My Sister-in-Law Cheated

"Was it you?" He barked.

I groaned as I shook my head. "I was practicing at the tennis court next to the field." Each word was painful.

There was fire in his eyes as he asked, "What did those mother fuckers do to my..." He wasn't able to finish the sentence.

"When I got there, they'd pulled her shirt off. They were trying to get her pants off. She was still wearing her bra and shorts."

If I wasn't in such pain, I'm sure his icy stare would have scared the shit out of me. "I want their names."

"Stan Malloy and Joey Burns will be at the hospital, when I get there. I busted their faces with my racket." I told him the other three shitheads' names as an ambulance and police car pulled up behind my car.

Mr. Morello leaned in until we were nose to nose. I could smell the garlic on his breath. In a voice just above a whisper he said, "If you ever need a favor, come and see Sal Morello!"

When Sal got to our table, he sat without introductions being made. I handed him the envelope of pictures and waited a moment until he skimmed through them.

When he looked up at me, I said, "There's a man named Michael Charmut. He's a top guy at Jimmy Sullivan's insurance agency. His hobby is turning married women into sluts and sharing them with his friends. The pictures I showed you are of him and his gang with my wife and my brother-in-law's wife."

Sal nodded his understanding, while I continued, "I'm hoping that someday soon, he won't be as handsome, his walk will be much less athletic and he'll have trouble getting an erection."

The three of us sat quietly for a number of minutes before Sal uttered his only words. "As you'll both be single soon, it might be smart if you join a gym. You might decide to go from work directly to the gym every... single... night. You can work out together for a few hours and then go out and have a nice dinner afterward."

He looked carefully at our confused faces, before finishing, "Do you idiots think you can have air-tight alibis each night?" When he finally knew that we understood what he was saying, he rolled his eyes, nodded to me, got up and slowly walked from the bar.

I didn't go home, as I had told Mary I was out of town. Instead, I checked into a nearby Marriott for the night. I was able to talk directly to my boss and I gave him an abbreviated version of my troubles. He agreed to let me work remotely and email my team and tell them I was traveling into the following week.

The uncomfortable recliner in the corner of the hotel room called me. I slumped into the chair, closed my eyes and thought through the previous number of weeks. It was obvious to me that because of the hardline I took with her sister, Mary could not divulge her affair with Mike and his friends. She knew with absolute certainty that I'd divorce her.

Mary was right, but as I thought through the divorce equation, I think...I hope I would have been fair, if she had been honest and forthright. Instead, Mary continued to lie to me. I had to find out about her treachery in a public setting, surrounded by my friends and work associates. I can't imagine a scenario that would be more disrespectful and humiliating, than sitting in front of your wife's pimp and discovering she is a gangbang whore.

She had been unfair to me in the extreme and as a result, our divorce wouldn't be fair. Instead, I knew I had to crush Mary. I vowed to myself that I would destroy my wife...my love and best friend in an equally extreme way. An amiable divorce was not in the cards for Mary.

I struggled out of the recliner, walked to the office desk in the corner of the hotel room and made plans. It took until nearly 1:30 AM to sketch out my pre-divorce strategy for my lying, cheating slut wife. If my plan went poorly, her heart would be crushed. On the other hand, if things lined up as I thought they might, the cunt would be left shattered and in a heap at the curb.

The next morning, I was able to get an appointment with a divorce attorney for the following day. Despite the attorney's recommendation, I didn't begin to divide our finances. That would have to wait.

I moved to an extended stay hotel and set up a remote office. I ignored phone calls and texts from Mary until Friday. At that point, I simply messaged her that I would be away for the weekend. Her response was beyond upset and she called all weekend and begged me to call her back.

Over the weekend I was able to purchase everything I needed for my plan. After my check list was complete, I headed to the mountains for a long hike on Sunday.

When I returned to the hotel, I turned on my phone and had texts and calls from Mary, each of her family members and a few work associates. Apparently Mary was extremely upset that I was off the grid and was trying to track me down.

On Monday and Tuesday, I worked from my hotel room. I tried to tie up all loose ends, as I'd be out of the office the following day.

