Cheating Wife Wanted To Make The Most Of Her Affair, But Her Husband Discovered It And Thwarted Her.

At 48, I found myself sitting in my office, which overlooked the Atlantic, staring at an offer from my company. If I accepted, it would bring me about $24 million, pushing me into a level of wealth I'd never imagined. Despite that, I couldn't shake a deep sense of misery.

Professionally, I was at my peak, but personally, my life was a tangled mess. My name's Ernest Kain, not Ernie. I came from a hardworking blue-collar family, and high school had been nothing but dull for me.

I barely scraped by, mostly because I was disruptive and checked out. My guidance counselor actually advised me to just quit and find a job. By some miracle, or maybe just to get rid of me, they handed me a diploma.

It was the middle of the Vietnam War, so I enlisted in the Army for a three-year term. My father, a plumber by trade, figured it would shape me up and maybe teach me something useful. To everyone's surprise, especially mine, I did well in basic training.

The structure and the physical demands clicked with me, and I excelled. That led me to volunteer for Ranger training, a two-month grind in Georgia designed to toughen us up for deployment. I was no giant—just shy of 6 ft, 170 lb—but I was in good shape thanks to swimming.

By the time training was done, I was sharp and ready. Then it was straight to Vietnam, which was anything but the adventure I'd imagined. I stayed there for over a year and a half until a piece of shrapnel hit me, leaving my back and bladder permanently damaged.

I spent months in a veterans' hospital before they sent me home. Thankfully, I was neither incontinent nor too limited by my limp, though I'd carry those scars. Not being able to have kids didn't bother me then, but later, it would.

At 20, discharged and with only combat experience, I didn't know what to do next. My dad came through, finding a VA counseling program at a nearby university in Raleigh, North Carolina. They ran me through a battery of tests, and Dr Dyer, a counselor, suggested engineering, pointing out some knack I apparently had despite my high school record.

He encouraged me, and soon I was enrolled at that same university, majoring in electrical engineering—a point of pride for my parents. Around that time, I got a call from an old buddy, Andy. “Earnest!

It's Andy! I'm out of the army! ” Hearing his voice was like a breath of fresh air.

“Andy, man, it's good to hear from you! How'd you get out early, and where are you? ” I blurted out.

He chuckled. “Stepped on a mine, lost a leg, but I'm doing okay. The prosthesis works great!

Call your folks for your number. I'm studying architecture in California now. Can you believe it?

” Andy had always been the smartest guy in our unit. I laughed, feeling a rush of joy. “That's awesome, man!

My parents probably told you I'm trying my hand at engineering. ” We talked for half an hour, reminiscing and marveling at how we'd both landed on unexpected paths, vowing to keep in touch. I decided to move out on my own, using the GI Bill and a bit of a pension to rent a small studio near campus.

It was modest, with a bed, a couple of chairs, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom, but it suited me fine. I set up a small study area with a desk and an old computer, focused entirely on my studies. I could walk to class or take a streetcar to visit my parents.

The first two years flew by, and I did well in my exams, driven by the idea of becoming a real engineer. With so much studying, I didn't have much of a social life, though I made a few friends; we'd grab a beer or pizza now and then. One Friday, a classmate named Carl invited me to a sorority party at a nearby college.

I figured, why not? That night turned out to be a turning point. I met Wendy, a woman who seemed well-off, with her elegant clothes and diamond studs.

I judged her instantly, and she could tell. Feeling guilty, I grabbed a beer and worked on shaking off my assumptions. Our connection deepened, and eventually, we started discussing marriage.

I worried about her reaction to my inability to have kids, but one day, she surprised me by saying, “Ernest, I love you. I don't want children. I'd be a terrible mother.

” She was teary-eyed. “If that changes things, I understand. ” I held her close, feeling a weight lift.

“Wendy, if that's how you feel, then we're on the same page,” I replied, relieved that my own condition didn't need to come up. Ironically, Wendy was careless with her birth control; she'd forget a day here and there, but it never mattered. One afternoon, Wendy told me it was time to meet her parents.

They lived comfortably in a wealthy part of town. Her dad, Henry Stockton, owned a huge construction firm and was well-connected. The day came, and a black Lincoln showed up to take us to their stately home.

I was dreading it, half sick with nerves, sure they'd see me as unworthy. But her parents were kind—her mother, polite but reserved; her dad, a tall, powerful man, insisted I call him Henry. He took a keen interest in my studies and gave me a slap on the back on our way out.

