Poetic Justice

I began clutching at straws as I exhausted all the obvious arguments. I noticed that the tears were finally starting to dry up when I began to point out what effect divorce would have on him. In our society, it was a given that a non-working mother would get custody of the children, no matter what she did pretty much. The reigning precedent was that he would get to see his kids one weekend every two weeks or so.

His eyes focused, the tears ceased and a determined look, like no other I'd ever seen, suffused his face. It became as implacable as an Easter Island head, as his chin lifted and his eyes ground around to Wendy. To say she wilted a little under this gaze would be like saying the Pope was a little catholic. Boy, was I glad I wasn't the target of that stare.

Wendy responded by dropping her gaze to the floor and babbling. All sorts of shit came out of that quivering mouth. Dave just glared, giving no clue that any of the words were even penetrating. That is until:

"I'll never do anything like this ever again, darling. I'll be the model wife to you, you'll see."

I cringed at that. Until about thirty minutes ago, Dave thought he already had a model wife.

At that point, even she saw the utter futility of her words. It was about the time Dave's face hardened into a mask of, well, nothingness. Just bare, unemotional features. He stared at each of us in turn, several times, then slowly stood. Bracing his hands on the table he leaned toward us and spoke in what can only be described as a hiss.

"Do whatever you like for all I give a shit. Fuck each other to death as far as I care."

Another hiss from the doorway alerted us we weren't alone. I followed Wendy's turned head and immediately knew that the impossible had happened. Life just became more complicated still. There, in the doorway, was Dave's sister, flanked by their children and the eighth grader babysitter. I later learned she'd been coming to visit her favourite sister-in-law, saw the kids being escorted home and offered them a lift.

Not being able to face the implacable wronged husband, I stared at the silent group in the doorway. Little Karen broke the silence.

"That's him, Mr. Brown, he's the one I told you I saw here last week."

Silence thundered back into the room as all involved stared at each other. Strangely enough, it was twelve-year-old Lisa that broke it first, quickly followed by eleven-year-old Michael. Their faces contorted, and they began sobbing until Michael followed Lisa on her run up to their bedrooms. I realised that they were both old enough and both knew enough children of divorced parents to know their idyllic life had just ended.

My conscience, that had recovered a little as my confidence grew since we'd entered the kitchen, was figuratively thrown against the wall and beaten to a pulp. With one act of supreme arrogance, I'd not only destroyed the finest man I knew but the model family as well. I think I was on the verge of passing out from the sheer shame of it all.

Thus, it was almost a blessed relief when Dave punched me across the table. His fist connected part on my cheek bone and part on my nose. All I knew was that I heard a crackling sound, as my nose was flattened, a brief stab of extreme pain and the sight of the ceiling flying across my vision before darkness consumed me.

I awoke, God only knows how long later, as I was being wheeled into the emergency department with Wendy stumbling alongside bleating about how I couldn't press charges against Dave. The ER doctors fussed over me just long enough to re-set my nose and tape it when the wail of ambulance sirens heralded the arrival of multiple victims from a car crash. I was immediately abandoned. In a way it was a relief as it gave me the opportunity to convince Wendy to leave.

As soon as I was sure Wendy was out of earshot, I gingerly eased my mobile phone from its pouch and called Jenny. It took me a minute to get her to accept that it was me, you try talking with a face full of tape. I told her I'd been mugged near work and where she could find me. I rang off knowing that not only had I covered my injuries but kept her out of Dave's reach for the immediate future.

I relaxed into my drugged haze, knowing that my fate was now totally in Dave's hands. I had to rely on his fundamental decency and trust he wouldn't destroy my family.

Like I'd destroyed his, I couldn't allow myself to think.

WENDY

From the time that Dave left the bedroom until John and I walked into the garage, my emotions were like one huge dip in the road. I know I was suffering severe emotional overload as all the unpredicted consequences of my choices slammed into my consciousness. Bang, bang, bang. I really thought I'd already hit rock bottom, so eagerly listened to John's suggestions and predictions of the future. I clung to them as being likely, mainly, I think, because, if true, they would shield me from the worst of the fallout. I wouldn't have my reputation shredded in the neighbourhood, lose one of my best friends in Jenny, or the respect of the people that mattered most; my parents. That meant earning my husband's respect back was the only major issue.