Wednesday was D-day. I checked out of the hotel after breakfast and headed home. On the way, I drove through the parking lot of Mary's employer to make sure her car was at work. I also put a GPS devise under her seat.

It took a couple of hours to set up the needed equipment and props at home and I was done by the early afternoon. At 2 PM I started a fire in our living room fireplace. Mary and I often enjoyed a nice fire on a weekend winter night. We'd sip wine, talk and snuggle, as we watched the flames jump around the fireplace. But today wasn't a chilly February day. It was September and the outdoor temperature was 84 degrees in the early afternoon.

I waited until 3 PM and texted Mary: [Just arrived home]. My phone rang immediately. I let Mary's call go to voicemail, but she didn't leave a message. Instead, she texted me: [Bastard!] I watched the GPS indicator on my laptop. I had expected Mary to leave work immediately, but she didn't. She was going to "show me".

The fire was blazing and I continued to add logs to the top of the pile. At 5:05 PM, when the GPS indicated that Mary had started her drive home, the temperature in the living room was stifling and easily over 100 degrees. 'Perfect,' I thought. My heart hardened, I gritted my teeth and I waited for the cunt to get home.

There was a three minute delay between the time that Mary opened the garage door and when she entered the kitchen. I heard her drop her briefcase by the door and felt her presence as she stood in the entryway to the living room. She walked in and found me sitting on the couch and watching the fire. There was a cheese and cracker plate and a bottle of wine on the table in front of the couch. I was holding one glass of wine. A second glass was at the other end of the table and was for Mary.

"What the hell are you doing? The heat is overbearing!" Was Mary's comment.

As I turned from the fire to look at Mary, I asked, "What the hell does it look like I'm doing? I've prepared a romantic welcome for my wife." I noticed that two beads of sweat were already running down her forehead and cheek.

"A romantic..." The words caught in her throat and she didn't finish the sentence. Instead, she took a few steps closer to the fire, bent down and picked up a half-burned item off the stone. She held it up and studied it closely, before taking a step back and looking toward the top shelf of the book case.

I thought she might hurt her back; she whirled so quickly to face me. Her eyes were wide in horror as she showed me the smoldering front cover of a book. It was the only part of the book that escaped the flames.

It didn't look like Mary was in any shape to form words, so I calmly told her, "we didn't have any kindling to start the fire and so I used a couple of those old books." I nodded to the empty space on the top shelf were Mary kept a full row of books. "I only used four or five. We have plenty more to start our next fire."

While talking, I had gotten up from the couch, grabbed Mary's glass of wine and was holding it out to her. I watched as her face morphed from incomprehension to rage.

On the day that Mary was born, her Dad gave her a present. The present was the most popular children's book of the previous year. On the first empty page, her Dad wrote Mary a love letter that was heartwarming and described his hopes and dreams for his daughter. Her Dad gave her the same birthday present each year. She had twenty-eight books, each a reminder of her father's love.

I clenched my jaw as I saw Mary scream and start to swing. I'm not sure if she intended to slap or punch me. When her hand hit my face it hurt like hell. Her hand smashed into my left eye and her finger nails broke the skin on my cheek. The contents of the two glasses of wine covered the front of my shirt and pants.

Her face changed again and as she started to cry, I could again see utter confusion. Without saying a word, she turned and ran up the stairs to our second floor bedroom. I heard the door slam behind her.

Although I was devastated because I knew my marriage was over, I did smile. My plan had worked to perfection. When I looked in the bathroom mirror, I saw that my eye was red and starting to swell. Mary's nails had broken the skin and a tiny bit of blood trickled down my cheek.

'Let's get this over with,' I said to myself as I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed the number.

"911. What's your emergency?" I heard from the other end.

"My name's Chris Harrington and I need police help with a domestic situation. My wife has physically attacked me."

After giving the dispatcher my address, she asked, "Are you in a safe place Mr. Harrington?"

"I am. My wife has locked herself in our bedroom. I'll be sitting on the front porch until the police arrive."

"Do you need medical attention?" The dispatcher asked.

"No. I wasn't hurt that badly."

Per police procedure, the dispatcher stayed on the line, until the first police car arrived. I know my call was recorded and I was very careful how I answered her questions. Almost immediately after the first patrol car pulled to the curb, a second arrived.

