Cheating Wife Begs To Take Her Back After Her AP Got Bankrupted. I Got Revenge. Sad Audio Story

[Music] Growing up, I was surrounded by the whispers of betrayal and heartbreak. My father's indiscretions weren't just family secrets; they were open wounds in our household. His frequent absences, unexplained late nights, and the smell of cheap perfume on his shirts were a stark contrast to my mother's unwavering devotion. I often wondered why she stayed, why she endured the humiliation. As a child, I believed in the sanctity of love, thinking it was something magical that could weather any storm. But the cracks in their marriage taught me otherwise; they revealed a harsh reality where trust was

fragile and love could be weaponized. I promised myself my life would be different. When I met Jodie in high school, I saw in her what I hoped for: kindness, loyalty, and a sense of shared purpose. We built our relationship on what I thought was a foundation of mutual respect and transparency. From the day we exchanged vows, I envisioned a future free of the chaos and pain I grew up with. I was determined to provide her with the stability my parents never had. Yet, even the strongest foundation can be undermined, and as I would soon learn,

illusions of security are no match for the unpredictable storms of life. The night my wife Jodie decided to spend it in the company of another man wasn't just another evening; it marked the end of an era in my life. She assumed I would take it in stride, that her pursuit of a fleeting thrill wouldn't matter to me. Perhaps she was correct about her excitement, but she miscalculated how deeply it would cut. What she saw as a harmless adventure, I saw as a betrayal that unraveled the very fabric of our marriage. I was at my desk,

sipping coffee and thinking about the morning with Jodie. We met in high school and mostly dated each other, though we briefly dated other people during disagreements, always coming back to one another. We gave each other our purity before prom and married nine months after graduation. As far as I knew, I was her only partner. My phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, so I hesitated. I hate scam calls, especially the ones from the IRS. But this time, it was Jodie's office number. "Hi, honey," I answered. A man's voice responded, sharp and formal. "This isn't your

wife, Mr. Taylor." I blinked, confused. "That's me: John Richard Taylor the third, but I go by Trey." The man introduced himself. "I'm Michael Hamilton, a colleague of Jod. I need you to meet me this afternoon." His tone didn't explain much beyond that. I felt a sudden rush of concern. "Is she okay?" "She was fine when I last saw her," Michael replied. "But I have some information about her that I think you should know. Can you meet me at noon?" He wouldn't explain over the phone. I agreed reluctantly, still unsure if this was some kind of

joke. At noon, I met Michael outside Spike's restaurant. He suggested we walk to avoid being overheard, so we headed toward Central Park. "Your wife has been spending a lot of time with a man named Stan Morrison at work," he said. "They go to lunch together every day, and today they were openly discussing their plans for tomorrow night: dinner at the Hilton, followed by dancing, and then spending the night together." My stomach sank. "Are you telling me they're sleeping together?" "Yes," Michael confirmed. "He's already made reservations, and your wife is out shopping for clothes for the

date." I felt numb. "How do they think this will work?" "She thinks you love her enough to let her experience another man," he said. "She believes it won't affect your marriage." I stopped walking, trying to process everything. "Why are you telling me this?" Michael's expression hardened. "I was married for nine years. My wife had an affair, and the legal system screwed me over. Now I'm trying to help someone avoid my situation." We talked for a while longer before he left. I was left thinking about my marriage and what the future held. If Michael was telling

the truth, my marriage was over. It scared me how easily I could consider that possibility based on a brief conversation with a stranger. I thought back to my childhood and the pain my mother endured with my father. He was a heavy drinker and womanizer, having multiple affairs and openly mocking her. When I asked why she put up with it, she simply said, "I love him." One day, when I was about eleven, my dad took me to his girlfriend's house. I ended up walking home after getting bored of petting her dog. When I told my mom

where I had been, she didn't confront him, but two days later he spanked me with a belt for breaking a plate. Looking back, I realized it was because I had snitched on him. After seeing how my mother suffered, I couldn't imagine condoning Jod's affair. Even thinking about it made me sick. Call me whatever you want, but I wasn't going to live through what my mother did. Eventually, she left my father, and life got better for both of us. She remarried and is happy now. Jod and I live in a house owned by my mother and

stepfather, so I was stuck wondering: confront her or ignore it? Wait and see? As a salesman, I knew I had to be proactive—not wait for things to come to me. But in this case, if Michael was right, I didn't know Jod at all. She knew how I felt about infidelity, so I decided to take action. But how do you act when you don't even know if the situation is real? I planned out every possible scenario. I imagined the worst-case outcome and asked myself what I could live with if I couldn't accept the... "Worst. I would

