The Classic Placeholder Husband

© 2023 by Legio_Patria_Nostra - Uploaded to Literotica.com; This story is the property of the author, who reserves all rights under copyright law. Any unauthorized reproduction, use, or reprint without the author's expressed authorization is strictly prohibited. This includes YouTube, Amazon, or other platforms, even with attribution or credit. This is a work of fiction, and all participants are aged 18 or older, and you must be at least 18 to read this

I've been out of circulation for several months, and during that time, I've read a lot of stories on this site and elsewhere. In LW stories, which I describe as "cheating wife fiction," the narrow focus and subject matter almost require the use of memes, tropes, and stereotypes. Many of these revolve around the clueless, entitled wife who exhibits all the characteristics of a person in the throes of psychosis or a chemically induced haze. These stories are designed to fire up the reader's imagination and elicit the nightmare feelings a real encounter would feel like. That's one of the great powers of the point of storytelling.

This story is a different look at a staple of cheating wife fiction: The Placeholder Husband. Normally, the wife and another man confront MC with the sickening truth that he is merely a placeholder, an unwitting stand-in husband, duped into caring for the other man's soul mate until he returns for her. In an instant, MC's world is shattered, and the reader suffers along with him.

In this story, MC confronts the abnormality of the situation and its two principal players. To move along the resolution, he's got a surprise of his own, so he's able to view the confrontation from a different perspective.

I want to thank my editor, Lefty, for her merciless and loving assault on my overwriting. Like most of you who write, I love to explain, describe and include irrelevant and/or duplicate details. This began at 8774 words and ended up at 6124. She used MS Word's "track changes," and I accepted all but a half-dozen of the hundreds of edits she made. In addition to the normal clean-up and rewrite of editing, she deleted whole conversations and a couple of scenes, which added nothing.

This work was also edited with a full version of Grammarly.

Feedback through this site is not only welcomed but encouraged, and each comment will be thoughtfully considered, except for obvious trolling. I do moderate comments. Finally, I try to respond to all direct feedback promptly.

Change Of Plans

Mike Keppler scowled as he examined the unfamiliar black Audi A7 in his driveway. "Hmm, not good," he muttered. 'I have no idea whose car it is, but this complicates everything,' he thought as he analyzed this new development. As a forensic engineer, adapting in real-time to the unexpected is required.

The plate frame advertised an upstate dealer, and the grimy, bug-spattered windshield and body suggested a road trip. The hood was hot, and the car smelled of warm oil and rubber. Considering the cool weather, it parked within the last hour. He noticed that the seat was adjusted low and far back for a tall man. This car and its owner didn't align with any friends or family.

Mike contemplated his options. Faced with this sudden unknown, he put his plan on hold and decided to let whatever it was play out.

Mike strolled through the front door a minute later, forcefully relaxed and composed. He would follow his routine and adapt as events dictated. Pasting on the same smile he wore home every day, Mike set his briefcase in its usual spot in the media room, which housed his small study. He stared thoughtfully at the briefcase for several long seconds.

After removing his tie and loosening the top two buttons of his shirt, Mike stepped back into the entryway. His wife, Paige, came from the family room at the rear of the home. "Michael, darling!" she exclaimed nervously, with forced sweetness and a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Hi, Sweetie Pie," he gushed, imitating her unusual tone and manner.

Something unsettled Paige, and Mike assumed it was his ignoring the strange automobile in the driveway. She regarded him with wide, shifty eyes. Unusually, she still wore her work clothes--a grey skirt and burgundy blouse, with a matching scarf and low burgundy heels. Paige clasped and slowly wrung her hands--one of her "tells."

'I won't make this easy,' he thought wryly.

"Michael Darling," she repeated in a low, shaky voice. "Before going upstairs to change, pretty please, come in here. There's something... something very important... we need to discuss."

Pausing, Mike decided to nudge her some. "Damn, look at you! Are you okay?" Mike asked gravely. "Did you wreck the car? Forget to report a billable hour?" Noting her turmoil, he lightened up. "And it's never 'Miiiichael'," he intoned nasally, "unless something is wrong."

She started to speak but turned away and hurried down the short hallway toward the family room. Mike inhaled deeply, composed himself, and followed. 'Well, whatever 'it' is, here it comes!' he thought.

