She Made a Mistake

This story could have fitted in the Loving Wives Category. However, I decided to put it in the Non-Erotic category, because it would not have provided enough flesh and blood to satisfy the piranha instincts of many Loving Wives readers who will accept nothing less than a complete evisceration of the wife. Sighs...

This being said, this story is not a Reconciliation At All Costs either. This expression (that I personally dislike) entails that reconciliation is the ultimate objective and that all possible compromises must be done to get there. But life does not work like that. Most of the time, you reconcile because it is where your heart leads you.

A long-time contributor to this site suggested that I indicated that English is not my first language. I do my best with the grammar and spelling, but yes, there are some tweaks in the writing that give away the fact that we do not speak English at home. Please consider yourself warned.

Enjoy, if you are still with me!

***

We have a small mountain right in the middle of our city. It is set up into a nice urban park, where people gather around the small pond on top of it on hot summer days, and where ski afficionados can practice their favorite sport in the winter without having to brave the pesty traffic to escape the madness of the city.

But it was neither a warm July afternoon nor a sunny and brisk January morning that found me, Christian Harvey, 29, sitting on a bench that day. And I was not there to enjoy a hike or a good book. I was just absent-mindedly looking at the greyer than grey foggy landscape of Montreal on a gloomy November afternoon, while contemplating the ineluctable end of my marriage.

***

Four weeks before.

I was returning from an exhausting two-week trip to Europe where I had finally obtained the long-awaited signature of one of my company's largest clients on a contract that would give work to half of our employees for a little over 18 months. I am a technical sales representative for a specialized engineering firm.

I had talked to my boss late the night before. To say that Mr. Roy was delighted with the news would be the understatement of the century. He was looking forward to seeing me in his office the next Monday morning and promised me that my bank account would get much heavier when the hefty bonus he had in store for me was deposited. Since it was Friday, he told me to bring my wife to our favorite restaurant, and to splurge on the menu and the wine, and that the whole bill would be on him.

As soon as I had hung up with my boss, I called Sophie, my wife of 5 years to tell her to expect wonderful news, and to ask her to reserve the babysitter to look after our two-and-a-half-year-old Melodie, my little angel. I got her voicemail, so I left a message, trying not to sound too excited. Truth is I was almost giggling. You imagine? A guy, giggling... And an engineer, on top of it!

I couldn't wait to get on the plane that morning. If I could have pushed it running to make it take off faster, I'm sure I would have done it! I missed my wife, and that coming evening would be just perfect. I knew exactly how I wanted it to end. Ok, I agree, nothing unusual here, but considering that I had been away for two long weeks, and that the week before was her monthly holy week, it would not be

exaggeration to say that my balls could have born the warning sticker "content under pressure".

"Hey Hon, here comes the messenger of great news, proud of himself on a job well done!" was my greeting when I entered the house at the end of the afternoon. Well, not bad for an engineer I thought, considering that we are not generally recognized for adorning our words with blooming flowers and chirping birds. People have come to expect a certain level of blandness from my professional fellows. "In the kitchen," responded Sophie with a dispirited voice.

That was odd. She was generally a little bomb of energy, always full of pep and ready for partying. I had been expecting her to run to the front door, after a two-week forced separation. The living room was dark, and considering how quiet the house was, it was clear that Melodie was asleep. Another odd thing: that was late for her nap...

Sophie was sitting at the kitchen table, with a glass of red juice in front of her. Strange... she hated that bizarre juice that we bought only for Melodie. She had clearly been crying, and her eyes were even redder than the juice.

"Hey, my love, what is it?" I asked, trying to hug her and to kiss her. She turned away and refused my cuddle. She started crying again. Unable to speak, she gestured for me to sit down.

She continued sobbing. I tried to stroke her arm, but she wouldn't let me. She looked desperately in need of comforting, yet she turned down all my attempts. So I just sat there, worried and clueless.

Her sobbing finally eased down. She put her hand over mine and looked right in my eyes.

"This morning, I awoke naked in another man's bed."

"Whoa!! What??... what is it you just said?

