I Pulled Out The Hidden Recorder And Listened As My Cheating Wife Told Her AP My Weakling Husband

My name is Paul Andrews, and this is my story of how my wife's personal hygiene destroyed our marriage and family. My now ex-wife's name is Sarah Ridgeway Andrews. We met on a blind date arranged by mutual friends. She had just graduated from college and was working at First United National Bank; her degree in business management qualified her for entry into the Associate Management Program. I had just started working at Allied Accounting and was new in town, so one of my co-workers, Steve, set us up on a double date. Steve and Brenda had been dating

for about six months, and they decided that Sarah and I would have common interests. Nothing beats the excitement of an evening when an accountant and a business intern go on their first blind date. It was very obvious that we had one thing in common: we had no intention of having sex that evening. I would rather have had this average-looking blonde woman rub her body against me, but this did not happen, as she behaved very coyly, afraid of my touch. If she had curves, she certainly hid them behind a heavy sweater, long skirt, and jacket. We

had a stimulating conversation about our career expectations; we both expressed our dreams for the future. Surprisingly, they turned out to be very similar. We both came from middle-income families living in smaller communities than our current big city. I wanted to become an entrepreneur and use my accounting education to be able to differentiate between a good deal and a great one. She wanted to have a stable life while climbing the corporate ladder, constantly moving up with the exception of two or three times when she went on maternity leave to have children. This gave me some confidence

that one day someone would have sex with her—maybe even more than two or three times. The evening ended with me walking her to her apartment, where she quickly hugged me without passion and thanked me for the evening. It was better than drinking beer alone in my small apartment. On Monday, Steve came into my office and greeted me. I commented, "You must have really relaxed with Brenda on Saturday night," to give me a high five. Steve smiled. "Yes, everything was fine on Saturday evening, but I congratulate you! Sarah couldn't stop talking about you to Brenda. You

made a big impression on this girlfriend of mine. She told Brenda to tell me to tell you to call her. Just like in Junior High, isn't it?" It was a pleasant evening, but I don't think it was all that impressive. I think I better call her; apparently, Sarah knew better than I that we could make a great couple. After a few months of dating, I learned what was hidden under those heavy clothes. This woman could be a Playboy Playmate beauty—big round breasts, a firm flat stomach, and well-shaped hips that greet the man who has won

her heart. I was mesmerized by the gorgeous ass as she got up from my bed to go to the bathroom. She told me that in high school, she turned into a gorgeous woman, and to her horror, she was constantly groped and pestered with proposals. She tried to dress conservatively so as not to attract unwanted attention. Through a combination of great sex and a wonderful personal relationship built on admiration, trust, and caring for each other, we found our love. The marriage was a foregone conclusion, as were the two children, Hannah and Miranda. Sex was great before

we had kids and amazing after we had them. We bought a starter home and the obligatory minivan. Sarah moved up the career ladder and began to take on more responsibilities. I was doing very well at Allied Accounting and was given a leave of absence to get my CPA. Mr. Carrot, the owner of Allied, took me under his wing and taught me much more than any book or course ever could. One day after work, he asked me to go to lunch with him. He told me he was in talks to sell the firm to a large

accounting group. "Paul, you are my best employee, but you won't thrive under the new owner," he said. "I think you should leave Allied before the buyout and start your own practice. They will kill your entrepreneurial spirit, and you will remain an unhappy person going to work every day. You have an entrepreneurial spirit that you must realize. Please take note and start planning for your future. I'll make sure you take a few clients with you when you leave so you don't starve." It took me by surprise, and I didn't know what to say other than thank

you to the man I admired and respected. Over the weekend, Sarah and I discussed this topic non-stop. "Don't stop there and remain an employee of the new company," she said. "Forget about risky business and work hard to get a promotion in the coming years. You can make good money working as an accountant in a large company." "Yes, if this is what I wanted to do for the next 35 years!" "Sarah, I'm afraid I'm going to resent the debits and credits I have to deal with every day. This is my chance to break out of the

routine and do what I have dreamed of since my school days. To begin with, I will work from home while I build up a clientele, and then I will move to an office." "Paul, I think this is an unwise move. We have two small children; we can't take any more risks," was her wise advice from a banker. "I can't wait until the end of my life to take a risk. For me, it's now or maybe never," I replied. Sarah pouted. "I don't like it, but I can't stop you. Make sure this works." "Otherwise, I'll be

very angry with you, and in general, don't expect me to finance this disaster. I'm opening a new checking account for my income; I'll pay half of the household expenses. You better be able to cover the other half. I'll do my best," Sarah. I answered, but I wanted to say, "Thanks for that." She pulled herself together and said that she would not participate in any loans for my new business. "If everything goes wrong, I want to be on the sidelines," since you acted like a. I had no intention of dealing with her bank, but I'm sure

she will be there when I start making big money. Over the next year, things got tough as Sarah brought home a steady stream of money, and my contributions came and went. By the end of the second year, I was making a little more than Sarah, but she preferred that I create a consistent monthly income. Boring. My business model was changing as I became more involved in advising on potential deals rather than just keeping track of money received and spent. It was what I wanted to do, and I was successful at it. Since I was making

more money than Sarah, I started investing more in my startup business. I set my personal income at Sarah's level and invested amounts in excess of it. What I liked to do was, if I had an outstanding prospect, I would reduce or forgive my consulting fee to get a share of the profits. I would take 5% to 15% ownership for my consulting services and reduce the fees for the monthly accounting portion of their business. This worked very well for both parties. It reduced the required startup capital for potential clients and gave them the opportunity to receive

