Not a Bit Too Far

"Tuhh," I hissed. "Her game's already up but she just doesn't know it. You know, Miss Hightower, I was pretty wild in my younger years, chasing any woman who seemed to express interest. It took a long while but I finally realized it wasn't getting me anywhere. While I love a good--ah...sex--I eventually found myself wanting more than just a cheap thrill and I met Reagan at a perfect time for that. She admitted to having been fairly wild in college, too, and that she'd had a number of lovers during that time, but she said she loved me, that she wanted to settle down, that...that..."

I couldn't go on and Miss Hightower patted my hand. I gave her a weak smile in thanks and looked back at the sheet on Noah Woolever. My face hardened as I thought of what I'd like to do to the cheating, lying, adulterous, two-timing--

Miss Hightower gripped my hand again, harder this time, causing me to look up into her eyes. "Mr. Jareau, I'm sorry for you that this has turned out like it has, but I need to warn you, as I do with all my clients, to not let the pain you're feeling make you do something that's not who you really are. When a person finds out their significant other has been cheating on them, they often want payback, to make the cheater hurt, but if you do and you go too far...well, if you do, it can potentially ruin your life. Are you getting this?"

With her grip on my hand, she made me nod before she went on. "Don't let her mistake destroy you and the future you could have. If you strike back too hard, you could find yourself going too far and potentially end up in jail for a time or maybe even in prison, possibly for years. You can lose your job and most everything you've worked your whole adult life for. You don't have children so you don't have that to worry about, but that doesn't mean you still can't make huge trouble for yourself. Whatever you decide, just be careful and remember that it's her mistake, not yours."

So much was swirling in my head.

Cheating? Confirmed.

Children? So close but not now.

Revenge? Maybe not, but repayment? Yes, definitely.

I wouldn't be the idiot who let my anger destroy me. I'd be careful, controlling my emotions, but I'd be as fucking conniving and brutal in my carefully measured response as she'd been in fooling me for however long she'd been doing it. I knew I'd never hurt her physically--I wasn't that kind of person--but making her hurt?

"Yeah, I will be. Careful I mean. But believe me, Miss Hightower, if that's the way my soon-to-be former wife wants it, any way she can get it, that's the way it will be. I'll be sure not to take it a bit too far, but believe me, it's going to be so fucking close and she's going to feel every bit of the pain she's caused me to feel. Every. Fucking. Bit."

Miss Hightower sighed, realizing that she couldn't stop me but she made one last try at tempering me. "Okay, please, be careful, Mr. Jareau, that you remember what you said, that you don't go too far. It's a lot easier to slip over the edge than you might expect. I don't want what you do to come back to bite you...or haunt you."

***

For a divorce attorney, Miss Hightower recommended George C. Godwin. He agreed to see me after hours so I spent the next two hours on a bench in Piedmont Park plotting my escape...and my revenge. Then I downloaded all of my records and went to see him.

Mr. Godwin was an elderly Black man--Miss Hightower's youngest uncle, it turned out--and was as short, hefty, and jovial as she'd been tall, regal, and reserved, but he knew family law inside and out. He also knew the Georgia legal system like the back of his hand since he'd been practicing law for nearly 50 years. George was very informal, insisting that we call each other by our first names and chatting for a bit before getting into why I was choosing divorce over an attempt at reconciliation.

When I showed him the file with the photos, he gave a long low whistle. "Guess that answers that. Okay, what we're gonna need--"

I handed him the flash drive with all the records that Miss Hightower had suggested so he plugged it into his laptop, said "Hmm" a few times, and then said it a couple more before blowing a kiss like an Italian in his niece's general direction. "That girl really knows her stuff. Trent, this looks complete so I'll put it together and let you know when we're ready to serve and file."

"Can you have it by next Monday?"

"Oh, I can have it by then but the overtime's going to cost you."

"Do it, please."

Then I went over my plan with him, including an extra request.

When I was done, his face was expressionless. "You've got to be careful, Trent, really careful. I know you're angry and you have every right to be, but you're starting into a legal proceeding where you can't go too far since a judge will be deciding the case based on law, but if you don't think that appearances and attitudes come into play, then I've got a really fine bridge to sell you over the big river that runs through downtown Atlanta."