"I said I spent last night with another man. And yes, I had sex with him." She could barely finish her sentence because she started crying again.

I slumped in my chair. It took me a full minute to start pre-digesting what my wife had just told me. Sophie had her head in her hands and was weeping softly.

"I'm so sorry Chris. I so didn't mean it to happen. I don't know what possessed me. Maybe I shouldn't have had that much wine. I lost it."

"Who?" I asked. I was surprised at the anger in my own voice.

"His name is Daniel Levesque. He is a friend of Chantal's, at school. We had a get together with some colleague teachers last night, just like we do every Thursday when the Friday is off. This guy joined us at the bar. I had never met him before. He somehow managed to seduce me and he was probably just as affected as I was. I don't really remember how I ended up at his place, but I woke up in the middle of the night, still somewhat wasted, and aware enough to be aroused by the nude man lying at my side, but not enough to exercise judgement about the situation. It really blew in my face when I awoke at 10 this morning."

And she started crying. Again.

I could feel myself becoming angrier by the minute. I had completely forgotten about my contract signature and my bonus.

It is amazing how fast a great mood can be annihilated in a matter of a few minutes. I stood up, grabbed my coat and my keys.

"I'm going out. I need some fresh air," I said.

"NO! STAY HERE!" my wife shouted.

"I beg your pardon? What makes you think you will tell me what I can do or not after what you just told me?"

"I'll be the one leaving," she replied, sheepishly. "My father is en route to pick me up. I texted him when I heard your car pulling in. He should be here in a few minutes. I will spend the weekend at my parents'. I'll be back on Sunday evening".

"You will spend the weekend at your parents' or in your lover's house?" I asked, disgusted.

"Chris, I know you're upset, and if I was the one in your shoes I would be upset too, believe me. But I can assure you I have no intention of seeing that guy again. It was a one-time mistake."

"Where is Melodie, by the way?"

"She's already at my folks'. I dropped her there earlier this afternoon so that I could have this conversation with you without interruption. She will be back with me on Sunday."

"Ok, so you've already decided to leave and to claim sole custody of our daughter? Wow, I'm impressed. I didn't think you would swipe me away this easily," I replied, sarcastically.

Sophie took it in stride.

"Chris, I am not leaving you. Leaving you is the last thing I want to do, believe me. And I would never, ever do anything to put a distance between Melodie and you."

I could see her father's car parking in the curb.

"I love you, Chris. I love you so much more than you think. This was a mistake, and I sincerely apologize. I am going with Melodie to my parents' because knowing you, I think, no, I KNOW you will need a couple of days to think and assimilate what I just told you, or get drunk, or... or... get even..."

She barely managed to finish her last sentence as she started crying again. She grabbed her bag that had been near the front door all along and that I had not seen when I came in, and in no time, she was in her father's car.

'Get revenge,' I mumbled. As if that would help in any way. "You see? I hurt you more than you hurt me! Who's the winner, now?"

As if I were to act so childish. I still had my coat on, but I decided that if I wanted to have a few beers, I might as well have them at home rather than being an ass to all the patrons of the local bar and risking my life or someone else's by driving back after one drink too many.

I ended up milking one beer for the whole evening, without even having dinner. My mind was a blur. I did not know what to do, and I was so tired after those two weeks traveling that I just could not line up two intelligent ideas. I was angry yes, but I felt a sense of resignation. As if I knew that this was bound to happen, sooner or later.

***

I had met Sophie Gilbert while in Cegep. This is an intermediate level between high school and University that exists only here in Quebec. We were in the same philosophy class during our last semester and a random draw got us paired up for writing the 4 papers we had to hand in to pass the course. We had our first working meeting at the student café on a Wednesday afternoon, and as we started discussing the first question of the assignment, the conversation took a life of its own, and we ended up redoing the whole world, without making real progress on the assignment. To make a long story short, we started dating the following weekend.

Sophie went to Concordia University and majored in Mathematics to be a teacher, and I went to the Polytechnique to get my degree in Biomedical Engineering. Since both Universities are within the city, we moved in together after two years of dating and were married the summer after I graduated. Melodie joined us three years later, and we had been keenly working for two months on adding a second heir to

the Harvey-Gilbert family (no, in Quebec women do not take their husband's last name when they marry).