my informed analysis and recommendations at any time. It was impossible to audit the company because I was an investor, but this suited me quite well. The increase in the company's value was much greater than the accounting fees. I lost. The only person who was not happy with this arrangement was Sarah. She really didn't like the fact that I was investing in startups, so I stopped telling her about it. My accounting corporation's revenues were not where they thought they should be. Instead of income, I was building net worth, but it wasn't showing up on my balance

sheet because the shares I purchased were valued at the actual purchase price, which was quite low. Oh, because I had built a staff with deep knowledge and capabilities, I had the luxury of spending more time with my children. Three months into tax season, it was a completely different story. I tried not to miss a single performance concert or sporting event in which they took part. I managed all the parent-teacher conferences without Sarah. These were good years as the children were delighted, and Sarah and I made above-average progress for our age. Because of her knowledge and

work ethic, Sarah was appointed assistant vice president of the bank, where she reported to several people. As a result of this promotion, she decided that we needed a larger, nicer home to suit her status as a bank employee. I told her that we had better wait, which she did until next Saturday. She went to the exhibition, wrote, and signed a contract to move. I was unhappy, but I couldn't do anything about it. Through my membership in the Chamber of Commerce, I became friends with several loan officers at her bank. They told me that Sarah called

me "the little accountant." This disrespect began to manifest itself at home in the form of snide remarks about how other accounting firms were doing while I seemed to be dozing. I was not invited to join her at the Christmas party at the bank or at the summer party. Not that I thought it was a fun time, but I felt like she didn't want me around her professionally. It was time to talk to her about our relationship. On Saturday afternoon, I cornered her in the living room and asked her to sit with me for a few

minutes. She looked at me with disgust and said, "It can wait. I want to wash some of your laundry." "Thanks, but I think we need to talk about this." "It can wait until evening." "Can you carve out 15 minutes in your schedule?" Over her shoulder as she left, I heard, "Yes, I can do it." Then she returned to her work. I didn't bring it up until the end of the day because I wanted to use it as an example of her ignoring me and thinking that what I want doesn't matter. My attempt to talk after

the kids went to bed was cut short because she was tired. On Sunday morning, we couldn't talk because the kids were getting ready for Sunday school, and then they all went to church together. As the girls went outside to hang out with the neighborhood kids, I saw her pick up her bag and head toward the door. I stopped her and asked, "Do you have a few minutes to talk to me?" She snapped, "Why have you been bothering me with this all weekend? You run around me and whine like a little boy who wants his mother

to pay attention to him! Can't you see I'm leaving to help my mom with her checkbook? I'll be back in an hour. Can it wait that long?" "It's been 24 hours since I asked for 15 minutes of your time." "I can wait another hour," I replied. Four hours had passed when she entered the house and hurried to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Of course, I would then prevent her from talking. When we finished dinner, I turned to her. "I think now is the right time to talk." "Brought an indignant expression on her face, I think

we are growing more and more distant from each other, and I am very worried about our marriage." Sarah's fork clattered onto her plate, and the girls turned their heads to look at me. "We don't talk to each other like we used to, and I feel like you don't respect me as a husband. I think we need to discuss this before it becomes a real problem." Gritting her teeth, she replied, "Now is not the time or place for this conversation. I'm surprised you brought this up in front of the girls; you should be ashamed of yourself."

"Sarah, by your actions, by ignoring me for 30 hours after I asked to talk, you have once again shut me out. Is there something going on here that I should know about?" She pushed back her chair, took her plate to the kitchen, and left the house. "Well, I think our conversation took less time than I expected," I thought to myself. My daughters were shocked by this confrontation. Miranda asked, "Are we all getting divorced?" With tears in her eyes, I calmly replied, "No, honey, no one is getting divorced. Do you remember how you and your sister

sometimes quarreled? Moms and dads sometimes quarrel too, but that doesn't mean we don't love each other or don't love you." "And Hannah, Mom didn't run away from home; she just went for a ride." This seemed to calm them both, but it didn't calm me. I cleaned up the kitchen, did a little work in the office, then put the girls in bed myself. I went to the bedroom, thinking if she doesn't like it, she can sleep on the sofa. It was already close to midnight when she entered the bedroom, undressed, and walked over to the bed.

I lifted the blanket so she could join me. She pressed herself close to me and said, "I'm not saying I was wrong, but I will try to treat you with the respect that I want from my husband." I hugged her and whispered, "I think it's wonderful. I want to be the best husband for you." This calmed the situation in the house for a while. A few years later, she was named vice president of regulatory compliance, which meant studying and ensuring the bank's compliance with the rules and regulations of the FDIC, the Federal Reserve, and the