Entering the large, vaulted room, Mike saw Paige standing by the sofa, huddled with a large, familiar-looking, blond-headed man. He towered over his wife's 5'7". Mike guessed he was about 6'3" to Mike's 6'1" and probably fifty pounds heavier. He appeared fit but soft around the edges.

'In a film, this is where the woodwinds, theremin, and low strings commence their minor-key, danger music.'

The pair's body language confirmed a familiarity and a comfort level that takes time, intimacy, and an emotional connection to affect. Paige was again the composed and confident attorney she so carefully cultivated and presented publicly.

"Michael, I want you to meet..."

Alarm bells rang in Mike's head as he remembered the man from some of Paige's stories and old photos.

"Scooter Dickweed!" he interrupted with a wry smile.

The big man scowled, Paige gasped, and Mike fixed her with an icy glare.

"No, wait," Mike said, "that's what you called him when you were telling me what a despicable, low-life bastard he was for dumping you. Right?" Mike leveraged their shocked silence. "He dumped you not quite at the altar, but in a ballgame, it would be after the stretch and before the closer."

With a weird, mechanically flat rotation, the big man's angry face swiveled towards Paige, then back to Mike. It reminded Mike of a tank turret or an Animatronic figure. The latter induced a moment of Uncanny Valley.

Paige recovered. "Michael! That's uncalled for!" she scolded.

"Sorry, Babe. That's pillow talk, isn't it?" Noting Paige's denial, the man tightened his scowl. Mike stepped closer to the pair and continued, "Scooter Dirkfeld, isn't it?"

The big man arched his eyebrows and jutted his chin at Mike. "Averill...Averill Simpson Dirkfeld," he corrected. "Scooter was my nickname when I played collegiate golf at State."

Averill proffered a hand, which Mike ignored. After awkward seconds, Averill withdrew his hand and pulled Paige down to the sofa with him. 'They're a freaking couple!' Mike's mind screamed.

It was becoming apparent where this was headed. If so, Mike's initial game plan for the day was dead. 'The old boyfriend returns' might be the perfect scenario, he thought. He tried not to get his hopes up.

Mike stood by the overstuffed leather chair that faced the sofa with the coffee table in between. It was unusual that her expensive Henry Beguelin attaché case--his gift to Paige for passing the state bar exam--lay partially open on the table. Its presence surely meant something.

"There's no easy way to say this, Honey," Paige began, "but Averill and I...." She bit her lower lip as she struggled for the right words.

Impatiently, Averill interjected, "We have been in love since we were together at State, Keppler, and it's time for us to be together forever. I'm in; you're out. It's as simple as that, Old Man."

Genuinely surprised, Mike snarled, "What? After nearly four years of marriage, you think you can walk in here and take with my wife!" He glared at Paige. "Explain this!" he demanded.

Averill started to speak, but Paige shushed him. "No, Avey. Let me." The big man quieted and smirked at Mike.

"Yes, Darling, we met at State and fell in love," Paige explained. "We were engaged, but Avey wouldn't marry me or even live together until he completed his MBA and made his branch of the family business profitable. Only when Avey was financially and physically able could we be together. That time is now, Michael, and he has come for me!"

Mike's right eyebrow arched like a snake crawling over a hot coal. "Physically able?" he asked derisively.

"I was working eighty, ninety hours a week," Averill replied defensively. "That's no way for a man to treat a young wife!"

Paige smiled sadly. "Avey wanted me to wait for him, but I knew I couldn't. So, he told me to marry a good man who would care for me until he returned for me," Paige explained as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "I chose you to fulfill that role."

Two opposite and conflicting emotions tore at him. On one hand, this unexpected turn of events completely solved his problem. On the other hand, shock, anger, and betrayal, along with Mike's innate curiosity, drove him forward. He also realized he was dealing with some form of serial insanity.

"What about our marriage?" Mike demanded.

"Paige gushed, "I really love being your wife, but give Avey credit, too!" She and Averill shared a warm, syrupy smile. "He was unselfish enough to let me enjoy a good life with you while he worked hard for our future. Avey knew you would care for me, keep me happy and secure.

"You're a great husband, and I can't thank you enough for the life we shared." Tenderly, she intoned, "Now, it's time for us to divorce so I can have the life Avey promised me years ago."

Mike snorted in disbelief. "You two deserve each other. A cuck who farms out his true love, and a woman who deceives another man into caring for her until her 'true love,'" Mike made air quotes, "returns for her. Does that cover it?"