So, I listened to John and contributed little as I allowed my confidence in his logic to claw me back from the depths of despair. I actually felt I might not lose everything. If only we followed the plan.

My resurgent confidence lasted until I walked into the garage. I didn't see what John saw until I ran into his suddenly stopped back, then took a pace to the side. I felt I'd been poleaxed. Until that moment in time, I'd only seen tears of joy from David. A twinkle in his eye when I'd accepted his proposal. A glint when I presented each of his children to him. The quickly averted gaze when he'd heard the word, "Daddy", for the first time.

The sight before me struck me like a physical blow. Here was devastation personified. And it was all my fault. You try standing up under those circumstances.

Honestly, I can't remember much until John had extricated David from the car and led him to the kitchen. I certainly can't remember anything I said. I was vaguely aware of John sticking to our recovery plan and am ashamed to say I was no help at all. I did try to catch David's eye. Desperately looking for even a trace of love. A miniscule glimpse that my life wasn't over. He just focused on John. That is until John stupidly told David that unless he toed the line, he would lose his kids. Dave, my Dave, turned on me a look of pure hatred. Honestly, I preferred that to his tears of before, but it still hurt like hell. I babbled. Saying anything to make that look go away or even just to temper it a little. I thought it would be reassuring for him to know I would never hurt him ever again. His words, telling me he didn't care what I did from now on, were designed purely to hurt me as I'd hurt him, I'm sure.

I didn't even realise our company had grown until I saw John and Dave turn toward the kitchen door. I saw four staring sets of eyes. I saw shock. I felt it when more than one of those shocked expressions turned to contempt and condemnation. The expressions on the faces of my children wounded me the deepest. Within seconds, their innocent little minds jumped to the conclusions that they were about to join that unhappy group of their classmates who were from broken homes. There was no doubt, no proof required at all on who had broken it. Me. I felt lower than bog slime and no-one had even uttered a word yet.

I think I must have still been transferring responsibility on to John because I was happy when David slugged him. From then on it was a hurricane of activity. Dave's sister ushered Karen and the children out while Dave himself roughly rolled John into the recovery position then called an ambulance. I took no part, still stunned by the quantum of damage I'd caused. When the ambos asked if anyone was going to accompany John to the hospital, Dave just coldly looked at me and said, "Go." I felt sorry for myself the entire trip and all I could articulate to John was that there was no way he could press charges against Dave and stick to his own plan.

I stayed with him while he was treated, mainly because I couldn't stomach going home yet, until he urged me to leave. I knew he wanted me gone before he called Jenny. Made sense. I didn't want any uncomfortable questions from her on why I was there any more than he did. I walked the five kilometres home as I'd left without my purse. I arrived home still no closer on what to say or do in the bomb crater that my life had become.

I half expected the door locks to have been changed, but the front door was unlocked. There were remains of a take-out meal in the kitchen. I snuck upstairs only to find the master bedroom door was locked. The children's rooms were empty. My guess was Dave's sister took them to her place. Exhausted, I went to the spare room to sleep. There, strewn on the bed and floor, were all my clothes and toiletries. I hadn't even warranted a note to say Dave and I were no longer sharing a marital bed. With one shove I pushed everything onto the floor and crawled between the sheets. I must have slept deeply once I finally did nod off because Dave was gone the next morning without me noticing.

I knew it was a waste of time calling him. I could only wait until he came up with the same conclusions John had guessed he would. I waited until mid-morning to ring Jenny. Ostensibly to ask how John was, but surreptitiously to see if word was out. She behaved normally, thank God, and thanked me for calling.

I spent a long, frustrating day wondering how fate would punish me. If Dave kept his mouth shut, then I had only the kids and him to worry about. Kids are resilient, and I knew it was only a matter of time before they were back to normal. That just left Dave as the great unknown. I began rehearsing apologies, still entertaining the idea that if he'd strayed himself in the past, part of his considered reaction might be relief.