“Ernest, I'm impressed! Keep working hard; good engineers are always in demand,” he laughed, sending us off with his approval. On the way back, Wendy snuggled up to me, relieved, and I relaxed too, though I knew meeting my folks would be a stark contrast.

Her family's grand home versus my parents' small place in rural Pennsylvania would stand out. but my folks were warm and gracious. Wendy seemed a bit taken aback by their modest lifestyle, but she was respectful and joined my mom in the kitchen, helping her with a roast.

My dad took me aside outside, saying, “Ernest, she’s great and clearly loves you, but just think: engineering might not meet all her expectations. ” I nodded, letting his words sink in. Back inside, my dad raised a toast to Ernest and Wendy: “May your lives be filled with joy.

” Then, out of the blue, he announced they were moving to Florida, having sold the house to retire there. I was surprised but happy for them, joking they’d need a spare room ready for us. Wendy seemed to have some mixed emotions, but she hid them well.

Wendy and I decided to combine our rent and move into a place together. Her dad even got her a BMW for school. Our last year flew by; Wendy was busy with her studies and wedding planning, and I stayed focused on keeping my grades high.

Then, two months before graduation, she came home beaming, sharing that she’d landed a part-time role as an assistant editor at a publishing house, with a chance to go full-time. Though I felt a pang at how little time we’d have, I encouraged her, knowing this was a big step for her. Our wedding day came faster than I’d expected, held at an upscale hotel with over 200 guests, though only a handful were my own family and friends.

I felt like I was floating in a fog, letting the night drift by. Wendy’s father, Henry, pulled me aside into a room off the main reception area. “Ernest, I know you’ve been putting out resumes, but I’d like you to consider working with me.

I need to strengthen my technical team, and I want you to train under Donna, our lead electrical engineer. This would be a real position with opportunities to advance, and I’ll pay you more than any other offer out there,” he grinned. I could see this was a golden opportunity, so we shook hands.

We agreed that Wendy and I would manage on our own without any strings attached, and that was our unspoken deal. My parents gifted us a beautiful sterling silver service for 12 settings, likely a stretch on their budget. Wendy’s parents covered a 10-day trip to the Bahamas for our honeymoon.

I felt awkward accepting such a gift, but declining seemed out of the question. Deep down, I was uneasy about the influence the Stockton family seemed to have over our lives. Wendy knew my feelings about staying independent and brushed off my concerns, but to me, they were very real.

Our biggest disagreement was where to live after we graduated and married. Wendy wanted to buy a fancy apartment in a red area near her new job in Henry’s office downtown. I insisted we start small, renting a place until we were financially stable enough to buy.

Wendy was furious that I wouldn't take her parents' help. I stood firm, and eventually, she agreed, though not happily. We settled on a nice two-bedroom, two-bath apartment that was close to work.

Wendy had her car, and I could take a nearby tram line. We went into debt furnishing the place, but I kept an eye on expenses, and we made it comfortable. Henry kept his word; the job was challenging but rewarding, and I worked closely with Don Malone, an experienced engineer who taught me a lot.

I quickly realized college had only been the starting line in my career. Many nights I stayed late, eager to learn; Wendy was just as dedicated, moving from assistant to full editor within two years. She earned a good salary, and together we saved for a future home.

Wendy still longed for a luxury apartment downtown and sometimes criticized our place, calling it shabby. Once, her attitude grated on me. I stayed in touch with Andy, who kept pushing me to move to California, saying the opportunities were better out there, but I was content where we were, and I knew Wendy had no desire to relocate.

Andy persisted, but I couldn't help laughing off his efforts. For our second wedding anniversary, I made a reservation at an upscale restaurant, set out two dozen roses in a crystal vase, and had a velvet box with diamond earrings ready for Wendy. I had a feeling she thought I’d forgotten since she had brought it up.

While I waited, the phone rang, and I answered. “Ernest, I’m so sorry, but I’ll be late tonight. There’s a lot to finalize for Cole’s new novel, and I’ll be here for a few more hours.

I’ll just grab something to eat and be home around 10,” she said quickly, hanging up before I could respond. I looked at the roses on the table, wondering if she’d forgotten what today meant. It seemed her job had become our world, and we’d started drifting, each of us buried in work and neglecting our marriage.