have to make another choice. I made up my mind. First, I found a private investigator. After a quick meeting and spending a lot of money, we had a plan in place. Now I had to figure out how to act when I got home. When I arrived, Jod was there. She kissed and hugged me like she always did, and I had to decide how to respond. I could act normal, which would allow her plans to proceed, or I could drop a hint about what I'd learned. But if I did that, she might just deny everything and

wait for things to blow over. I wasn't going to live with that doubt. On the other hand, if I acted suspicious, she might abandon her plan. I decided to act normal. We had dinner, and I fried the pork chops like usual. Acting normal was harder than I expected; either she was a great actress, or, as Michael said, she was so confident that she didn't even try to hide anything. Around 11:00 p.m., I went upstairs to get ready for bed. Jod was already asleep. I showered, then lay awake, unable to sleep. At 6:00 a.m., she got

up, dressed, and went downstairs. A few minutes later, I did the same, only to find she was already gone. We rarely left the house without kissing each other goodbye, but today was different. It was Friday, usually a good day for RV sales, but I decided to take the day off. I called my boss, then contacted the dealership's attorney to ask for a divorce lawyer recommendation. He referred me to his wife but warned me she didn't take cases from husbands who cheated. After he called her, I met with the lawyer. I explained my conversation with Michael

Hamilton. She asked why I'd hired an investigator based on an unverified story from a stranger. I told her about my parents' marriage and my personal stance against infidelity. She suggested I wait and confirm Hamilton's story, adding that if Jod was as confident as he said, then she'd have nothing to lose by having an affair. I told her that I wouldn't tolerate any affair, big or small, and if Jod went through with her plan, I wanted her served by Monday. "If Hamilton's lying, I'll have to eat crow," I said, "but if he's telling the truth, I'll

be ready." She assured me the paperwork would be ready if needed by 1:00 p.m. I was back at work, trying to sell a van to an elderly couple. At first, I was doubtful about selling a 45-foot motorhome to them, but after spending time with them, I realized they were in great shape and had a lively, loving relationship. I envied their energy and bond, hoping Jod and I could be like them one day. They picked out their van, and we took it for a test drive. Mr. Jacobson drove confidently, and I could barely focus on the

sale, enjoying their conversation. It made me think of how I wanted my own marriage to turn out. I decided to give them a trade discount, taking a bit from my commission. They bought the van, smiling as they left. It was time to head home. I checked in with my investigator and was reassured everything was set. At 5:30 p.m., I pulled into the garage. Jod's car was in its spot, and the house was quiet—no dinner cooking. I stayed calm, placed the package from the investigator on the mantle, and sat down to wait. At 5:45, Jod came

downstairs looking stunning in the outfit Michael had described. She had her overnight bag in hand. "Wow, you look gorgeous! What's the occasion?" I asked, trying to hide the knot forming in my stomach. "One of the guys at work has been asking me out, and I thought it'd be fun," she replied casually. "What do you mean, go out with him? Like a date?" I pressed, the confusion creeping into my voice. "Yes," she said, not missing a beat. "We thought since you're the only man I've ever been with, I'd like to sleep with someone else. We're going

to dinner, then dancing, and spending the night at a hotel." I felt the blood drain from my face. I couldn't believe how calm she was. "You can't be serious! You're really spending the night with another man? I'm not agreeing to that! And who's this you're talking about?" I demanded, struggling to make sense of it. "It's no big deal," she said dismissively. "Just one night of fun. I'll be back tomorrow, and it'll be like nothing happened. I might even pick up a few tricks you might like." "There's no way I'm letting you go out tonight with

someone else," I said firmly, my voice tight with anger. "Don't be ridiculous," she shot back. "I'm serious, Jod! If you go, our marriage is over," I said, each word heavy with finality. Just then, we heard a car honk from outside. "That's him!" she said, heading toward the door. I moved quickly, blocking her path. "Please don't do this," I said, my voice pleading as I reached out. "I have to go," she replied, stepping around me and kissing me on the cheek. "I'll be home by noon tomorrow, and everything will be fine," she said, already heading for

the door. "If you leave, you won't have anywhere to come back to," I warned, my heart sinking with the words. "Now you're being really stupid," she said, rolling her eyes. "Enjoy your night, thinking about how much fun I'm having. We'll talk tomorrow. Goodnight." She kissed me and left. I didn't watch her get into the car. I walked over to the fireplace, turned off the recorder, and carried the box of trash bags upstairs. It took me nearly 2 hours to remove every trace of her. I emptied her closet." ...it, I won't hold back. I turned to