Comptroller of the Currency. She had the perfect philosophy for the role; in her opinion, no action could be taken that was not specifically approved by the appropriate governing body. This was completely the opposite of my philosophy: as long as there was no rule against it, everything was legal. Can there be any doubt that this caused discord in her family? It's good that she didn't know about my investments; they were legal, but fiscal officials like her didn't approve of them. Around this time, she started going to bachelorette parties on Tuesdays. The longer she attended these events,

the later she returned home. The children were already 16 and 14 years old, so they did not need a nanny, but they needed parental control and participation. I was always there for them. One Tuesday evening, I heard swearing coming from the master bathroom and went upstairs to see what happened. She stood at the sink and shouted, "Damn, damn, damn!" "What's the matter?" I asked. She growled, as if I had left it in the sink, "My damn wedding ring fell into the sink. Do you think you have a chance to save it, or should I call

a plumber?" I really didn't like the hints about my abilities. Looking under the sink, I said, "If it’s left in the siphon, I'll take it out; it'll only take a minute." And again, in an accusatory tone, as if I had dropped the ring, she replied, "Don't worry; I won't need it today anyway." Wow, I thought. You're going on a date, but you don't need wedding rings? This alarmed me, and I urgently needed additional information. I understood that with her current attitude, it was better to remain silent but be vigilant. Taking a quick look at her,

I saw that she had retired to the bedroom and was putting on sexy thong lingerie I've never seen before. "Girls' night out, just like any other Tuesday, don't you remember?" she snapped. Feeling like I wasn't getting anywhere, I went to the garage to get some pliers to remove the siphon. She slipped out of the house without saying a word. Since the drain was on her half of the double sink, I had to move a bunch of her stuff under the sink before I could get to the trap. I was surprised when I saw an ordinary

brown toilet paper box. I was even more surprised when, looking inside, I found a set for an enema. What the hell? If anything, she constantly complained of irritable bowel syndrome and diarrhea; although I thought it was irritable syndrome, since when did she need a dough? As I sorted through the contents, I discovered that the enema nozzle was wet. This is serious. It's probably true; the husband is always the last to know about it. But what do I actually know right now? Who knows? When working on a new business plan, I always tried to find out

absolutely everything I could about the company—both good and bad. That's exactly what I'll do; I'll start my research right now. Not quite yet, since I still needed to crawl under the sink to find her damn ring. Maybe she'll need it; maybe she won't. Time will show. I took a pencil and marked the spot on the floor where the brown box stood. I wanted to see if it would be moved within the next week. I also took a photo of a couple of the items to see if she put the set back in the box the

same way I put it. She returned home around midnight, undressed, closed the bathroom door, and began to shower. I tried to pretend that I was sleeping, but if she touched my chest, she would find that my heart was beating like crazy. She flopped into bed hard enough that I felt like I had to act like I'd just woken up. Then, I heard her giggle lightly. The next morning, I got up early, mainly because I couldn't sleep. I took the precaution of closing the bathroom door before taking a shower. True, I wanted to check the brown

box, and of course, the box was moved. The douche tip was still wet, and the box was an inch off my line and route to bed. Someone is having serious sex using a Ziploc bag. I carefully removed her smelly thong and sent it off to be tested for biological substances. Since I was an accountant, I was very familiar with what happens to the distribution of property in a divorce. I have conducted many assessments for husbands and wives in divorce. Sarah will have a house until the girls go to college, and I will pay child support

for them. I probably won't pay child support to Sarah if my investments don't count. She thinks they're worthless, just like I do. I wasn't going to pay for a house where she could have fun with another guy while my girls were left unattended. This shouldn't have happened. Now that I had the information I needed, I began to create a plan of action. The key point for me was maintaining custody of my girls. I can always make money; I've proven it. I have proven that I am a good father. Now, I need to prove that she

is a bad mother. Poor poison came to mind—not chemical, but emotional. Sarah is a perfectionist and expects excellence from her employees and family. When something goes wrong, it drives her crazy. The simplest problems become huge for her. When she loses her temper, she becomes mean to her employees, me, and the children. I'll use her poison to alienate my children so they will want to stay with me after the divorce. Then, the house and girls will remain with me. Quietly, I slipped over to her alarm clock and turned it off. She hates people who are late

for work. After her late and obviously busy night, she might have liked to sleep a little longer. The children came for breakfast, asked where Mom was, and I told them that she had arrived late and would probably sleep a little longer. They understood since they like to sleep when they could. After watching the conversation she had on her cell phone late into the night, I pulled up the playlist of her videos and pressed play on mute. Hopefully, by the time she gets up, the cell phone will be dead. She has a meeting with her staff

on Wednesday morning, which she says is very important. An hour later, I hear a scream in my name. It turns out that it was my fault that she overslept after having sex with some guy late last night. I took the opportunity to hide from her screams by going into the garage. One of the tires had let out enough air to trigger the instrument warning light on her Lexus. She hates it when an alert blocks her screen. She'll go crazy if she stares at this screen all the way to work. Hannah and Miranda did not escape

her wrath. She rushed around the house trying to get dressed, do her hair, and put on makeup at the same time. While in the garage, I changed the door setting to lock so that it couldn't open. The roller door, as would be expected when leaving the garage, she touched the opening mechanism and did not notice that the door did not rise. She slammed backward into the garage door, crushing the two bottom panels. The three of us walked to the door and saw, but did not hear, a screaming woman hitting the steering wheel as she moved

the Lexus forward. I straightened the panels and lifted the door, creating a terrible squeak. Sarah roared out of the garage, nearly missing a mailbox. This will be more fun than I thought. I wonder what she will do when she tries to call the office with a dead cell phone. The less I hear about her, the better. I hugged Hannah and Miranda and told them, "Mom is a little stressed right now. She'll be better when she gets home tonight. She still loves you, but not so much me." After that, all three of us laughed. The alarm