We felt more like roommates. Wendy had been absorbed in promoting Cole Jensen’s book for months, and her excitement about the project had become tiresome to me. I met him once at an event; he was pompous, and Wendy had worn the sleek black dress that evening, which made me uneasy.

When she introduced me to Cole, he gave me a crushing handshake that I quickly countered, and he sneered, calling me “the engineer” with a mocking laugh. Wendy looked embarrassed; she stayed by his side the rest of the night, and I couldn’t ignore the glances he kept throwing my way. A week later, Wendy stopped talking about him altogether, and when I tried to bring him up, she changed the subject.

Suspicion started creeping into my mind, but I tried to push it away. Our marriage was running on autopilot, and Wendy seemed distant. We hadn’t been intimate in.

. . Weeks a week before our anniversary, I decided to surprise her at work and take her to dinner.

I arrived at Harbor Publishing and accidentally got off on the executive floor, where I ran into a familiar face: James Frost. "Ernest! Good to see you, man!

Been a while," he said, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Hey, Jim. I took a wrong turn.

I'm here to surprise Wendy and take her to dinner. Figured she's probably swamped with Cole's project. " Jim waved a hand.

"Oh, that's wrapped up. Cole's still staying upstairs in a VIP suite, but the book's off to the printer. Go get Wendy; she deserves a good night out.

" He walked off. I found Wendy down the hall, and when she spotted me, she seemed caught off guard. "Ernest!

What are you doing here? " she asked, her voice tense. "I thought I'd take you out for dinner.

It's been a while, and I figured we could spend some time together. " She looked annoyed. "I can't, Ernest!

I'm busy with Cole's project. Just be patient; this will be over soon, I promise. " She gave my cheek a quick pat and hurried back to her office.

I left feeling hollow. It was nearly 11:00, and her promise to be home by 10:00 felt like just another empty promise. Frustrated, I threw the roses—vase and all—in the trash and stashed the earrings in my desk drawer.

I went to bed but couldn't sleep, convinced now that she was having an affair with Cole. When she finally came home around 1:00 a. m.

, freshly showered, I pretended to be asleep. Her behavior only deepened my suspicions. The next morning, I needed space to think.

I went to my office, weighing my options, and decided to hire a private investigator. I found a firm near Stockton Construction and met with Marge DeMarco, an investigator. She listened to my concerns, explaining that it would be challenging to get legal evidence from the VIP suite.

"Marge, I'm not worried about legalities. I just need the truth," I said. She looked at me sympathetically.

"All right, Ernest. Give us a couple of weeks. Here's the contract and fee information.

Sign and mail it back, and we'll get started on Monday. " I nodded, shook her hand, and left, feeling a sense of relief for finally taking action. When I got home, Wendy was fuming.

"Ernest! Where were you? Do you even remember?

It's our anniversary! Did you get me a card? Anything?

" She was trying to deflect the blame, and I saw right through it. "Wendy," I said evenly, "today's the 11th; our anniversary was yesterday. The roses I bought are in the trash.

I can cancel our dinner reservations. If you look in my desk, you'll find the gift I got you. I suppose staying out until almost 1:00 a.

m. was more important. " She froze, her eyes darting, looking everywhere but at me.

After a pause, she exhaled and tried to collect herself. "I'm sorry, Ernest. I don't even know where I am half the time.

This project has worn me down, but it's over now, and I want us to focus on our marriage. " She didn't realize I already knew the campaign had ended some time ago. Her guilt was all too clear.

I chose not to push the argument further, but the tension hung between us for the rest of the week. Wendy was home every evening by 5:00, which made it clear her affair with Cole was over. But for me, it was too late; the trust was shattered, and our marriage felt like a hollow performance.

A few days later, Andy called. "Ernest, have you thought any more about moving out here? Opportunities are wide open.

They'd love a good electrical engineer out here! " He pressed. Andy had been nudging me to join him for a while now.

"It's an idea, Andy. I'm not sure, but maybe we can talk about it again soon," I replied, still uncertain. Then Marge DeMarco from the investigation firm called me in.

"Ernest, I have an update, but I don't know if you'll be satisfied. We didn't find any solid evidence of an affair, so I'm refunding a part of our fee. " She paused.

"However, in looking into Cole's background, we found he's got a history with women: three settled misconduct complaints and two divorces linked to his behavior. I'm sorry we couldn't give you more clarity. " I was disappointed but resigned.