I forced a smile, knowing there aren't any rivers, big or otherwise, in downtown Atlanta.

***

I got home late on Monday evening. Claiming exhaustion and needing rest after my little illness, I avoided kissing Reagan on her lips and stayed entirely out of her skank pussy. However, she needed something so I agreed to a blow job. For those few minutes, I was able to put most everything about how she'd cheated on me out of my mind by imagining that she was a $20 hooker desperately trying to get a tip. When I got close, I forgot-- deliberately, I'm afraid--to warn her and ended up spraying some in her mouth and much of the rest on her face.

To my surprise, she laughed. "God, it's been a while since that happened!" She wiped a streak from her cheek and licked it off, reminding me of how sexy she always was before the memory of her betrayal returned in force.

Still feigning vestiges of my illness that had never actually been, I showered and brushed my teeth, trying to get all traces of skank whore off of me and out of my system. I was up early and silently on Tuesday morning, slipping out of the house to head to catch my plane to Charlotte without waking her.

On Thursday evening, I made the call I'd been dreading. "Ethan, hey, it's Trent. Listen, buddy, I need to apologize, big time. You were right and I was as wrong as I could be. The bitch played me."

Ethan, being the closest thing I have to a brother, forgave me at once and asked how he could help.

I delayed getting home until late Friday, and then complained of exhaustion to avoid having to fuck the bitch. Reagan wasn't happy and tried to turn me on by waving her vibrator at me, inviting me to use it on her.

"I'll just watch, okay?"

As skanky as it had turned out to be, she still had a really beautiful pussy and as much as I'd come to hate her dark soul, I still found myself enjoying watching her work her pink hole, thinking that she could easily find a career in online porn if her day job ever fell through. Only my seething anger and disgust kept me from jumping her and fucking the shit out of her.

On Saturday morning, I went to see my parents to help my dad with a home project that supposedly carried over to Sunday morning. I really wanted to let him know what was going on, but I knew that I needed to wait until everything went down. Then the time would be right and it would be too late to let anything slip out that shouldn't.

Therefore, I called Reagan late Saturday afternoon to let her know I wouldn't be home until the next afternoon but when I did, I got the distinct impression when she answered that she wasn't home and that she probably wasn't alone. I held my tongue, giving a perfunctory but completely false "Love you" before ending the call.

On Sunday afternoon while Reagan was out, doubtless meeting one of the lowlife fuckers who was doing her, Mr. Godwin sent me a text. I quickly called him and he confirmed that all would be ready. The process server he was employing had agreed to serve the papers promptly at 11 a.m. on Monday morning in accordance with my special request, and to send me a text message as soon as he met her.

I immediately called in for a personal day, and then headed out, leaving a note for Reagan that I'd had something come up for work and to call me at the office if she needed me. I drove to the office and spent the rest of the evening finalizing my plans.

Reagan called twice that evening, and I told her both times that it was taking longer and that I'd be even later than I'd told her before. I promised that I'd take off early on Monday afternoon and that we'd spend the whole evening in bed together.

That must have been what she wanted to hear because her unhappy mood turned light and cheerful and she told me she loved me before we finally ended the call.

I was lying to her, of course, but considering the web of lies and deceit that she'd spun around me, I shook my head and said, "Them's the breaks, baby. Turnabout's tough shit."

She stirred when I got into bed with her late that night for what I knew would be the last time, but I didn't quite wake her.

On Monday morning, my plan went a bit astray first thing when my dream turned out to be reality. Reagan had started loving on my cock to wake me and a moment later, she climbed atop and started riding me.

"God, Trent, I've needed this." Up and down she rode me, her thighs flexing her up and down, the walls of her incredible pussy clenching with each movement.

I briefly considered pushing her off, throwing the bitch to the floor, but doing so would ruin all my plans. Knowing that I was going to be tested for venereal diseases anyway, I let her do the work for one last time while I reached up and played with her tits, enjoying the feel while urging myself, Don't go too far. I pinched and twisted her nipples a little harder than usual, but the witch cried out in pleasure, screaming, "Harder!"

