Wednesday, February 25, 2015


I found myself at the same basement window later that night. They were going at it missionary style this time, so I couldn’t get his face, but soon after, she straddled him and he was in full range.  My faithful video camera did not let me down. After about ten minutes I decided that was enough. I was disgusted at the sight of it.  I was still so hurt and never felt so betrayed in my life.

As I was walking past the house I noticed that there were two mailboxes hanging on the wall. All the lights were out in the main house so I went up and looked in the one marked with a B, B for basement, I assumed. There were some envelopes in there, one for Jennifer Peters and one for Robert Grainger. I took them both. I went back home and pretended to be asleep when he came home.

The next morning I found both Jennifer Peters and Robert Grainger on Facebook. According to her profile, Robert was her fiancé. She worked at the mall in a pet store. Her cell phone number was hidden, but when I went to his profile, his cell number showed. I transferred the sex file to my computer and around noon sent it as an attachment to his phone, along with the name and address of where my husband worked. I then drove there, it was about ten minutes away, and once again hid behind the juniper hedges.

Not long after I had parked the car, a blue car sped up the street turning into the driveway of my husband’s workplace. I could see the wavy blond hair and recognized him as Robert. He went inside and came out seconds later. Then I saw my husband come out. Robert was raging, flailing his arms about, pointing his cell phone in my husband’s face. My husband didn’t know what to say. Then the guy lost it and his fist went right in my husband’s nose, blood flew. My husband fell to his knees and when he tried to get up Robert hit him again, a big barn door swing in the left jaw. My husband, now my ex-husband, got up to his feet and swung at him, missing him. Then they were wrestling with each other. They were in the alleyway so none of the other employees saw anything. I had a ring side seat. And I have to say it was the most satisfying fight that I had ever seen. And my trusty little video camera never let me down.

Robert got the best of my ex and he went down. Robert kicked him in the gut several times and then himself fell to his knees, exhausted. He got up then, went in for one last kick, got in his car and sped away. My ex lay on the ground for about ten minutes then crawled to the side of the building and sat up, leaning against it. He spent another twenty minutes trying to get up. I don’t know what happened after that, because I had an appointment to get to, I was meeting my lawyer to draft divorce papers.

Later that afternoon, I went back home and searched for Robert Grainger on Facebook. His relationship status had changed to single. His friends had made some comments, obviously they knew what had happened and were praising Robert for doing what he had done. He had also posted a picture of his bloody fists. Nothing had changed on Jennifer’s page.

The hurt I had been feeling eased, but that fire inside me was still burning. I still couldn’t understand it. I thought that we were going to stay together forever. Everything was going fine. The only thing we fought about was his drinking problem. He had been a drinker since I met him, so was I, but when I decided that I had had enough, he just kept on going. He had been diagnosed with hepatitis and still he drank. I wanted him to help him, but I guess he just wasn’t ready. I don’t know what went wrong. But one thing was for sure, he was never going to hurt me again.

My cell phone pinged. “Have to work late, be home later.”

“Yah, whatever,” I said out loud, then I texted his supervisor to make certain that he was. Yes, it was true.

Before the mall closed I thought I would go over and take a look at some puppies at the pet store. I browsed up and down the aisles, keeping my head up. Was she working tonight? I wondered.

“Can I help you find something?”

I turned around to face the voice and there she was. Oh my God, she was a child. I felt so disgusted. My ex was fifty-one. What was going on here? All I could think was, “You sick, perverted, twisted, sonofabitch.”

But there was something in her voice, an attitude. That fire began to roar.

“No, thank you,” I said.

“Well, if you need any help just call.” She flicked her hair and walked away.

Oh, the nerve! That little bitch! That brazen little twat! I stomped out of the store and back to my car. Then I waited for the store to close and followed her home. I had no idea what I was going to say to her, but I was going to confront her for sure, so when she pulled off the main road, I parked my car on the side of the street and walked the rest of the way. She was just getting out of her car as I was walking up. It was dark. The street, as before, was dimly lit and there were no lights on in the main house. Once I saw her I couldn’t hold back the rage burning inside me. I saw RED. She didn’t even see me coming. As she was keying the lock, I grabbed her by the back of the hair and dragged her to the back yard where I had already spent too much time. When she tripped and fell down I closed the gate and kicked her in the face before she had time to get up, I kicked her in the stomach, and I never stopped until I knew she couldn’t get up because if she had she might have overpowered me. She was much bigger than I was. I kicked her some more, until I was exhausted, until she couldn’t speak. Then I looked down at her, barely seeing her, and spat in her face while she lay there sobbing and pleading with me to stop.