Soon after, I made an appointment with Oscar Gaus, an attorney, to talk things over in ten days. Meanwhile, Wendy and I barely acknowledged each other, skirting around the tension. Then, just days before my appointment with the lawyer, Wendy burst into the house, looking frantic.

"Ernest! Sit down! I need to talk to you," she said, her voice trembling.

"I know we didn't plan for this, but I'm pregnant. We're going to be parents. " Her face was a mix of excitement and dread.

"Please, Ernest, don't be angry; be happy for us! " I was stunned—completely blindsided. Then a cold realization washed over me: Wendy had always been careless with her birth control, and now she was trying to pass off Cole's child as mine.

The rage and devastation mixed inside me, leaving me numb. "Pack a few things and leave. I'll get the rest when you're not here," I said, my voice tight.

Wendy looked terrified, tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry, Ernest! You don't know how much I regret this!

" "Why, Wendy? Was our marriage so meaningless to you? " I asked quietly.

She met my gaze, her eyes red. "I asked myself that too. Maybe it was the thrill, the excitement, the glamour of it all.

I was weak and foolish. I let myself get swept away by Cole and the job. I didn't realize how far I'd fallen until it was too late," she choked out between sobs.

"I know lying about this. . .

" the situation. "Your mother's stable now," she said, her voice calm but serious. "She's in the hospital, and the doctors are monitoring her closely.

" I felt a wave of relief wash over me, but it was quickly followed by anxiety. "Can I see her? " I asked, my heart racing.

"Yes, but you should prepare yourself. She’s going to be weak for a while. You know how these things can be," Mr.

Turner responded gently. I nodded, trying to absorb the information. Mr.

Turner stayed with me as we drove to the hospital, offering comfort and reassurance. When we arrived, I hurried to my mother's room, and there she lay, looking fragile but alive. As I approached her bedside, she opened her eyes and managed a weak smile.

"Ernest," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Mom, I’m here. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here earlier," I said, holding her hand tightly.

"It’s okay, sweetheart. I just need to rest," she replied, her eyes fluttering closed again. I spent the remainder of the day by her side, talking quietly and reminiscing about better times.

The hours felt like days, and soon enough, I realized how much I missed her and my family. As she slowly regained her strength, our conversations became more animated. We talked about everything—my life in California, the changes I had experienced, and how I was starting to find my way again.

Over the next few days, I split my time between the hospital and my parents' house, helping with the arrangements and keeping my mother company. As she recovered, I realized how important family was, how much support they provided even in tough times. One evening, as I sat with my mom watching her favorite television show, she turned to me and said, "Ernest, this family is what truly matters.

Don't lose sight of that. " Her words resonated with me, reminding me of the connections I had neglected while dealing with my divorce. I promised myself to prioritize family, to be more present in their lives.

Finally, after a week, my mother was released from the hospital. We returned to her home, where I helped her settle in. As we sat together, I thought about everything I had experienced over the past few years—the pain, the loss, and the gradual steps towards healing.

With a heart full of gratitude and a renewed sense of purpose, I realized that while life continued to be unpredictable, I had the strength, support, and love of my family to carry me forward. The journey to finding myself again was far from over, but I was ready to embrace whatever came next. What happened?

My mom had felt pain in her neck and arm, and Laura had called an ambulance. Mom was taken to the ER, checked over, and scheduled for bypass surgery later in the week. I was about to rush out the door, but Laura gently stopped me.

"Wait, Ernest. Give me 15 minutes, and I'll go with you so you won't get lost. " She hugged me, saying, "Don't worry, your mom's strong, and she'll pull through this.

" "Thank you, Laura; I really appreciate your help," I said, grateful for her calm support. At the hospital, I finally saw my mom. She was in shock from my dad's passing and initially resisted the idea of surgery.

I convinced her that she needed to stick around, at least for me, and she reluctantly agreed to the operation. Five days later, she had the procedure and made a quick recovery. Within a week, she was back home, and we started taking short walks around the neighborhood.

During her hospital stay, I arranged my dad's funeral. The service was well attended, with friends and neighbors mourning his sudden passing at only 60. I insisted that Mom not attend, given her recent surgery, and promised we'd visit his grave when she felt up to it.

As I stayed with Mom, I started thinking seriously about my future. I didn't feel right leaving her on her own. After talking with Andy and Rachel, I decided to leave my job and move back to help her.