clock in our bedroom was now set to maximum volume. I let her make sure the alarm was on. I'm like my wife; I came to work on time this morning. My employees always know it's a good day when I walk in the door whistling. My good mood continued until 10:00 a.m., when my cell phone vibrated so loudly that it almost fell off the table. I thought, "Gee, I guess it's my dear wife calling." "Good morning, my dear," that was all I had time to say before the foul language started. A shrill voice came from the

phone, "You should get your ass over here and fix my tire! I almost died driving this dangerous car. If you had let me take the Mercedes I wanted, we wouldn't have this problem! Now fix it!" I said casually, "You have AAA insurance. All you have to do is call them, and they'll take care of it." "You," was her answer. Since the morning had gone so well, I told my assistant that... I had a few things to do and would be back after lunch. The first thing I did was go to a security store and buy

some small cameras for the house and a voice recorder to hide in her purse. I needed to know my enemies and what they were doing. My next stop was returning home and setting up cameras in the living room and our bedroom. I made the panels in the garage usable, but they weren't pretty; they shouted some stupid backing in, so that all the neighbors could see and grin. When I returned to work, I went through all my personal banking and investment files. We only had one joint credit card, and I canceled it. The only joint bank

account was for household needs, so I left it open but reminded myself to make sure that half of it went into the account every payday. As usual, I got home before Sarah and was preparing dinner when I heard the garage door creak and groan as it opened. The FBI couldn't have knocked down the door any harder than Sarah did. Both girls sitting at the kitchen table screamed. The witch came up to me very menacingly and said, "I've never had such a shitty day! I'll go upstairs and take a soak in my bath." The girls and

I had a quiet dinner, whispering like 12-year-old children. I went upstairs and asked her if she wanted to have dinner, and she threw a bar of soap at me and growled, "If I wanted to have dinner, I would have told you; now leave me alone!" This was the perfect time to make a small slit in her purse and place the recorder inside the lining. I went downstairs and fell asleep on the sofa in the living room. I didn't want to end up in the same bed with her when her alarm clock went off at full

volume tomorrow morning—the explosion of the latest rap song on the alarm clock radio, preceded by a shrill "Your mother!" from my wife, followed by the screams of two terrified teenagers. It is unlikely that any U.S. Marine sergeant would have made more noise in the early morning than the ladies in my house that day. While Sarah was thrashing around in the bathroom, I took the opportunity to go to the garage and smear the dark brown grease from my lawnmower on the seat of her car. After she sits on this lubricant on the way to work, others

may think that she herself did it—that is, on the way, literally, not figuratively. We received from her about the same amount of bile and rage as the night before. I also smeared the skirt she was wearing the day before, just to be convincing and to hope that there would be someone to blame it on—her assistant Linda, who was married to one of my friends, called me and told me about how Sarah discovered her stained skirt. She told me that Hurricane Sarah had gained strength and everyone should be on alert over the next few days. I

stopped tormenting her, and all sorts of little things began to happen. For example, one of the two diamond earrings left on the table disappeared. The dress she wore last Tuesday had a red wine stain that she didn't remember having. The lining on her favorite shoes began to peel off. Because I knew where her password book was, many of the sites she used refused her entry. When she drove, her Lexus turned a corner, or pressed the brake, a ball from a bearing would roll around in the door of her car. Every day or so, some little

thing could go wrong for her. It was death by a thousand cuts, and we were now at the 500th level. Now, the biggest test: on Tuesday after work, she returned home to change clothes and go to a bachelorette party. She didn't say a word to anyone in the house. She made sure the bathroom door was locked before undressing. Everything was the same as the previous Tuesday, including the wet enema tip. Everything was exactly the same except that I was following her using the locator on her mobile phone. According to her cell phone locator, her first

stop that evening was Bonefish Grill. From Bonefish, she went to the dance bar O'Hara's. I wasn't interested in what she did in the club; I was interested in who she left with. I had been monitoring her movements from the house, so I got out and started driving up to the area to follow her to her next location. Just as I was finishing my coffee in the parking lot, Sarah and some guy walked out holding hands. They hugged each other and kissed for a long time before going their separate ways. He left in his car, and

she followed. I kept up with them for a block, leaving the locator to do its job. The money bags were dragged to Motel Number Six, located near the highway. From the street, I saw that they entered a room with an external entrance. Since they would be there for a couple of hours, I pulled into the parking lot and wrote down the make, model, and license plate number of her boyfriend's car. While in a dark parking lot, I let enough air out of the driver's side front tire to make it noticeable and again send a low

tire pressure signal to the dash. There was a truck in the parking lot, so I found a piece of grease and put it on the windshield. I knew perfectly well that the first thing she would do was turn on the wipers; then the entire windshield would turn into a big mess. It will be interesting to listen tomorrow to what was recorded on the voice recorder in her purse. The information I... "Needed would now be in my hands, and I was only halfway to my goal of blowing it up. After 1:00 in the morning, she entered

the bedroom, undressed, and went into the bathroom, slamming the door. It was probably time for her to shower and do whatever. She didn't touch her alarm clock or phone that night. I wanted these events to appear random. A couple of hours later, when she was already snoring, I crawled out of bed and took the recorder out of her purse. I loaded it into my laptop, charged it, and put it back in her purse. The next morning, when Sarah and the girls were not at home, I listened to the recording. It was noisy at dinner and