Three police officers crossed the grass together.

"Thanks for coming officers."

"What's going on?" The crusty old veteran asked.

I turned my head, so they could easily see the damage to my left side. "My wife Mary hit me."

"Why did she strike you?" He wanted to know.

I wanted to be careful with my answer. I told him, "My wife has become verbally abusive over the last several months. I suspect that she is conflicted. She has been hiding an affair that she doesn't think I know about. In fact, I had planned to have her served with divorce papers tonight."

"When we talk to your wife are we going to find any damage?"

"I've never touched my wife or any other woman in anger," was my honest answer.

One of the younger officers asked, "Are there any guns in your home?"

"I have several hand guns. They are all in a gun safe in my office. My wife does not have the combination to the safe."

As the two younger officers entered my house to talk with Mary, I said to the third, "Would you like to see a video of my wife hitting me?"

He squinted, as he tried to make sense of my statement. It took a few beats for him to ask, "You have proof of the assault?"

"I haven't looked at it. I think I have proof." As I finished, I waved for him to follow me. My laptop was on the kitchen counter. I needed to wake the computer and find the cloud based storage account.

I opened the folder, backed the video up thirty minutes and found the start of our confrontation. I pressed play and stepped away, so the police officer could clearly see the action. He watched until Mary left the room and ran upstairs and then asked to watch it again. After the second time through, he keyed the communication devise on his shoulder and said, "Arrest Mrs. Harrington."

Almost immediately, I heard Mary screaming from upstairs and my heart started pounding. I knew the officer had asked me a question, but I needed him to repeat himself.

"Are all the rooms in your home under video surveillance?"

This was a line of questioning that I didn't want to get into, but knew I had to answer honestly.

"No. The living room is the only room with a camera."

He nodded his head in understanding, while scratching his chin in thought. "How long have you had the camera in the living room?"

I shrugged my shoulders and admitted, "It's a fairly recent addition."

Our staring contest was broken when Mary screamed and begged, "Chris! What the hell is going on? Please! Please help me."

I was about to respond, when one of the young officers shouted, "Sir! This is a Police investigation. Please leave immediately." He was talking to an older man standing in the open front door of my home.

With just as much authority the man said, "I am an official process server and I am her to serve Mrs. Mary Harrington." He marched up to Mary as all three officers took a step closer, in case things got out of hand.

The man asked, "Are you Mary Harrington?"

When Mary nodded, he held up an envelope and said, "Mary Harrington, you are served. In addition to the divorce petition, there is a restraining order keeping you away from Mr. Christopher Harrington, his home and his work."

Because Mary was handcuffed, he handed the envelope to the officer who was holding Mary's elbow.

As the process server left, I turned to Mary. I watched as the panic and confusion drained from her face. It was replaced by calm. She looked at me and asked, "How did you find out?"

"Mike told me."

As the two younger officers escorted Mary to the backseat of the patrol car, the third officer gave me his business card and asked that I email a copy of the video. I walked him to the front door and watched the first car pull away with Mary.

The older officer had stopped halfway down my front walk. He turned and asked, "I've seen you on occasion at the Pit Stop, haven't I?"

"Yes. I recognize you to Sergeant."

He told me, "Four years ago, I divorced my wife for cheating. I'm paying alimony, child support, health insurance and the mortgage on the house that she lives in with my kids and her asshole boyfriend. Maybe the next time I see you at the Pit Stop, you'll let me buy you a beer and you can tell me what the fuck happened here today."

I went to work the next day and was able to be somewhat productive as I survived Thursday and Friday.

I actually groaned out loud, when I arrived home on Friday night and found my father-in-law, sitting on my front step.

After pulled into the garage, I got out of the car and yelled, "Come in this way, Steve."

As he entered, I was pouring two extra-large Knob Creek's. We sat at the kitchen table, slowly sipping our drinks for many minutes, before he said, "She was cheating too?"

I simply nodded.

"Is there any hope?" he wanted to know.

I took two more slow sips, before I could calm down enough to be kind and respectful to Steve. I answered, "It wasn't just one time and it wasn't with just one man." I took another taste and then told Steve the complete truth. "And it wasn't with just one man at a time."

