Seven Fifty

"You messed up, you know that?" my wife asked me, trying to hold onto my hand.

I looked around the room, the metal table, the bars on the window, and way too many people in prison guard jumpsuits watching everyone carefully.

"You never told me this is what would happen," she says to me, looking me straight in the eyes.

I look away, thinking back over the past few months, and then shrug.

"But here we are, and I shouldn't have had to tell you," I reply without much emotion.

I caught Bronwyn in bed with my boss six months earlier, their bedroom talk devastated me, but worse was that our six-month-old daughter was asleep down the hall.

"I was doing it for us you know," she told me, something I had heard her say a number of times since that night.

"I know you want to believe that Bronwyn, but you keep forgetting to look at it from my side, can you get over yourself? Try to look at it from my point of view," I countered, again not for the first time.

"But you shouldn't have tried to stop us. It's your fault!" my wife told me arrogantly.

My wife is referring to the point that in my rage, I stormed into the bedroom to confront them but didn't take into account that my boss, Kaine, while older enough to be her father, was three times my size. I got in the first three punches. But moments later, I was laid out on the floor. In hospital, I was visited by a couple of friendly Police officers, who took my statement and, after hearing my story, suggested that I retain a lawyer.

"Was it worth it Peter?" the now scornful voice of my wife said, bringing me out of the memory.

I studied her, she was good-looking, and until that night, I thought mine exclusively. Of course, I was wrong.

"What do you think?" I spat back, trying to keep my anger in check. A guard glanced our way but said nothing. "We're sitting here, and I can't get out of my head that the mother of my child for over six months was nothing but a slut, when she should have just been happy being my wife. We should have been raising our child together, not sitting here."

"And I didn't mess up. You did. I did what any good father should have done. When my daughter grows up, she will know that I am neither a cuckold nor a cheat," I said proudly, seeing my wife cringe at the angry words.

"But you didn't have to... I mean... Peter, what happens now?" she asked, a certain amount of sorrow in her voice.

"This," I said, gesturing to my lawyer who was sitting at another table waiting for my signal. It had been a little difficult getting him in on the visitor register for the prison, but there was a process and he had everything ready.

"Mrs Bronwyn Other, I have here divorce documents between you and your husband." The lawyer spent the next few minutes walking through the documents with both of us, explaining the split of assets and the trust that would be established while time was served.

By the time the lawyer stood and was escorted out of the visiting hall, Bronwyn was sobbing.

"Please Peter, it doesn't need to be this way."

I stood then and looked at my wife, the prison guard looked at me, and I nodded, holding up two fingers for just a couple more minutes.

"Bronwyn, you knowingly fucked him in our bed, demeaned me with him, did nothing to defend me when he beat me senseless and let's not talk about how you tried to set me up to take the fall for the two of you stealing just seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. What did you think was going to happen."

"But thanks to you," I smirked. "I got Kaine's job, I've got custody of Casey, and you were right, his daughter Tabitha, she's keen on me. Tonight, Tabitha is bringing a meal over after she found out I was divorcing your deceitful ass."

Bronwyn broke down. Minutes later, I walked out of the visiting hall with a smile. I was ready for dinner and looking forward to an adult style dessert Tabitha hinted I was getting from her for helping free her mother from a cheater. I grinned in anticipation, ready to be happy again.