at the club, but the voice recorder was quite effective at capturing the activity at Motel 6. I found out that her boyfriend's name was Keith and that they both enjoyed each other. I also learned that they partied every Tuesday night and spent every other Thursday at the Hyatt during business hours. It was Sarah's turn to book a room at the Hyatt, and they laughed at the conservative bank president for his unknowing complicity. They used their corporate cards to pay for luxury sex at the Hyatt; since the bank's main office was located near the Hyatt, they

often used its services to meet with bank employees from other cities. "So when are you planning to divorce your little accountant husband?" "Right after my daughter Miranda leaves for college. I love my girls, but I wouldn't want to spend the best years of my life chasing soccer balls with them. He is the best mom in the world, and I'm glad he does it. I have more time to spend here with you. I don't know why, but I just can't be around him anymore. I've tried everything to make him more successful, but he just wants to

be an ordinary guy with no goals. He's just wasting his life." "If you don't like him that much, why don't you divorce him right now, make him pay alimony, and spend more time with me?" Giggling, she said, "If I got divorced and received alimony, I would still have to pay for child care, a maid, and a cook. Now my weakling does it for free and brings money into our joint account. I don't have to pay as many household expenses. Plus, I can hide a significant portion of my salary somewhere you won't be able to find

it in the divorce. I use it for household expenses while building my secret stash." "Speaking of divorce, when are you going to pull the trigger on your frigid wife?" "That date, my dear, is carved in stone. Her father required me to sign a prenup before her marriage. I signed only when we added a validity period of 20 years. Three more years, and I'll get 50% of her multi-million dollar stock portfolio." Laughing, she said, "You see, the timing is perfect; your prenuptial agreement ends around the time Miranda goes to college. Then we can both leave." After

hearing this conversation, I could not believe that there were such selfish and treacherous people on Earth. You know what? They deserve each other. They will have a terrible time together as they both try to deceive each other, sexually and financially. They were worried about their safety; they alternated weeks booking a room at the Hyatt Hotel so that neither of them rented a room more than once a month. Before leaving, she checked all tires and that the garage door was open. However, her vile and disrespectful behavior was still obvious to both me and the girls. As

expected, Ed, the report showed that traces of biological origin were found on those thongs. Now I had enough evidence to go to a lawyer and start filing the divorce papers. I told Jeff Green, my lawyer, to ask for full custody of the girls since I had most of the contact with them. Judging by the way their mother acted, it would be lucky if the girls even wanted to communicate with her. Jeff said, "I'll add this, but it will be difficult." I proposed a plan where the house would be split 50/50 until it was sold after

both girls left for college. We will both keep our own investments in retirement funds. Since I limited my taxable income to about the same as hers, neither of us has to pay child support. She must pay me regular child care benefits, including college tuition. We saved enough for tuition, housing, books, and food, but not enough for outings, etc. When she became a full-time vice president, she enrolled in the bank's Deferred Compensation Program. I would leave this account alone in case she wanted my partnership investment; then I'd remember her deferred compensation to fend off her demand.

In preparation for my divorce, I began removing important things from the house and putting them into storage. I also backed up my computer every day to an external hard drive, keeping it separate from the computer. I planned to keep the house, but I didn't know how violent Sarah would be when she received the summons. On the recommendation of my lawyer, I hired a private investigator to find out who Keith was and where he worked. To speed up the search, I gave him the information I had about the license plate number. Every year, at the end

of the third quarter of the financial year, the bank begins the process of drawing up a budget for the next year. All employees fill out questionnaires, and each department must re-evaluate its work in the budget. At the end of this process, the senior management team hosts a formal dinner, program, and dance at the Hyatt Hotel. It's a tuxedo and evening gown event for senior executives and their spouses, with many, many..." Of those in attendance booking a room at the Hyatt Hotel, Sarah told me about this event many years ago. But by the time she became

a member of this group, I had been deemed unworthy. She constantly reminded me about this event, and if I had been more successful, I might have been able to participate in it. Next year, she thought it would motivate me, but I didn't care. I was tired of these people. Almost daily, I searched her closets and drawers for other information about her infidelity. A week before the celebration, I found a new shoebox that had been pushed into the farthest corner of her closet. I always started looking there in the depths of a closet or drawer. It

was a pair of very fashionable Jimmy Choo evening shoes. There was no receipt, so I used Google and got slapped—these shoes cost over $1,000. Since the meeting was in a few days, I had to think about how to counter this. Replacing the Choo shoes with an old beat-up pair of yard boots or a pair of Crocs came to mind. Instead, I took the shoes into the shop, placed the heel in a bench vise, and very carefully turned the tall, narrow heel to the side a few degrees. The shoes were rewrapped and placed in exactly the

same spot. After I found her brown box, I received a lesson in how to handle delicate items. The day before the celebration, the investigator called me and asked me to come to his office, as he had some information. After sitting me down, he told me that her lover was Keith Miller, a senior loan officer at the bank where Sarah worked. I thought it could have a serious impact on their careers—they don't report to each other, but her main responsibility is to make sure the credit department is compliant with rules and regulations. That's on top of

the no sexual relations policy between employees. They're on thin ice. "Great information," I told him, "and could you set up some cameras at the senior management meeting at the Hyatt on Friday night?" He already had a photograph of Sarah, and I asked him to film her walking and dancing. We were both happy. He received another check, and I received truly reliable information to consummate our marriage. The movie I saw on Friday night was absolutely hilarious; so much so that the detective was laughing the whole time we were watching it. She walked like she was drunk:

the pressure of her entire weight on that tiny endpoint of the heel, which was offset a few degrees, pushed her legs outward, causing her to stumble. She crashed into tables and chairs. At one table, two bottles of red wine were knocked over by everyone. I plan to submit it to America's Funniest Videos as soon as Sarah signs the release. Of course, Sarah and Keith retreated to his room to have sex all night long; everything was documented with a tiny video camera slipped under the hotel door. Isn't it wonderful how technology has improved our lives over

the past few years? Even though Sarah returned home before noon on Saturday, we didn't see her until late Sunday morning. Spiritually, she should have gone to church that morning, but she stayed home. Sarah used to always come home from work on Wednesday afternoons tired; I assumed this was due to her late classes on Tuesday nights. She entered the house and immediately went into the bath. This Wednesday was different. I was going to change the amount of hot water in her bath. She growled, as it seemed to her, "Hello." While walking to the bathroom, I waited

while she found the right combination of hot and cold water for the bath. On the tap, I heard the sink start working, realized that she was washing, and went into the utility room. In our house, separate water lines are connected to each faucet, and there is a manifold on the wall that regulates the amount of water in each line. I quickly turned off the hot water line in the bathroom and let the cold water fill the tub. As soon as I heard the water stop flowing into the tub, I turned the hot water valve back

on. A terrible sound of horror came from the lips of my beloved wife as she slipped into the cold water bath. Of course, the bubbles made the water slippery, and she floundered, trying to grab onto something to pull herself out of the cool water. When I rushed into the bathroom to help her, she ripped the towel rack completely off the wall in an attempt to get out. I had to crawl under the cold water again. It was the hardest thing I could do not to laugh out loud. Finally, I pulled her out—cursing, slipping, trembling, and

drenched in water. Of course, she slapped me because she didn't have hot water. Howling, both girls ran into the bathroom and saw their naked mother having another fit. She then lashed out at her daughters, "It's all your fault! You've used up all the hot water. Because of you, I couldn't get the relaxation I needed. So much, damn you!" She stomped into the bedroom to get dressed, and the girls burst into tears. They rushed to her to tell her that they had not used hot water, but she shouted at them, "Shut up! I don't want to

listen to lame excuses! Get out of my sight!" Which they did, running away crying. "It's worse than I thought. I didn't think she would rush at them for me—yes, but not for them. I made a real mistake in thinking about where her anger would go." Then she turned to me, "What the hell are you looking at, Goat? Fix my bathtub! Do you think...?" You can do at least one simple thing in my house. I led her to the bathtub and turned the hot water back on; she was very hot. I took her hand, sprinkled hot

water on her, and said, "You have a lot of hot water." I looked at her for a few seconds without saying anything and then went to dinner with the girls somewhere else. The dinner I was cooking, the girls were sobbing, and I stopped the car a few blocks away to console them. I told them, "I'm really sorry you had to listen to that. Tiate, you don't deserve this; you are wonderful children, and I am very proud of you. Please forgive your mother for her actions, and forgive me for allowing this to happen. Forgive me for

this." This seemed to calm them down and reminded me that I had to be careful how I separated the three of us from Sarah; it was too much fun torturing her. By the time we made it back to the house, it was time to go to bed. I left the kitchen utensils in place and lay down on the sofa in the living room. In the middle of the night, I felt a presence, as if something evil was approaching me, and so it happened: Sarah stood and looked at me. Yes, that was the only sound I

could make; she just stood there. Finally, she said, "I shouldn't have yelled at the girls like that; it's not their fault. I must have turned the wrong knob. Over the past month, I have been so overwhelmed and upset about so many things: flat tires, garage doors, faulty evening shoes—every little thing irritates me to the extreme. I need to get my life back on track." Having said this, she turned and went back upstairs. I think that's all she wanted to tell me. The following week, I received a real gift: one of my investment partners had a

two-bedroom apartment in Breckenridge, Colorado, and wanted to see if I would be interested in renting it. It was the week between Christmas and New Year, and the contract was signed for a year, but the tenants were forced to refuse. So my friend left a deposit and offered to rent me the apartment at half price. I told him I would call him back. The girls were despondent after being cursed by their mother. Sarah apologized to them, but her harsh words still stuck in their minds and feelings. I asked them if they would join me for a

week of skiing in Breckenridge. I think so, because they rushed toward me as fast as they could, kissing me on the cheek and hugging me. That evening, I booked plane tickets to Denver and back for the four of us. I was going to give Sarah one last chance to save our marriage by being together as a family. I paid extra to be able to cancel the ticket. Sarah returned home, cleaned herself up, got dressed, and went down to dinner. I asked one of the girls to ask her mother if she would like to join us

on a ski trip. They chose Hannah because she couldn't sit still and would have spilled the beans anyway. Hannah said, "Mom, Dad rented a two-bedroom apartment in Breckenridge between Christmas and New Year. Can you find some time to join us? This will be a lot of fun." Sarah smiled and started to say something, but then she got lost in thought. I didn't know then; her eyebrows rose, and a smirk appeared on her lips. "I would love to, honey, but it's the end of the year, and it's very important for the bank that on December 31st,

all the money is accounted for correctly. For this, I must stay in the city. I'm really sorry." I was sorry too—sorry that Hannah was disappointed, sorry that Sarah refused the invitation with a lame, weak explanation. The compliance department has nothing to do with a bank's year-end balance sheet or income statement, not the slightest. The compliance department has no money to balance; you don't have to be a financial controller to know this. The reason for the raised eyebrows and smirk was that she saw it as a chance to spend seven nights in her bedroom with that