We had been a happy couple, and a happy family. Sophie and I were not only lovers and spouses, but she was my best friend, and I was hers. Well... until a few hours before.

***

Jetlag finally got the best of me, and I went up to my bedroom a few minutes before 21:00. My mind was still a turmoil of unresolved issues, but there would be plenty of time the next day.

I woke up around 4:30 the next morning, completely unable to go back to sleep. There was a text message from Sophie on my phone: 'I love you, Chris. I love you so much'. She had left it after I went to bed the night before. I chose to ignore it for the time being. Sometimes, the problems you create by remaining silent are much more manageable than the ones you do by speaking up prematurely.

After my usual morning routine, I brewed a pot of coffee, took a pencil and paper pad and started writing my thoughts about the whole situation. I always found that writing down what randomly went through my mind and reading it again the next day was the best method for ultimately coming up with clear ideas.

Did I still love Sophie? That was not even a question. Of course I still loved her. Love is not an on and off switch that can be flipped in a second. Could I forgive her? Would I be better staying or leaving? Could I trust her again? If I stayed with her, how would I feel leaving for my next out-of-town assignment?

As I was asking myself those questions, one thought was rapidly growing in my mind and eclipsed everything else. I too had had many opportunities in the past to have a drink or dinner with a woman in a hotel bar or restaurant, and I am sure that if I had decided to go through with them, quite a few would have ended up in my hotel room, or me in theirs. But I had never gone there. Some of them had been

quite attractive, some had been downright knockouts, but I had always managed to behave. And quite frankly, that had not even been that much of an effort. How come Sophie had been unable to resist? Was that Daniel guy so much more attractive than me? Was it because she did not love me as much as I did her? Did she not consider our marriage worth resisting outside temptations as much as I did?

And why the hell had she not let me react yesterday?? She had cut me straight off and fled to her folks. Yeah... What a mature and productive way of handling a delicate situation! I just hoped that was not the kind of attitude she taught her high school students...

I fixed myself a real breakfast (after almost a week in France eating croissants and fruit jam, eggs and bacon would be more than welcome!) and when it was late enough in the morning to fire up the lawnmower without my neighbors thinking that I was declaring war on them, I started giving my lawn the final cut of the season.

The rest of the day was spent running errands and taking care of my laundry. I picked up some sushi on my way back home and settled for an early dinner. As I was sitting down to eat, I received another message from Sophie: 'You ok, Chris? I'm so, so sorry. I love you."

I had calmed down a bit since she had dropped her bomb the day before. Maybe she was right after all: what I needed was some time on my own to lick my wounds. I tried to come up with a thoughtful answer, but I was not there yet. 'I love you too Soph. I just don't know how to deal with the situation.'

She replied with a series of crying emojis.

'We'll talk tomorrow. I miss Melodie. Please don't come home too late.'

Again, I went to bed early. I was looking forward to seeing my daughter and having the discussion with Sophie.

Sunday was uneventful. Sophie's father dropped her and Melodie off home early after dinner. I got out to welcome them. I took Melodie in my arms and cuddled her for a good minute. She started to babble about what she had happened at Grandma and Grandpa's. My father-in-law gave me a man hug.

"I'm so sorry to see you guys stuck in such a mess, Chris. Please don't be too harsh on Sophie. She feels so guilty," Normand said. "Plus, quite frankly, I have not been too compassionate on her. Nor has her Mom," he added with a tense face.

"I'm calmer that I was yesterday, Norm. I'm not gonna yell at her. I just want to understand and figure out where to go from here."

He gave me a pat on the shoulder, kissed his daughter and granddaughter, and left.

I read Melodie her bedtime story and tucked her in. Sophie was waiting for me in the kitchen, with a glass of wine.

"No evil red juice tonight?" I asked.

"NO! Nah... I felt I was still hung over on Friday. I thought I would never be able to have alcohol for the rest of my life. I'm ok now. You want some?"

I got myself a beer instead of wine. I sat down with her in the living room, expecting her to start the conversation.