I got down on one knee and said, “Maybe next time, you’ll think before getting involved in another woman’s husband.” I then let my fist smash her nose. I felt the fire inside slowly die, and as I was getting up, I spat in her face one more time, then headed toward the gate without looking back.

I was so stoked that I ran back to my car. I sat there, trying to catch my breath. There was no traffic, so I was pretty sure no one had seen anything. I started up the car and drove for an hour, away from there. I stopped at a bar in the next town and had a couple of drinks, trying to steady my nerves. On my way back I stopped at MacDonald’s, got a burger and fries, and downed that to disguise the smell of liquor on my breath. When I got home, my ex was in the shower. I quickly got undressed then took a blanket to the sofa. My heart was still racing.

I heard him get out of the shower and go to the bedroom. I fell asleep. I was exhausted. Revenge was a very tiring occupation.

I woke up with sun shining into the living room. I couldn’t remember the last time my life had been in such an uproar. I was sick to my stomach. I still was having a hard time processing what was happening and kept going over my marriage in my mind. Do we ever truly know anybody? I was depressed, but then I remembered what I had done. I sat up, grabbed the remote, and turned on the news.

I watched. Then, there it was. It turned out Jennifer Peters was fine, if you call a broken nose, missing teeth, and a few broken ribs fine. There were no leads and the police were treating it as random act of violence. Okay, so I was in the clear. I figured that she would be too embarrassed to say anything. I went to the bedroom and was going to get under the covers for some more sleep, but when I got there I couldn’t bring myself to even enter. I went back to the sofa and never got up until noon.

I spent the rest of the afternoon confirming the appointments for the movers and storage and meeting a few friends to let them know that I was going away for a while. I never got into any details, but I think they knew that something was going on. I received the copy of the divorce papers from my lawyer and went back home.

When I got home my ex was already there. He did not look well. His eye was purple and cut, his lips were swollen and cut, and his hands were red and swollen.

“What happened?” I said, feeling rather full of myself.

“Some guy mistook me for someone else. I was at a business lunch yesterday with the sales guy and some psycho, who was loaded, came over to me and started hitting me with a plastic beer pitcher.”

“What!” I tried to act interested and surprised, and for an instant I felt sorry for him. I almost pitied him. He was pathetic. He was also a liar, a drunk, and a cheat. I turned away and went to the kitchen. “Wow, that’s unusual.”

“Yah, I had to go to the clinic; I have a broken rib. I just took a few painkillers, so I may pass out here.” He patted the sofa.

When I opened the fridge, there was next to nothing in there, so I told him I was going to order Chinese. He said it was okay and he stretched out on the sofa, clicking the remote. He turned on WWF and got comfortable.

We ate in silence. He ate in front of the TV and I ate in front of the computer. I wondered if he had heard from his mistress. When I looked over at him, he had passed out. I was so relieved. I had a shower and went to bed. I was exhausted and sad. I realized that it was over. I tossed and turned for most of the night, cursing that prick for making me sleep in the bed we had shared for the last 15 years. All I could think about was that it was going to be a big day tomorrow, the movers were coming early.

I got up after my ex had gone to work, showered and dressed. I packed my suitcases and my ex’s and got everything prepared for packing. The movers were right on schedule. They packed, wrapped, and had everything in the truck by lunchtime. They even helped me lug my suitcases to the car.

I checked everything one last time, knotted the cable wire in one corner, and walked around, remembering all the good times that were spent in each room, then I remembered all the bad. I placed the CD that I had made: The Sex File and The Fight File, on the counter along with the divorce papers and took one last look around. His suitcases were left in the middle of the floor.

I turned off the light, closed the door, gave the keys to the landlord, and said goodbye. I got into my car and headed for the 401 westbound, west toward the Rocky Mountains. When I got on the 401, I turned up U2’s It’s a Beautiful Day, rolled down the windows, and let the warm wind blow through my hair.