Keith. The following week, my private investigator switched the cameras to Wi-Fi so I could have instant access to them while I was in Colorado. A scene was about to take place at home that I really wanted to see—not the one where two adulterers have fun, but something else. The day we left for Colorado, I lubricated her enema tip with jalapeño pepper juice. If she wanted hot sex, she was going to get it. When we left for the airport, Sarah was a pleasant mother and said, "Be careful and hug them." I appreciated her short hug and

kiss. I told her, "I love you, Sarah," and received a quick About how much fun my private investigator would have had watching this! Well, I guess her lover, Keith, won't be a welcome guest today. I wonder how long it will take her to recover. It would be a shame if they couldn't have sex for the entire week while the kids and I were gone. It's a pity the three of us headed into the Christmas-decorated and well-lit downtown Breen Ridge to get some pizza. What a beautiful place, with a foot of snow on everything! After eating

the pizza, we started walking back to the condo when the girls heard some music they liked and figured out where it was coming from. It was a teen club designed to provide entertainment for teenagers while parents had fun elsewhere. “Dad,” Hannah asked, “can we come in for a few minutes?” I happily agreed because, over the past couple of months, these girls have been through a lot. The dance floor was crowded, and the sounds of laughter were inviting. The girls wanted to stay, but I wasn't going to leave them alone on their first night in a

new city. Finding a free table away from the DJ, I asked my daughters to come and check on me from time to time. This was perfect for me, as I could read my email without worrying about the girls ignoring me. It didn't take long for them to attract the boys and start dancing, laughing, and talking. They would look back at me, and I would raise my Diet Coke to let them know everything was okay. There were many adults there watching their children. One woman, on the other side of the dance floor, was very attractive, and

as we both scanned the floor for our children, we caught each other's eyes and smiled. This attractive woman had two boys who came to her table for money, food, or soda. My girls seemed to spend more time hanging out with them rather than playing on the field. After I finished writing the message, I looked up and saw an attractive woman walking towards me. All the other men were watching her too. She was wearing ski pants that seemed to be sprayed on so thin you could see the freckles on her butt. The sweater was also form-fitting,

and she radiated warmth despite the temperature outside being below freezing. She stopped at my table. “You must be Hannah and Miranda's father. Why don't you come and join the rest of your family instead of staying here alone?” I tried not to jump up but answered with great pleasure, “My girls are good judges of people, so I guess that's why they sit at your table.” “My name is Donna, and Zach and Michael are my two boys, 16 and 14 years old. They won't be long before they turn 21.” I smiled. “They are the same age as

my girls.” Coincidence! We both laughed. “In the time I've been watching your girls,” Donna said, “and then interacting with them, they are very sweet children. You should be proud of them.” “Of course I'm proud. I can also say that your boys look very well-behaved, or is it just because you’re looking after them?” Donna laughed. “You are very observant. I'm glad there is a father here who watches his children with the same interest as I do. I work from home, so I am the one who sends them off in the morning and meets them when they

come home. They get a lot of attention because they are now the most important part of my life.” For Donna and the boys, as well as for us, it was the first day in Breen Ridge. It didn't take long for the four teenagers to decide where and when they would ski tomorrow morning. Donna and I made some adjustments so that we would celebrate them at different times. We decided that tomorrow morning we would see off the skiers, then we would go together for breakfast, and we would ski late in the morning and in the afternoon.

Over the next week, Donna and I learned a lot about each other, and we both liked what we heard. It was nice to talk to her about my problems with Sarah and my plan to divorce her. I didn't reveal that I was pursuing her, which made it easier for myself to get custody of the girls. I wasn't very proud of it, but it would have been the best thing for the girls to be with me and not with that selfish woman. Donna has been a widow since her husband was killed by a drunk driver two

years ago. We both had trouble forgiving people who changed our lives. Just talking to an understanding person was helpful for us. On our last night, Donna and I had dinner together without our teenagers. We spent the last half hour of the evening making out on the couch when the kids weren't around. By the end of the week, we came to the conclusion that we needed to spend more time together. All four teenagers shared the same opinion: it was time to end my marriage with Sarah. When we returned home, Sarah looked tired and exhausted. Maybe she

should have gone to Colorado with the rest of the family. We had a great time. After watching my hot wife, our first night in Colorado, I didn't need to watch what was going on in my house; it didn't make the slightest difference to me. I told Jeff to get all the paperwork done and submit it to the bank. The girls took the news of our divorce as I expected. They saw that over the past six months, my relationship with Sarah had collapsed. They compared my interactions with Donna to the bitterness that existed between me and

their mother. Hannah is the only one who approached the main topic. What will happen to Miranda and me now? Where will we go? I hugged both girls and said, “From the day you were born, you were my whole world, and this will continue for the rest of my life. In the divorce proceedings, I asked for full custody of both of you, and the three of us will remain in this house. You will study at the same school with the same friends. I will continue to prepare food for you and be there for you. You will