So I did.

When I felt myself about to come, I grabbed her and rolled over, pulling out just in time and spraying cum in a big blast that hit her cheek, her tits, and her tummy. Some even got on the sheet. It had been since the blowjob on Friday night so the release was strong and felt incredible, causing me to smile in ecstasy despite the pain in my heart. She took it as happiness and kissed me several times, not noticing that I wasn't really kissing her back.

When I rolled out of bed, I thought to myself, Reagan, you bitch, it looks like you're going to need to wash the sheet like you always do for your other fucking lovers.

***

After Reagan left for work, I walked through the house with a wide piece of bright painter's tape and applied a piece to anything that was specifically mine or mine prior to our marriage. Anything that was community property, I figured she'd get as part of our settlement or it would be donated to the charity thrift store.

At 7:45, Ethan showed up and a crew from a moving company arrived just minutes later. I helped them get started and then Ethan took over supervising while I finished packing what I needed for the short term. Everything on the truck would be taken to storage. Reagan hadn't noticed but I'd cleaned out my gun safe and taken everything in it to my parent's house to put in my dad's safe on Saturday.

I was almost done and about to head out with plans to leave the rest with Ethan when Amy, a next-door neighbor and a friend of Reagan's, saw the truck and came out to ask if we were moving. Fortunately, I reached her before she could look into the truck or see that I'd put a bunch of stuff in the back of my SUV in the garage.

"Shh!" I said with a grin. "I'm surprising Reagan with some new furniture for our upcoming anniversary. Five years next week! I'm getting some old furniture and some clutter out of the house before they deliver it tonight. It's a surprise and is a bit early due to their delivery schedule so please don't mention it to her or anyone else until after she says something to you about it."

She agreed, matching my grin, and went on my way. The news would probably be all over the neighborhood by noon so I was glad H-Hour was 11.

I gave each of the movers a generous tip and then shook hands with and thanked Ethan before heading to the bank. I was there when they opened at 9 a.m. and took out half of the money in our accounts in the form of a cashier's check. I was at a credit union minutes later and deposited the cashier's check into a new account I'd opened online.

At 10:45, I pulled into the parking lot of an office building in Sandy Springs and opened my laptop. I'd already applied for a new credit card in my name, so with the current card showing a zero balance, I closed it. That took longer than planned and I was starting to sweat the time as a result. However, it was done by 10:57 so I logged into our family email that listed both of us and waited for the text message which popped in on my phone right at 11 a.m. as planned.

Process Server: Just asked for her. Recpt said on way.

A minute later, another text arrived.

Process Server: She's in lobby now.

Almost shaking with nerves, I uploaded the message I'd already prepared to our email. I'd considered accessing Reagan's work email and sending the version I'd written and really wanted to send from there since I knew her password but Dawna Hightower's warning about going too far and her uncle's confirmation that doing what I wanted might leave me in very hot water with the judge and maybe even in the pokie for a night put an end to that idea.

For now.

The message was going to a number of our friends and relatives. It spread the word that something had happened between us and that I had filed for divorce as a result. Three photos were included in the file rather than as attachments so they wouldn't be stripped from the message. Reagan's and Noah's faces were both visible in each of the photos. However, again heeding the warnings about not going too far, the photos were carefully cropped and blurred to obscure any naughty bits and pieces but it was quite obvious what was happening and, with the timestamp, when.

The second message, the one I'd really wanted to send, remained unused on the flash drive.

Finally, the message wasn't being sent to Reagan or Noah. There was no need to warn them of the coming storm.

The message was ready and looked right so I hit Send. After confirming that it went out correctly, I quickly logged out, closed the laptop, and put it under my seat. My phone was ringing at 11:03; it was Reagan so I answered the call.

"Trent! What the fuck is this? Divorce? Why? I thought we were happy together? Did you find someone else?"

I laughed at her hysteria. "You thought we were happy? No, I thought we were happy until I found out what you were doing. Yes, I know. Look in the back of the envelope, what I had my attorney slip into the packet."