He looked at me with disbelief and before he could respond, I told him, "I've seen pictures and videos that make me want to throw up."

Steve shrunk in his seat and turned white. A tear ran over his cheek. We sat together for a long time. Each of us was caught up in our own thoughts and memories.

"Mary and Jenny didn't learn this behavior from their mother or me." His intense stare was just short of chilling.

"Everyone knows that."

Several more minutes passed before Steve rose to his feet and circled the table. As I stood, he grabbed me in a tight bear hug and sighed into my shoulder. After letting go, he shuffled to the door with the same gate as a ninety year old man.

After opening the door, he looked over his shoulder and said, "Burning those books was a shitty thing to do."

I had completely forgotten about the stunt I used to start the altercation with Mary. I nearly shouted, when I said, "Hold on." I exited the kitchen and was back within seconds with a small box. I handed it to Steve.

After opening it, he looked at me with a stunned expression. I told him, "I know you treasured those books and I never would have destroyed them."

"Then how..." He was too shocked to finish his thought.

I told him, "I went out to the book store and got a copy."

As is my normal morning habit, I sat at the kitchen table that Saturday morning and scanned our local newspaper on my tablet. I smiled when I read:

Hartford Times -- Local Section

West Hartford Police are investigating the savage assault on a local man, as he left a neighborhood bar in the Elmwood section of the city.

Michael Charmut was attacked in the rear parking lot of Tops, at approximately 10:30. His injuries are extensive and required hospitalization.

A spokesman for the WHPD said that the police have several leads and expect a quick arrest.

It was a bright and sunny November morning. I watched the red Ford SUV park a few spots from me and the driver slowly pull himself out of the vehicle.

"Hi Mike. You look like shit!"

I was in the parking lot in front of Jackson Physical Therapy and was sitting on the open tailgate of my Ford F-150 pick-up. A little bird had told me that Mike had a 10:30 appointment.

I continued, "It might be a good idea if you get a handicap tag so you can park in a space closer to the building. You know...like the other cripples."

In addition to the damage to his knees and feet, Mike also had a shattered jaw that would be wired closed for at least another month.

"Cat got your tongue, Asshole?" I asked with a smirk.

I have to give Mike credit; he hobbled toward me using a cane and stopped ten feet away. He knew that Scott and I had been questioned by the police and later cleared, but I suspect, in his gut he knew we were involved in his beating. Now he knew for sure.

The hate in his eyes was palatable. I'm sure he was imagining grotesque tortures that would take months to complete. I was confident that Mike and I would meet, sometime in the future. I didn't want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life, so I arranged this meeting.

Mike slowly turned and took his first shuffle, when I said, "Mary Marie Charmut from Milford, Connecticut."

As he turned back, I continued, "Susan Burke from White Plains, New York and Lori Fitzpatrick from Brockton, Massachusetts."

The hate in his eyes turned to confusion. I continued, "If anything happens to me...If I'm in a plane crash, if I drown on vacation, if I fall down a flight of stairs, I've made arrangements for my friends to visit your mother and sisters."

I noticed a slight tremor in his arm, as he held the cane. "My friends will beat their faces, just like they beat yours. They will damage their legs, just like your legs have been damaged."

"And Mike?" I wanted to make sure he was listening carefully. "My friends will kick their crotches just like they kicked yours."

I waited a few moments while he digested the information, before I finished. "While your mother and sisters are withering in pain, my friends will tell them their beating is your fault."

I was surprised. Mike stared me down for several long moments, before giving me a quick nod. I wasn't sure whether he was nodding his understanding or calling a truce. He turned and stumbled along toward the entrance of the building. I'm glad to report it was my last contact with Mike Charmut.

I did give my divorce lawyer the Power of Attorney needed to handle all legal issues related to our split. We didn't have kids. We earned roughly the same amount of money. And most important, I didn't care about anything other than separating myself from Mary.

I received a call from my shark a few weeks after I had Mary served. She told me, "We've reached an agreement almost exactly along the terms we discussed. However, Mary won't sign off, until she's had the opportunity to talk with you."