be able to see your mother as often as you want.” I continued, “You will have the opportunity to choose who you will live with during the divorce procedure. Whoever gets custody of you will also get the house until you both go to college. It will be your decision, but remember, whoever you decide to live with, both your mom and I love you. In any case, you will remain in this house and in your school. Don’t tell me now who you want to stay with; this is an important decision, and you have a lot of time

before you have to choose. Now, please use my car and go out to dinner so Mom and I can talk. You don’t want to see or hear our conversation?” Today, fine. After finishing my conversation with the girls, I looked at my phone to see who had called and texted so many times while we were talking. I guessed who it was. Instead of sending the message to voicemail, I decided to call Sarah. The very first words I heard from her did not contain “hello.” Her swearing melted the plastic of my phone. I let her rant, rage,

threaten, and scream until she ran out of air. It would be impossible to get a word in anyway, so I let her growl. Finally, she caught her breath. “Why did you do this to me? Why don’t you love me anymore, especially after everything I’ve done for you and the girls? Why don’t you come to the house and discuss this?” A click was all I heard. She must be on her way here. Before I had time to come to my senses, she burst through the door, rushed towards me with a growl, and shouted, “Why?” I calmly

replied, “You’ve been cheating on me with Keith Miller every Tuesday night for I don’t know how long. How did you think this would end? I gave you a chance to start over by moving to Colorado, but you decided that Keith was more important than your family. You made a choice; now you have to pay the consequences. Sarah, you need to move everything you need from home, move to a hotel while we sort everything out. I won’t take your things out into the yard and burn them today. You can see the girls whenever you want after

you check into the hotel, find yourself a lawyer, and find out what I offer in divorce. I think that’s fair, but you need to decide what you want to do. In the meantime, don’t bother me except to coordinate your appointments with the girls or getting your things. From now on, we have nothing to talk about except our divorce.” I went to my office, closed the door, and began to listen to suitcases slamming against any vertical or horizontal surface. What I didn’t hear was crying, and that was sad. I knew I never wanted to be with

her again; apparently, the feeling was mutual. The process of changing locks and resetting codes and passwords was next on my to-do list. She was furious during the divorce proceedings. It’s not that she still loved me and wanted to save the family; it seemed like she wanted it to be her who faded against me, not me who faded against her. She wanted everyone to know that she kicked out the weak accountant because he wasn’t good enough for her—not me who kicked her out for cheating. She was professionally embarrassed that I filed for divorce. Neither of us

had any desire to attend marriage counseling; we were done with each other. All the good things we had over the years were squeezed out of us. I was very lucky that I was able to get a divorce, unlike many other men. First of all, Hannah and Miranda decided that they wanted to live in a house with their father. They saw their mother once a week or two, but they didn’t like her asking questions about me and if I missed her. I had very little contact with her, and I was usually not around when she picked

up or dropped off the girls. Sarah disliked me and my little accounting company so much that she wanted no part of it. She wanted to keep her 401k account and deferred compensation funds, which she thought I didn’t know about. She had to pay for childcare, and the bank’s health insurance is better than mine. I didn’t want her to know that I knew about dating at Hyatt; it was planned to be used later. She took all the furniture she considered stylish from the house, allowing us three unsophisticated people to take what was left of it. Sarah

left all the family photos as if we treated them like shrines dedicated to her. I’m sure she had other funds hidden, but I didn’t care. I needed my children and my business; they were my priority, and everything related to her was in the background. Someone anonymously sent videos of Keith having sex with Sarah, Keith’s wife. Of course, this caused an immediate increase in legal costs throughout the city. The traders gathered in an elite apartment in a fashionable part of the city. I wonder how they will get along outside of sexual games. After the divorce, I

invited DNA and the boys to my... Place for the weekend: there was no sex between us as we tried to set an example for our children, but that doesn't mean we didn't spend time kissing and hugging. She was the best medicine to forget how badly my marriage ended. We both knew where our relationship was going; she already had a place to stay. We have no problems yet, but we have two 16-year-olds who enjoy each other's company and sleep in adjacent bedrooms. These two need our constant attention. Donna was a registered nurse and worked from home

for a health insurance company, doing medical claims research, so I created the perfect office for her in my home. A year later, I contacted a friend of mine who worked for a CPA firm auditing a bank. I told him a story about how two senior bank employees used bank credit cards for illicit dates during work hours. He thanked me for the tip and, after conducting an audit, brought this issue up for consideration by the bank president. The bank did not want to publicly open a criminal case for fraud, but both employees were fired. The bank

also contacted its insurance company and informed them of the theft. Currently, the bond company is pursuing Sarah and Keith to recover the bank's losses. The company refused to allow Sarah and Keith to continue working together, essentially denying them the opportunity to work in banking across the country. After Sarah lost some of her retirement investment, the couple moved out of their fancy apartment. The company that provided the bonds is suing for damages for bank credit card fraud. Keith's financial problems are compounded by the fact that his wife and children will take a significant portion of his

income when he finds work again. It's a pity that he didn't wait for the marriage contract. Sarah works as a paralegal in the office of a divorce lawyer. She has learned a lot about the legal and social implications of divorce and is very helpful to her clients. After counseling other people about divorce all day, she retreats to her small apartment and mentally berates herself for how tragically her own marriage ended. She doesn't seem to be attracted to the successful businessmen and doctors she thought she should have married, instead of me. The market value of my

worthless investments at the end of the year was more than $2 million. It looks like it will be a good year, especially since my wedding to Donna is scheduled for mid-June.