.

So, I made a plan. I'm very good at planning. I take great pride in the detailed and often complex plans that I have to make as part of my job. I contemplated all manner of plans to resolve this little 'situation.' I imagined all sorts of things to do but in the end it all didn't matter. Amanda had two children that needed their mother. So, that meant that my plan had to attend to their needs.

After much thinking I decided on the simplest of plans. It would be the best thing for all. It would, to some measure, satisfy my need for partial retribution and would leave both of us wth our dignity.

So, after handing Amanda a glass of wine and getting myself a beer and sitting in the living room of our apartment I revealed my plan.

***********

Amanda

My heart was racing at a thousand beats a minute. My ears were pounding with the sound of my heart. The rapid-fire thumping was deafening. I looked at Michael and I could see his mouth moving, but for the life of me my ears heard not a word of what he was saying. The look on his face was calm, but when my vision cleared, and I was able to comprehend what was going on I still didn't really know what was happening.

I took a big gulp of the wine in the glass. It helped to clear my brain. No wonder wine is so popular, it brings clarity to many things.

"Amanda, before we go much further, I need to share with you my plan to deal with the news that neither of the children are mine."

He said the words so calmly and matter-of-factly that I had difficulty understanding if in fact he was angry. Michael is very self-controlled; almost too controlled.

"I was, as you might imagine, very devastated to find out that neither Emma or Michael Jr. are my children. I suppose they both are really my children, but my sperm didn't make them. No, that was another mans joy. Someone else got the privilege of creating those kids."

Michael took a drink of his beer, and then he continued. "When I opened the letter with the DNA results...well, you can imagine my shock. To find out that both my children were not mine, but some others mans, well...that took some getting used to. I'm not sure that I, even now, fully comprehend all this. I'm a smart guy, so I catch on quick."

He took another drink of his beer, less this time.

"I had an envelope dropped off to me in Washington a few weeks ago. It was addressed to me and marked 'PERSONAL' and "CONFIDENTIAL.' Now, I don't normally get personal mail at work and the security service that screens the mail makes sure that we don't get junk-mail in the building. No, I realized that someone from the agency had put this together and dropped it on my desk. I was puzzled about what it was, but I didn't have time to look at it right then, I had a video conference to go to and that was a priority. Later that night I threw it in my backpack and took it with me to look at. I actually forgot about it for a few days and then when I was cleaning out my backpack, I noticed it there. I opened it."

Michael took another drink.

"The envelope had four pieces of paper. They were all DNA test results. I looked at them and after scanning them I needed to reread them, this time to better understand what I was looking at. Someone had printed, by hand, our names on them. Your name, the kids, and me. I looked and saw that Test 1, that's you, were related, by over 99% certainty to test subjects three and four, those are the kids. Then I saw that test subject two, that's me, was not biologically related to any of the other test subjects. Now, I'm not a biologist, but I can figure out things."

Michael stopped for a minute and took another small sip of his beer. I don't think that I was breathing much at all.

"So, after looking at those DNA tests I was confused. But, you know, I'm not a person that just accepts something randomly dropped off from a source that I don't know. And, so, I ran my own tests to find out the facts. I deal in the truth of all things and this was no different."

Michael paused and looked at his glass and took another small sip. The glass was half full, or half empty depending on your perspective. Right now I was half empty.

"DNA is a wondrous thing. It's almost magical the way it works. It can differentiate between billions of people. And with a level of certainty that boggles my mind. I'm not a scientist but this truly does amaze me."

Another small sip.

"So, I suppose you're thinking right now what it is that I'm going to do about those DNA tests and the results. Well, that's a good question. One which I can only answer by asking you a question. Why?"

Michael looked at me with a laser-like focus. He was all business right now. I suppose he was expecting me to say something, but my brain was without the ability to form a coherent sentence. "I, I, I, I'm not sure what to tell you, Dear." I spoke with a very quiet voice. I was guilty as charged and about to put my own neck in the proverbial noose. But the firm always teaches that the best defence is a good offence. When the evidence is against you, you attack the victims.

Michael took a small sip. "Well, could we start with the truth for a few minutes? Who are the fathers of your children?"

His question was startling in its abruptness. That was one of the the differences between us, he had been taught to get to the heart of the problem quickly and with as little delay and fuss as possible. I had been taught that the truth is often malleable and can be shaped to fit the needs of the situation. That was lawyer talk for make up 'alternative facts' if the ones staring you in the face are too damning and dangerous.

"It doesn't matter about DNA tests. You're the father of our children."

Michael cocked his head a bit sideways. He does that whenever he hears a bullshit excuse for something. I knew that he likely already knew who the two men were that I had been seeing when he was away for long periods.

"Can you tell me that you don't love those two children that are sleeping in their beds. Can you tell me that you're not proud to be the father of both?" I had to turn this around now and put him on the defensive.