I was a little worried when the kids weren't home by 3.30 p.m. and in a panic by 3.45. I rang the school who told me Dave had picked them up. So, Dave was explaining the new reality to the kids was he? Good, I would get details off them later.

It was after six and I had dinner almost finished before they returned. I looked at their faces as they passed the kitchen, hoping for a clue on what they'd discussed. Lisa and Mikey just looked straight ahead as they headed up the stairs.

At my words of, "Dave, can we talk?" David turned a chilling look to me. Gone was the devastation of yesterday. I expected to see anger, but all I saw was cold, neutral nothingness. I'd managed to wipe all my husband's emotions in just twenty-four hours.

With an abrupt, "Later," he followed the children up the stairs.

It was then I noticed the paper bag under his arm, marked with the name of a franchise pharmacy. He followed Lisa and Mike into her room. Confused, I tiptoed up the stairs, fully intending to eavesdrop and get some notion of their plans.

With a need for stealth, it was perhaps a minute and a half after they'd entered that I was in audio range. I heard, "That's it, Lis, rub it against the inside of your mouth." Bemused, I risked a glimpse around the door frame. What I saw caused an involuntary gasp from me that resulted in three heads turning my way. I didn't need to see the exposed box with 'DNA Self-Test' written on it to know what I was seeing.

I'd spent all day thinking of an approach method that would guarantee David that he could love, respect, and trust me again. The horrible sight in the bedroom made me abundantly aware that I was thinking way too small.

Take trust for example. I thought I'd dented Dave's trust in me from here on in. The sight before me rudely impressed on me that, in fact, I'd totally destroyed his trust in me since we'd met.

The sheer scale of my problem forced me to my knees again. I stared imploringly from one to another of them. Lisa came toward me. Typical of her. Chock-a-block full of empathy and Mummy's girl from head to toe. I reached out to take her in my arms. Too late, I saw the neutral expression in her eyes as well. The door closing in my face hit me harder than a slap. I crawled to the spare room, incapable of supporting myself on my legs.

In self-pity and self-loathing, I cried the night away, totally alone and totally isolated from my regular support network. Dave was my first choice of emotional support, normally. Gone! Parents and friends were my back-ups. None of them could know what I'd done. I'd never felt so alone in my entire life. I see now why people choose to end their lives. As an escape from the tremendous pain I was feeling, I felt the evil temptation.

Again, I was unconscious when Dave got the kids off to school. I awoke groggy and disorientated to a quiet house. There was a note slipped under the door.

Wendy,

Please do not attempt to speak to me, unless it relates to the children, until you've had a good think about the answer to the only question I have for you.

Why?

Think well as the answer will tell me whether I will ever trust you again.

I will always love you, to one degree or another. Respect will have to be earned back over time. Your motivation for doing what you did will tell me if I can ever trust you again. That is, if we can ever be a happy couple again. Think very well.

A quick inventory of possible motivations revealed nothing that would even come close to satisfying Dave. Even then I knew telling him, 'because I could', would be fatal. So, what I needed was a plausible excuse. Something that would allow him to forgive me, so we could resume our idyllic life. Until then, I would suck crow, work on getting the kids back on side, and minimise the damage to my social standing until this all blew over.

JOHN

Fuck, my face hurt. Jen arrived at the hospital just as I was finishing up giving the coppers a bullshit story of a random guy approaching me and smacking me for no reason I knew. They swallowed it. On the way home, I searched Jen's face and behaviour for any clue she knew about me and Wendy. There was nothing.

Strangely, she did seem vaguely resentful that she'd had to leave work early to come and pick me up. My throbbing face distracted me from thinking too deeply on that one though. Jen was a successful businesswoman and I'd no doubt interrupted an important meeting or something.

Still, the pain and the worry did stop me from dwelling on Dave and what I'd done to him and his children. My conscience was having trouble handling the devastation I'd meted out so thoughtlessly.

That distraction lasted about sixty seconds into my return home. Jen parked out front, intending to go back to work after she'd retrieved something from the house. I grabbed the plastic bag, containing my bloodied shirt and trousers, from the trunk of her car, deliberately keeping my back to Dave's house while I did so.