Andy arranged for movers to pack up my things and ship them, including my car. Their support made the transition much easier. Mom's recovery progressed steadily, though she still needed rest in the afternoons.

With both my help and Laura's, who was also recently widowed, Mom was doing well. Eventually, it felt like the right time for me to look for work. I shared my plan with Mom, who surprised me with a suggestion.

"Ernest, let's start a business together. We could pool our resources. I'd handle the office side, and you could manage the technical work," she said with confidence.

Her proposal intrigued me. Small contractors in the area often needed engineering support, and I could see potential in her idea. I called Andy, who encouraged me to go for it.

Mom and I pooled our funds and opened a small office. I placed ads in trade publications and introduced myself to local contractors. Work began to trickle in, and within a few months, we were covering our expenses, though we hadn't turned a profit yet.

Then, out of nowhere, a bid request came in for a midsized office building. I worked on it for hours, shaving down my profit margin, and landed the contract. I quickly hired help to meet the project deadline.

More work followed, and within a few years, we expanded multiple times, eventually occupying an entire floor in a new high-rise. I knew I'd hit the market at the perfect time, just as a building boom took off. Those first few years were all about the business, leaving little time for anything else.

But after about three years, I had enough staff to reduce my hours. I rejoined a gym, hoping to get back in shape, and even dabbled in cooking classes, though I was still hopeless in the kitchen and Mom had to bail me out more than once. One day at the gym, I noticed a woman about my age—Eva Parker.

She was around 55, fit, and graceful. I noticed her leotard was about to tear along the seam, and I awkwardly tried to warn her without embarrassing her. "Ah, Miss, look, I don't mean to intrude, but—" I stammered.

She smiled, amused. "Not much of a smooth talker, are you? Maybe you should practice a little more before talking to strangers," she teased, making it all feel less awkward.

She quickly ducked into the locker room, and I couldn't get her out of my head. A week later, she approached me. "Hi, I'm Eva Parker.

Thank you for the heads-up last time," she said, smiling. I shook her hand. "Glad to help.

Would you like to grab lunch sometime? I'm Ernest Kane. " She accepted, and over the next few weeks, we got to know each other.

Eva was 28, divorced, and had a three-year-old daughter named Sophia. She worked in public relations at an advertising firm nearby. After a few dates, I met Sophia—a sweet, blond-haired little girl with blue eyes who quickly warmed up to me.

Eva was surprised by this; apparently, her daughter wasn't one to take to strangers easily. Getting to know Eva felt natural, and I enjoyed our time together. While I liked her, it was different from the intense love I once had for Wendy.

I knew I had changed too. Eva was kind and warm, with a spirited personality, especially when it came to Sophia, whom I grew to care for as if she were my own. Our relationship was comfortable but remained low-key, mostly just gentle affection.

But one night, after dinner and some wine at Eva's condo, things took a different turn. She was suddenly more forward, and we ended up spending the night together. The next morning, she admitted the wine had loosened her inhibitions, and I reassured her that I had no complaints.

Our relationship grew more serious over the following months, and I introduced Eva and Sophia to my mom. Mom, now retired, was delighted to meet them. She took to Sophia, treating her like a grandchild, and the feeling was mutual.

Sophia adored Nana, and everything felt just right. Eva and I never discussed marriage or the future; we were content with things as they were. Eventually, it seemed silly for us to keep going back and forth between our places, so I bought a house in a quiet, gated community, and two months later, we moved in together.

Marriage never came up; both of our previous experiences had left us cautious. Marriages had left scars, and we were happy without making it official. Sophia even started calling me "Daddy," and I embraced that role fully.

Life settled into a good rhythm. Years slipped by, blending one into the next. My business flourished, and I built a strong team to help keep things running.

I stayed in touch with Henry and Kate Stockton, talking every so often, and remained close with Andy and Rachel. Eva's career thrived as well; she climbed to the director of public relations and took on more responsibilities, though that also meant longer hours and occasional travel. Sophia blossomed into a smart, kind, and talented young woman; nearly 20 now, she is finishing her sophomore year at an Ivy League university.

Life felt steady and good until things started to shift over the past few months. Eva seemed distant, withdrawn, and distracted. I tried to ignore it, thinking it was just my imagination, but it became hard to deny.