He took another last sip of his beer and put the empty glass on the table. "You didn't answer my question."

"And I'm not going to. It doesn't matter one bit. You're the father of my children and you're the man that they will grow up with and be like, and you're the man that will teach them all the amazing things that fathers teach their kids. So, you are the father. End of story!"

Michael looked at me with his head cocked to the other side. "Okay, I see that you're not going to be honest with me. So, now I have a much better idea what I need to do."

With that he stood up and went to the home office that we have and closed the door behind him. Fuck! What was he doing? I went to the door and tried the handle. There wasn't a lock on the door, but he had put a chair under the doorknob to stop the door from being opened. I knocked. "Michael, what are you doing?" No answer. I knocked again. "Michael, whatever it is you're doing in there can wait. I need to talk to you."

The door abruptly opened. "Now you want to talk. When I asked you a simple question a few minutes ago, you refused to give me a simple answer. Now you're ready to talk. Too late."

Michael pushed by me and went to our bedroom. He pulled his well-worn suitcase from the back of his closet, opened it up and started to put some of his things in it. I watched, too stunned to do anything. Finally I kicked into gear, "What are you doing? Where are you going? Why are you leaving?"

Michael looked at me, "I'm leaving. You decided not to tell me the truth, so until you change your mind and want to have a meaningful discussion, I'm outta here. I have other things that I can do and other places I can do it."

This wasn't going well at all. "Are you going to Washington?"

He looked at me with his typical determination. "What do you care. I'm sure that you'll have plenty of company, if you want it, after I leave."

He continued putting clothing in his bag and then went back to our office to find his laptop and his old battered leather briefcase. Once he was satisfied that he had everything that he needed he grabbed both and went to the door. He turned and looked at me. "I'll have my personal cellphone with me so if you have a sudden need to want to tell me the truth, feel free to give me a call. Unless you're prepared to tell me what I want to know, don't waste your time and mine by calling."

With that short speech he turned and was out the door, shutting it behind him. So, there it was. In the span of a couple of hours my life had just collapsed around me. My secrets were exposed, and my husband had walked out. Jesus!

I went to the refrigerator and got myself a big glass of wine and sat down at the dining room table. I took a drink and then realized that I was holding my breath. Oh fuck. What had I done! It wasn't really a question; more a realization that I had fucked up in a very large way. And now I was gong to pay the price for my crimes. My own sense of self-entitlement had convinced me that having a lover on the side was just fine. I mean, there were lots of others doing the same thing. It was almost expected amongst my colleagues at the firm and I knew several of my girlfriends that had been involved in liaisons with lovers the entire time that they were married. Most of them had managed it quite well. I suppose the difference was that they didn't get pregnant twice by the lovers. I just realized that little mistake now. Fuck!

************

Michael

I worked very hard to control my anger when I confronted Amanda with the DNA evidence that both Michael Jr. and Emma were fathered by other men. I mean, how much more blatant does it need to be to conclude that my wife of three short years was unfaithful. I suppose I could almost get over her having an affair, but to let her lovers' father the children, that was the straw that broke my back. Nope, there was no way in hell that I could tolerate that. I had the doorman get me cab and on the way to the airport my hands started shaking. I folded my hands in my lap to stop the tremors. That had never happened to me before. I'm been in situations where in held a loaded rifle and prepared to do actual battle with the enemy. I'd fired that weapon to defeat that enemy and never once thought about the moral or ethical issues faced with taking the life of someone who wanted to take my life. My job was not to die for my country but to make that enemy die for his. Really simple.

But here I sat, in a cab on the way to JFK Airport, and my hands were shaking. Was I losing my nerve? I took a few deep breaths to calm down and as I did, I realized that my anger was now coming to the surface. I don't normally experience anger, just determination. Get the job done and do it as expeditiously as possible with the least collateral damage. So that's what I did.

I caught a shuttle flight to Washington and then another cab to the apartment. When I got in the door the message machine on the phone was blinking. I went to the refrigerator and realized that it was bare of anything to eat or drink. I got a glass of ice water and then hit the play button. Most messages were telephone solicitation crap but the but none from Amanda. I erased all the messages and unplugged the phone. I made a mental note to call the phone company and cancel the service as soon as possible. I figured that I wan't going to need it for the foreseeable future.

************

Three Months Later

Michael

Syria is a very hot place, no matter what time of the year. The resilience of the people here is amazing. That they can eek-out their existence in a land of dust and dirt and still survive is admirable. Of course the main source of money now came from oil production. Traditional cash crops like fruit and vegetable still was important but oil was now the cash-cow and a coveted source of wealth. Syria is a place of about 17 million people and strictly controlled by the al-Assad family and the Ba'ath Party. The civil war here has torn the place to pieces and when you add into the mix ISIS, Russia and now us, well it does not bode well for the people. To say that the county is a mess is an understatement.