Paige flushed brightly. "It's not that simple nor that awful. I really fell hard for you, but I was already taken. I'm so sorry," she replied lowly.

"If you were taken, Paige, then you cheated on him," Mike responded.

"No, Honey," she corrected. "It's not cheating because Avey knew and approved." The big man's jaw tightened.

Reading Averill's uncomfortable body language, Mike chuckled.

Continuing her rehearsed lines, Paige said, "People divorce every day for..."

Mike interrupted, "I only have myself to blame. Dad warned me that our courtship was too fast, and you were way too eager." From the depths of his brain, he heard a man's voice say, 'Smaaaack!' "Damn! I played right into your hands."

Sad-eyed, she looked at Averill, and he squeezed her hand. "Avey and I are soul mates! You're also a good man, and I love you too, but not like I love him."

"Come on, Paige!" Mike spat. "Neither of you can be in your right mind if you think this isn't crazy! Y'all are like badly written characters in a cliché-filled piece of bad Internet fiction! Hell, Jerry Springer wouldn't touch you."

"Settle down, Keppler!" Averill barked.

Mike responded, "Come on, Scooter, tell me where I'm wrong."

"You're about to cross a line!" Averill threatened. A muscle in his cheek twitched. He inhaled to speak, and Paige quieted him with a hand upon the big man's chest.

Mike growled, "Besides the emotional betrayal and stealing years of my life, there's a monetary cost! I paid for your last damn year of law school! I expect you'll make good on that."

They were so comfortable together that they clearly were not estranged. Mike needed to get it all out into the open.

"So, how often did you two commit adultery during our marriage?" Mike asked coldly. With his intermittent trips for work and blind trust, they indeed had plenty of opportunities.

"That's now irrelevant!" Averill spat. He balled his fists, and Mike readied himself if he made a move.

Ignoring Averill, Paige replied, "Not that often, and never in our home. It never cost you anything when we were together because we planned it when you were away on business. I was always clean and loving when you returned home."

"Except in your heart!" Mike countered. "More proof our whole marriage was operating under false pretenses. So far, your resume reads liar, cheater, deceiver, and thief. Being a lawyer, you've got a future in politics!"

Mike looked at Averill. "Scooter, what kind of man lets his true loving soul mate marry someone else and wait until he gets his life together? Did you wait until you were successful? Or was it until Mommy and Daddy told you it was okay to marry?"

Averill's reaction told Mike he was on target. "I don't have to take this crap from you!" Averill yelled.

"Then leave," Mike said in a normal voice. He rose and pointed toward the front door. "Don't let the doorknob hit you hit in the ass."

"Please, Michael, we know we're not perfect, but we love each other," Paige whined. "Let's just be civil and wrap this up."

Mike stared at his wife and sighed deeply. "Paige, Dear, there's a reason why Dante Alighieri consigned betrayers to the Ninth Circle of Hell. Every evil you commit against another begins with deceit and betrayal. Lucretia Borgia is proof that it gets easier."

Averill snapped, sprang to his feet, and stepped aggressively toward Mike. "Stop talking about us like that!" he demanded.

"No, Avey! Michael!" Paige cried, jumping between them.

"Doesn't feel good, does it, Scooter?" Mike said, his tone low and malevolent. "I bet you laid there a few nights, wondering what Paige was..."

"Shut up, you bastard!" Averill said, taking an off-balance swing that glanced off Mike's shoulder. As Paige grabbed Averill's right arm, he yelled, "Come on! I'll kill you, Keppler!"

Mike snorted, "Get your boyfriend under control, Paige."

He told Averill, "That's the only one you get! The next one, I'm coming back on you!"

"Anytime!" Averill spat. Looking at Paige in disbelief, he remarked, "Can you believe this guy?"

In a concerned voice, she responded, "Michael heavyweight boxed in the army." She pushed the big man a half step back.

"Nope. I fought as a super middleweight for the Marines," Mike corrected. That was the last warning he'd give the big fool, whose lantern jaw loomed like a speed bag.

Mike knew he needed to plant a few seeds for the final act. "You owe me for four wasted years, a year of law school, and an apology!" Mike declared icily.

"I know. It wasn't right, and yes, I do apologize--and because I love you, it hurts me." She was reaching the end of her rope, and for the first time that afternoon, Mike felt his wife was sincere.