Our intimacy, once steady, had become sporadic. Where we used to be close two or three times a week, it had now been nearly two weeks since we last spent time together. Eva often brushed me off, saying she was exhausted or dealing with her period.

I started to feel like something was off. Worry gnawed at me as if I were reliving old wounds. One evening after dinner, I decided to bring it up.

"Eva," I began softly, "we need to talk. I feel like something's changed between us. You seem distant, like I’m not even here.

What’s going on? " I kept my tone gentle, not wanting to sound accusatory. She shot me a glare.

"What are you talking about, Ernest? Are you paranoid? Are you accusing me of something?

Just back off! " She stormed off, slamming the bedroom door. I stood there, stunned.

Eva had never spoken to me like that before. I realized I had picked up on hints of disrespect, even contempt, from her recently. It wasn't just in my head.

That night, I slept in the guest room. The next morning, Eva came out red-eyed and full of apologies. She explained that stress at work was overwhelming her; she had a big client on the verge of leaving.

Though I nodded, I wasn't convinced and decided to get to the bottom of things. Eva's late nights and occasional business trips had become more frequent lately. Suspicion ate at me, so I hired a private investigator, providing him with details and a sizable check.

Over the following weeks, Eva and I maintained a fragile peace, avoiding direct conflict but keeping our distance. I braced myself for the investigator's report, suspecting the worst. When the results came in, they confirmed my fears.

Eva had been meeting a man named Bill Barnes, a 48-year-old divorcee. They met for dinners, held hands, kissed, and checked into hotels together. She even saw him on her work trips.

The pain was real, though not as shattering as my first heartbreak. I knew I wasn't willing to weather this betrayal, so I consulted my attorney about a separation. Since we weren't legally married, he assured me it could be handled outside of court, though he advised a mutual agreement to keep things simple.

The following Friday, after dinner, I confronted Eva. "How long have you been seeing him? " I asked quietly.

Her face fell, and tears welled up. "I'm sorry, Ernest. I hoped you wouldn't find out," she whispered.

"How long, Eva? I know his name—Bill Barnes. Do you love him?

" My voice was calm, but inside I was reeling. She dropped her head, her voice choked with emotion. "About eight months.

He's Sophia's biological father. " The words hit me like a blow. "Sophia's father?

No, I'm Sophia's father! " I exploded. "No one's going to take that away from me!

" Eva was crying, visibly shaken. "You are her father, Ernest. I just meant he's the one who—" "Do you love him?

" I interrupted, barely able to contain my anger. "I. .

. I don't know," she sobbed. "It felt like it did when we first met, when we were married.

" I couldn't say no. My anger faded, replaced by a hollow disappointment. Eva was a different person now, and I felt like I was right back where I'd started—dealing with another failed relationship.

"I'll be in the guest room tonight," I said flatly. "Please move out as soon as you can. We’ll tell people we drifted apart.

" I felt old and weary as I left the room. The next morning, I went to work, trying to focus but feeling detached. When I got home, Eva was gone.

She'd taken most of her things, leaving behind a letter. "Dearest Ernest, I am deeply sorry for the pain I've caused you. You did nothing to deserve this, and my actions have no justification.

I can't explain why I felt drawn to Bill. I know it'll ruin me again, but it's like an addiction I can't escape. I promised myself I wouldn't see him again, but I'm not sure if I can keep that vow.

You've been wonderful to me, and I've come to love you deeply, which makes this even worse. Please don't hate me. With all my love, Eva.

" I dropped into a chair, letting the letter fall to the floor. I knew I'd miss Eva, yet I also felt a strange relief. I needed time alone to clear my head, but a thought nagged at me.

I couldn't let Bill disrupt our lives any further. I had his address and decided to confront him directly. That night, I changed clothes and drove to his shabby apartment building.

When he opened the door, I shoved him back, closing the door behind me. He yelled, "I'll make you regret this! " But within seconds, he was on the floor, moaning in pain.

I hauled him up, looking him square in the eye. "Listen carefully, Bill. My name is Ernest Cain.

The woman you've. . .

" been seeing is my partner, Eva. I understand I slapped him, and he nodded quickly. "Good.

I'm going to make this hurt, but I won't leave any marks," I warned him. For the next 20 minutes, I made sure he'd remember this encounter. When he was a wreck, I poured a glass of water, splashed it in his face, and then let him drink.