Therefore, when I heard the growled, "How did it feel to cuckold me, you lowlife prick", from behind me, I spun quickly. I almost fainted from the pain.

Dave, with a neutral expression on his face, took a step toward me and raised a fist. Instinctively, I took one step backward and tripped over the tow bar on Jen's car. Falling flat on my ass. Dave just looked down at me, shook his head, told me how pathetic I was and left.

I wanted to shout after him; tell him that for me it wasn't about cuckolding him. I'd just seized an opportunity and kept going with it. However, I'm fundamentally an honest guy. Even at that early stage, I suspected my motivation may have been to wipe the smile off Mr Goody-Goody-two-shoes-perfect-husband. So, I kept silent, looked around to see if my humiliation was public, got up and followed Jen into the house.

I was very distracted that night. I'd never looked on it as cuckolding my friend, David. That wasn't what it was about. I had though, hadn't I? Treated him with contempt. Made him into that most pathetic of creatures. Believe it or not, these thoughts were easier than thinking back to the looks on his children's faces when they thought their family was destroyed. Just another casualty in the divorce stakes. Both those distracted me from the real terror. What if my logic was wrong and either Dave or his kids let Jen know? I'd been wiped out financially once. Bad investments. We were only just getting back on our feet. To be taken to the cleaners and have to start again, for a third time was unthinkable.

Pretty much nothing happened for the next month. We didn't see Dave or Wendy, socially. They avoided neighbourhood parties or other social interactions. Whenever I saw either them or their kids, they were solemn and unsmiling. It was hard to take, knowing I'd destroyed the happiness of one of the most complete families I'd ever known.

Jen was her normal self, thank God. It took me the whole of the first week for my face to stop aching to the point I could even kiss her. I knew all was good with her when she tried to initiate sex the following weekend. All might have been good with her, but not good with me. For the first time in my life, I had erectile disfunction. I couldn't get it up. Jen tried for a few minutes then gave up. Relieved, I spent a restless night in worry. Thoughts of Dave and his kids, their total lack of smiles now, and the empathy I had with him. Yes, I said empathy. I could imagine how life was, in his shoes. I'd pulled the rug from under his happy life. Made him question everything he was comfortable with for years. Scarred him with that most humiliating of male titles: cuckold.

A month later and I was still flaccid. I suspect Jen knew I was having problems and didn't push me. After two weeks of avoiding her I went to the doctor. He prescribed me Viagra and I tried one pill an hour before bed. It gave me a headache that was crippling. So, back to the doctor I went. This time it was Cialis. That didn't work at all. This was getting embarrassing and eating into my very soul as a male.

After a further two weeks of worry, I hit upon the solution. Wendy had been the cause of the problem; she could help me fix it. If I could talk her into stimulating me with that talented tongue, then I could perform with her and regain my confidence. Dave said he didn't give a shit if we kept screwing each other, so my conscience was clear there. I could tell from the frosty atmosphere next door that all was not well there. Surely Wendy would help me out.

WENDY

The first month after D-day was just hell. At first, Dave came home as usual but that was all the normality involved. True to his word, he practically ignored me. Only addressing me directly when it involved the kids. Most weekends, he and the kids disappeared all day.

The kids, seeing their parent's behaviour, just sank further and further into their shells. It wrenched my conscience every minute I saw their depressed little faces. I know Dave tried to cheer them up and keep them occupied but any effect was temporary.

Dave refused to go to any social events with me and soon all our friends and acquaintances sensed all was not well. Before too long, it became apparent that people that used to bask in our presence were avoiding us. I was too embarrassed to tell my parents the real story and I believe Dave was silent as well. Maybe John was right. Dave didn't want to admit the affair to the world. His only way forward, apart from losing his kids by disappearing, was to accept me back. That gave me the courage to take my time with his request.

I admit that I did try an underhand tactic once, about two weeks into the situation. Dave went to his room and found me in my sexiest outfit reclined seductively on the top of his bed. He unceremoniously threw me out. When I asked him if he didn't still find me beautiful, he replied, "Only on the outside, Wendy." That hurt and cut into the confidence that I'd carried all my adult life. I didn't try to win him back via seduction again.