Averill angrily pulled away and stood looking everywhere but at the other two people in the room.

Mike backed off. He wanted her to feel like she owed him, but he also feared that she might unexpectedly change her mind and choose him. He wanted her vulnerable, feeling guilty, and most of all, out the door.

Taking advantage of the lull, Averill said, "Keppler, this is hard for both of us because we're not bad people..."

"Not interested!" Mike said coldly. "Tell it to a priest or a shrink."

The big man looked at Mike with disgust.

Looking at her briefcase on the coffee table, Mike realized she had one or more sets of divorce papers. She followed his eyes and became serious and focused. The game entered its final phase. She knelt, withdrew a manila folder, and pushed it across the table. With a trembling hand, she motioned for Mike to sit.

Her voice low and controlled, she said, "I've had Abe Crossley draw up this divorce agreement." Abe managed her firm's family law department. "This is a fair agreement. Don't fight it. Please just let me go."

She opened the folder and pointed at the top sheet. "It's simple and fair," Mike." It was telling that she used her usual form of address.

She continued, "We split assets and accounts fifty-fifty; we keep our 401Ks, and if neither wants to buy out the other, we sell the home and split that fifty-fifty. The details, such as home contents, are bullet-pointed on the next-to-last page. I want the furniture I purchased, my things, and a few miscellaneous items; you keep the rest." She laid her Cross pen next to the folder. "Look it over, initial the pages, and sign and date it on the blanks indicated by stickies."

Reading her husband's questioning look, she said, "We divorce under irreconcilable differences."

Mike picked up the document and read it. As he pretended to study it in detail, he watched the interplay between Paige and her paramour, who stood petulantly off to the side, his arms crossed.

The couple was tense and uneasy, sharing uncomfortable, conflicted looks. Momentarily, Averill nodded towards the dining room, and they left. Mike heard them conversing in loud, indistinct whispers.

Abe Crossley was one of the partners Mike knew well. If Paige ever wanted to make partner, she would have told Abe everything about her divorce, especially its unusual contributory events. In light of that, Abe would also know that Mike wouldn't accept these terms. Furthermore, he would warn Paige to keep this out of open court for obvious reasons. A contested divorce, especially if Mike demanded a jury trial, would be a nightmare scenario for her and reflect poorly on the firm.

A quick peek inside her briefcase revealed an identical folder. As in the ring, Mike decided to work his opponents into a corner.

"No way, Paige. This ain't happening," he barked. To stay focused, he imagined a certain pair of seafoam green eyes staring lovingly at him. Theatrically, he waved the offending document. "Insulting and ridiculous!"

"Damnit, Keppler, I've had it with you!" Averill barked as he rushed into the room.

"Stop it, Avey!" Paige spat, trailing closely behind.

"You steal more than four-and-a-half years from me and offer me half? I supported you for almost two years while you finished your law degree and passed the bar, and you insult me with half?

"This takes us back to Day One, and you get to simply walk away. In golf, this is a Mulligan. Little kids call it a do-over. I call it un-effing-acceptable," Mike bellowed.

He tossed the papers onto the coffee table and said, "I'll see you in court! And I'm counter-filing for adultery, which, as you know, are grounds..."

"Hah! With what proof?" Averill shouted.

Surprised, Paige looked at Averill and, after an awkward moment, said, "That's right, Michael, you haven't any proof." She knew it was a careless and stupid assertion the instant she spoke--gasoline on a fire.

Mike exhaled slowly to calm down. They were cornered, almost on the ropes. "Taking legal advice from your soul mate, counselor?" he asked with a lupine smile, shattering Paige's façade.

He continued, "You know that the threshold is lower in family court than in a criminal or civil action." He coldly regarded the pair.

Mike sauntered to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the spacious backyard and covered patio. 'I'm keeping this house,' he decided. He felt their eyes on him and took his time. Silence was his weapon.

Facing them, Mike said, "As an officer of the court, when my attorney deposes you, there won't be any room to hide. You'll be rightly held to a higher standard." Her eyes imperceptibly widened, and a shadow of fear crossed her pretty face. 'She has no guts and crumbles under pressure--I see why she doesn't litigate!' he thought.

"You won't be able to misunderstand the question or get confused on the deposition procedures. I know you can't lie worth a damn, so no playing the Hilary, 'I have no recollection' game."