Looking him dead in the eye, I said, "Pack up and get out. Leave the state. Try the West Coast—California, Oregon, Washington.

If you're still here in 24 hours, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Got it? " He nodded vigorously.

I drove home, showering for half an hour, feeling both sickened and strangely satisfied. I tried to rationalize that I'd done it for Eva's sake, but deep down I knew it was partly revenge. I shook off the guilt and resolved to move on.

Bill disappeared the next day. Talking with my mom and Sophia was hard; they didn't understand, and I avoided the full truth. Sophia threatened to come home, but Eva and I convinced her to stay at school.

Eventually, I suspected Eva told her what happened. When I spoke to Sophia next, her voice was subdued. "I'll always love you, Dad," she said softly.

Her words warmed my heart. Days turned into weeks, and I kept moving forward. I had a big decision to make about the company: should I sell or not?

A potential buyer was interested, but he wouldn't wait forever. He was patient, encouraging me to take my time, but setting a final deadline that was quickly approaching. I kept putting it off, torn between freedom and the responsibility that gave my life purpose.

A week before the deadline, I made my decision: I would keep the company. Months went by, and I became more introspective, aware that I was nearing 50. What did I have to show for it?

A thriving company and a wonderful daughter in almost every sense of the word. Sophia called every week without fail. Otherwise, I led a quiet life.

Sure, I missed Eva, but in a distant way, like I missed Andy and Rachel. We'd shared good years, but now we'd moved on. The last I heard, Eva was advancing in her career and dating someone.

I didn't mind being alone; I'd grown used to it. "Ernest, my secretary," Ted said over the intercom, "you have a visitor. " I was buried in specs for an upcoming project, fully focused.

"Ted, I'm swamped. Can you handle it? " She persisted.

"I think you'll want to see him, Ernest. It's Henry Stockton. " I froze, then shot up from my desk and rushed out to the lobby.

Standing there was Henry Stockton—tall and white-haired, looking much younger than his 70-some years. I embraced him, feeling a lump in my throat. "Okay, Ernest, let me breathe," he laughed.

I stepped back, still amazed to see him. We'd kept in touch, but I hadn't seen him in over 20 years. I quickly led him into my office, and we settled in, catching up on each other's lives.

I knew he'd recently sold his business, and he shared how he and Kate had finally moved to Clearwater. They'd talked about it for years, but on a whim, they'd flown down, fallen in love with a place on the Gulf, and bought it on the spot. Henry asked about my company and why I hadn't decided to sell.

After all, I explained my reasons for keeping the company, and Henry nodded in understanding. "Ernest, you realize now that we're so close, you'll have to come visit. Kate would be hurt if you didn't," he said with a smile.

I promised him I would. We reminisced about my early days starting the business, scraping by until a few lucky breaks turned things around. I noticed a twinkle in his eyes, and suddenly it dawned on me.

My God, how had I missed it? Henry had been behind those early opportunities. Flustered, I stammered out my gratitude.

"Don't make a fuss," he waved it off. "I only called in a few favors. You took those chances and built something incredible.

Your company's success is because of your hard work and skill. I didn't do much at all. " A quiet pause fell between us, and I sensed he was waiting for something.

I knew exactly what it was, and honestly, I wanted to know too. I'd been curious for years but afraid to ask; it was time. "Henry," I said slowly, "how's Wendy?

Is she doing well? I truly hope she's found happiness. " He leaned back, exhaling softly.

"I've waited a long time for you to ask, Ernest. Thank you for Kate and for me," he paused, gathering his thoughts. "It's been many years since you left, and Wendy's life has changed, but it wasn't an easy road for her.

" I braced myself, thinking of her child, now an adult. I expected to hear she'd remarried, maybe built a family. Oddly, I dreaded that thought more than I wanted to admit.

"Ernest," Henry continued, "Wendy lost the baby shortly after you left. There were complications, and the doctor said she wouldn't be able to conceive again. She had already quit her job at the publishing house, and the divorce—the miscarriage, everything—it left her clinically depressed.

But Ernest, this was not your fault, so don't carry that burden. Wendy blamed herself and called it her own foolishness. It took months of therapy for her to rebuild her life.

She became more mature and, in many ways, compassionate. " I didn't know what to say. The news left me shaken, and emotions roiled inside.

Wendy still stirred something in me even after all this time. Henry shifted in his seat. "When Wendy was finally on the mend, she told us she wanted to go to medical school.