I heard her cussing and fretting over the phone, promising me undying love, just as she'd done in front of God, the pastor, and many of our friends and relatives at the church those now-wasted five years before.

"Fuck!" she screamed over the phone. "Fuck! Trent, no! It's not what it looks like!"

"Seriously? That's not your scummy boss's dick in your mouth? I'm sure it was just an accident that you're both naked in OUR FUCKING BEDROOM and that he just needed his cock inflated."

"No, Trent, let me explain--"

"No, Reagan. I don't think there's enough time in the world for you to adequately explain this. We're done. My attorney's contact information is in that packet. If you need anything, go through him."

I hung up with her still talking, or rather, practically screaming through the phone. When she realized I wasn't there any more, she called back again, so I sent it to voicemail. She left one, a long one it seemed, and a text message from her popped in moments later.

The voicemail was more of the same, denials and lies, so it was deleted as were the text message and the three texts and the next voicemail that followed in rapid succession. Not wanting to hear her shedding any more crocodile tears, to listen to any more lies, excuses, or apologies, and definitely not wanting to hear any more promises since she'd already broken the sacred one that really counted, I didn't listen to the new message or read the texts before deleting them.

Then I blocked Reagan's number.

Right after that, I dialed my father-in-law's number. With Bob and Chesi being my friends as well as my in-laws, I hadn't sent them the message either.

"Hi, Bob, it's Trent. I hate to be calling you at work like this but it's important and I think you need to hear this from the horse's mouth rather than second hand. And I'm doing it now rather than later because the shit just hit the fan."

I think I heard him gulp over the phone. "What's going on, son?"

"Bob, I'm really sorry to have to tell you this but due to Reagan's inability to live up to her marital vows, I'm having to end our marriage."

"Trent, no! I know my daughter's history, but she's changed. You can't be serious about this, holding something over her from long ago."

"Bob, I'd never do that, but she's relapsed, big time, and it's not long ago. Two weeks ago, when I was out of town, it was like she went wild. I have the places, the dates, and the times to prove it, along with photos and even videos of some of them. It's been killing me ever since I found out and I hate to have to tell you, especially by phone, but you need to know that it's not something I'm doing because I want to, it's because I can't trust her anymore and I can't go on like this. Therefore, I'm ending it now; the paperwork was filed this morning and she's been served."

"No! I can't believe this. She promised that she was past that stage." There was a sound of desperation, complete denial, in his voice.

"She promised all of us, Bob, but her promises apparently didn't mean enough for her to live up to them. If she'd only stayed true to them, and to me, I'd have loved her forever. You know that. It's way too late for that now though and the love I had for her is gone, dried up and swept away. However, I still love you and your wife and don't want to hurt either of you so I'm telling you this directly rather than through an email."

My soon-to-be-former father-in-law expressed great sorrow at what his daughter had done to us as a couple and to his family and me as friends. With regret in both our voices, we said goodbye. I quickly called Chesi, too, but it went to voicemail; I suspected that Bob had her on speed dial so I left a short message.

It was now 11:16 a.m. and I was up to the only part of my plan that caused me hesitation. If I went through with this part, I was going to be hurting someone I didn't know, someone who probably didn't deserve it, but not doing it might result in even worse hurt in the long run.

Therefore, I put on sunglasses, a baseball cap, and a lanyard with my laminated photo ID for a delivery company that doesn't, to my knowledge, exist but with Ethan's phone number at the bottom. He knew to answer any calls that he didn't know between 11 and 11:30 a.m. with "Sunshine Process Serving." I threw a piece of bubble gum in my mouth and entered the building.

At the security desk, I said, "Hi, T.C. Jareau from Sunshine Couriers and Process Serving. Got a special service delivery package for a Mrs. Melissa Woolever."

The security guard frowned. "Those have to go to Receiving in the back on the bottom level."

"Nope, the courts say differently," I said, doing my best imitation of Chevy Chase in the old Fletch movie. "Special service requires photo I.D. and a personal signature. This is usually handled best if done quietly, but we can make it a scene if you'd prefer and I'll end up having to run all over town to track her down, causing her more trouble in the long run."