"Chris, I love you and I'm so sor..."

"Yes, I know Soph. You're sorry. I catch it. You told me about twelve hundred times. I just want to know what made you do that. Is it because you're no longer satisfied with what we have? Are you in love with this guy?"

"NO!! No, absolutely not!" she almost yelled. "I admit the guy is good looking, and that he has conversation and he's fun to be around, but I don't love him. It's you I love, Chris."

"So why?"

She kept on playing with her glass. "I don't know. I guess I didn't have all my senses because of the wine. I was really missing you, and I guess I was starting to feel lonely."

"What the hell, Soph? That's crap! Geez, I was almost on my way back home! You would have waited a few more hours and I would have been here!" I shouted.

"I never said that was rational. I hate myself for having been so weak." Sophie's voice was almost inaudible.

"Did you use protection, at least?"

Sophie stared at me for three seconds and burst out crying.

I guess I had my answer. Sophie was now crying so loudly it awoke Melodie. I welcomed the reason to get out of the kitchen and went upstairs to reassure my little daughter. I was back in the kitchen after about ten minutes. Sophie's loud crying had turned into light sobbing.

"If you have gotten yourself pregnant with this guy, it's over between us, Soph. I am not going to raise that dickhead's bastard," I said (way too) aggressively. Sophie looked totally defeated. A part of me wanted to comfort her, but I was so mad at her I almost took pleasure in seeing her suffering.

"Oh, another thing... Until we have proof that you're not pregnant, I'll be sleeping in the guest room downstairs in the basement."

Sophie kept sobbing and did not say a word. It was like she had reached the saturation point in terms of pain. I went upstairs to our room, gathered a few clothes and toiletries, and brought them downstairs. She was still weeping, with her head in her hands when I passed by her on my way to the basement.

I almost did not speak to Sophie the next morning. I dropped Melodie off at the daycare center and went to work. Mr. Roy was smiling from ear to ear when he sat down in my office, eager to learn all the details about how the negotiations went, and to know if I enjoyed my personal celebration with my wife. His happiness bubble quickly deflated when he saw my subdued mood.

"Here's the bill for our dinner at that fancy restaurant on Friday," I said, making the hand gesture of giving him a paper. "Total cost is a stratospheric zero-dollar, courtesy of an asshole named Daniel Levesque."

Mr. Roy looked at me like a deer in headlamps. I fell on my chair, sighed, and proceeded to tell him the wonderful story of my personal life.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, when I was done.

"I'll keep on sleeping in the basement bedroom until we know whether she's pregnant or not. If she's pregnant with that jerk, I'll find a family lawyer and apply for divorce. If she's not pregnant, I'll find a good marriage counselor and see if we can still salvage the ship. I may need to take a few hours off here and there in the coming days or weeks."

After reassuring me that this was no problem at all, he left my office, not without repeating his sincere thanks and congratulations for a job well done in Europe. I shut the door and sank in my chair, still unsure I would be able to get to the end of the day.

The evening conversation was minimal at home. When I got in at 18:00, Sophie had already served Melodie's dinner and was finishing preparing ours. It was a sad evening. We barely exchanged words. The rest of the week was more or less carved of the same cold stone. Just as the week that followed.

Sophie's cycle had always had the regularity and precision of a Swiss watch, so I had a pretty good idea of the day she was expecting her period to start. I saw her fidgeting the next day, and it was not better the day after. By then, I had pretty much figured out that it was a done deal, so three weeks after that fateful Friday, I visited a family lawyer.

The lawyer explained that the best course of action would be to apply for a separation, followed by a DNA test when the baby was born. If the baby ended up being mine (which was essentially impossible) then I could simply decide to move back in with her, and this would stop the procedure. If the test confirmed that the baby was not mine, then I would not be legally bound to pay or do anything for the

child and could apply for a divorce on the ground of adultery and not wait for the necessary 1-year separation. I agreed with his suggestion, and he told me the papers would be ready the following week.

I could see that Sophie was doing everything to postpone taking the pregnancy test, but I did not say a word. I considered it was her problem now.