" We were shocked; thought it was part of her. . .

"Depression," but she insisted it was something she thought through. Long story short, she enrolled at the Duke University School of Medicine in North Carolina and became an MD specializing in pediatric oncology. She knew she'd never have children, so she decided to dedicate her life to helping others.

I was stunned. The woman I knew as an editor had transformed into a doctor, caring for children with cancer. It felt surreal.

Henry went on explaining that Wendy's determination had brought her to this point. Then he looked at me with a quiet smile. "Do you know why Kate and I moved here, Ernest?

The biggest reason was to be closer to Wendy. She took a position as the chief of pediatric oncology at the Cancer Center at the University here in Fort Myers. She's been in the role for a few months now.

Ernest, would you like to see her, just to say hello? " I felt my heart race. Wendy was here in Fort Myers.

Part of me wanted to meet her, but I didn't know what emotions that might stir. "Does she know you're here? " I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"She doesn't," Henry chuckled, "and she'd be upset if she knew I'd suggested it. But she's aware you live here. I think that influenced her decision.

It's not that she didn't want to see you; she just didn't want to complicate your life. " I struggled to process everything Henry had just told me. Wendy was nearby, working as a doctor and possibly open to reconnecting.

Henry noticed my confusion and stood up. "All right, Ernest, I know this is a lot to take in. Think about it, and I'll be in touch.

" I managed to walk him to the door, then returned to my desk and asked Ted to hold my calls. I had a lot to process. Wendy here in Fort Myers.

My pulse raced as questions crowded my mind. Did I still love her? Did I even know her anymore?

These were questions I'd avoided for years, and now they demanded answers. I couldn't deny it; I loved the Wendy I'd married, but what did I feel for the woman she had become? I knew I had to see her, talk to her, and find out for myself.

In the following weeks, I kept in touch with Henry, visiting him and Kate in Clearwater. Wendy wasn't there during my visits, but I sensed that part of me hoped she would be. I wanted to see her, but I was also afraid of what I might feel—or not feel.

It was unsettling. One Saturday, Kate called to invite me down for the day. I packed a bag, put on a clean shirt, and made the drive.

When I arrived, I let myself in, calling their names. In the sunroom, I saw a familiar figure by the glass doors. My heart skipped: it was Wendy, standing about 20 feet away, backlit by the sunlight.

She hadn't changed—still slim, poised, and well-groomed. I approached, and we stood there just taking each other in. "Wendy," I said softly.

She gave me a gentle smile. "Hello, Ernest. It's good to see you.

" She extended her hand, and we shook as if meeting for the first time. In a way, we were. "Ernest," she continued, "my parents didn't trick you into seeing me here today.

I asked them to let me come. I wanted to see you. I hope you're not upset with them or me.

" "No, of course not," I assured her. "It's wonderful to see you again. " And then, impulsively, I added, "Wendy, you look amazing.

" She blushed, a smile lighting up her face. We moved to the sunroom, settling onto a white wicker couch by a low glass coffee table. The conversation started off awkwardly, with pauses that felt too long, but we soon relaxed.

We laughed off the tension, and before long, we were talking easily. Wendy shared stories about her medical career, and I filled her in on my life. She already knew about Eva, thanks to her parents.

As we spoke, my mind was running on two tracks. On one level, I engaged in our conversation; on another, I was observing Wendy, trying to understand this new person she'd become. She still looked great.

She wore a simple polo shirt and khaki shorts; her legs tanned, her hair shorter than I remembered, with faint lines around her eyes and mouth. There was a calmness about her, a maturity that hadn't been there before. She exuded confidence, a quiet assurance.

This was no longer the Wendy I had married or divorced; this was a whole new woman, and I realized I wanted to get to know her. We spent the day talking, having lunch, and lounging by the pool. I felt myself warming to her again for reasons that were both familiar and entirely new.

It was nearly dusk when I noticed the time. "Wendy, would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow? " I asked hopefully.

She smiled. "I'd love to, Ernest, but I'm scheduled at the center tonight. Tomorrow, though, I'd really enjoy that.

" We made plans, and over the next couple of weeks, we began dating, if you could call it that. I knew I still loved her, maybe even more now, but we were taking things slowly, testing the waters. So far, we'd kept it light, ending our evenings with soft, respectful kisses.

Where would this lead? I didn't know, but for the first time in years, I felt hopeful.