Judy. “I want nothing to do with her,” I said. Judy looked down, her expression a mix of sorrow and concern. "I just don't understand how you could throw everything away over this." "It's not just this. It's everything. This was the final straw," I replied, frustration creeping into my voice. "But people make mistakes," she said. "Sure, they do. But this isn't just a mistake. It's a betrayal of trust, and trust is everything in a marriage," I insisted. Judy took a step back and shook her head slowly. "I can't believe this is happening." "Believe it," I said

sharply. "This is my reality now. I have to look out for myself.” With that, Judy nodded, understanding the finality of my decision. She left, and as the door closed behind her, I felt a mixture of relief and emptiness wash over me. I picked up my glass, took a long sip, and thought about what life was going to be like moving forward. It’ll get ugly by the time it’s over; you probably won’t want to be friends with me anymore. She smiled faintly. “I see. Well, I think I’ll miss you.” She placed a hand on my cheek

and kissed my other cheek softly, then left, closing the door behind her. Since Saturday, my phone had been off most of the time. Jod tried reaching me repeatedly but eventually gave up. I managed to speak to her father, who tried to convince me that since nothing physical had happened with Stan, it wasn’t a big deal and I should move on. I explained it to him the same way I had to Judy. After the call, he realized divorce was inevitable and sighed before hanging up. On Monday, I called my attorney and told her about the weekend’s

events. I also instructed her to serve Jod with a summons that day. My attorney assured me it would be done by the end of the day. I spent the rest of the day not remembering much. Around 4:00 p.m., my phone rang. I saw it was Jody’s office number and decided to answer. “Hello,” I said. “Good afternoon, Mr. Taylor. This is Michael Hamilton. I thought you might want to know that there was some excitement here today,” he said. “Really?” I asked, curious. “Yes. Your wife was served with a summons, and after reading the papers, she fainted.

An ambulance took her to the hospital. When the paramedics left, Stan Morrison picked up the papers, looked them over, and almost fainted too.” As serious as the situation was, part of me found it darkly amusing, but I had no sympathy for either of them. “I’ll keep you posted on any developments,” Michael said. “Please do,” I replied before hanging up. A moment later, my phone rang again. It was Judy. “Hello,” I answered. “Jod’s in the hospital,” she said. “So?” I replied coldly. “I just thought you might want to know.” “I didn’t ask,” I added, more sharply

than I intended. “Are you really that heartless?” Judy asked. “My coldness comes from your sister,” I answered. “I warned you this would go south. This is just round one.” The following weeks played out predictably. Jod tried to talk to me countless times, but I ignored her. Her parents urged me to listen, but I refused. My mother spent a lot of time trying to comfort me, but I insisted I was fine, though she didn’t believe it. Michael Hamilton called daily, and I enjoyed his calls; he was the only one who knew what was going on with

Morrison. Jod came to work but just sat at her desk, only meeting with her lawyer. She and Morrison barely spoke, at least not in front of anyone. Me, I was just stalling. Our lawyers set up a meeting: Jody, her lawyer, my lawyer, and me. It was the first time I’d seen her since I kicked her out. She looked thinner and worn out, and I was surprised to see Judy there. Jody's lawyer asked, “Is everything okay?” “Are you sure you want to be here?” I asked Judy. “I’m here for Jod,” she replied. “That’s not what I

asked,” I said, staring at her. “But fine, stay.” Jod was already sitting at the table, so we all took our seats. Her lawyer started, “Mrs. Taylor categorically denies the infidelity and asks for the divorce petition to be dismissed so they can work on saving the marriage. She’s willing to go to counseling.” My lawyer and I exchanged a glance before he spoke. “If there was no infidelity, could Mrs. Taylor explain her actions that night?” We all looked at Jod. “I’ll be happy to,” she said calmly. “A gentleman friend picked me up.” “Does he have a name?”

my lawyer asked. “Of course, but his name isn’t important. Nothing bad happened, so no need to involve him,” she repeated. “What Judy had told me: champagne dinner, more champagne, getting too drunk to have fun, passing out, and then coming home to be kicked out. Poor misunderstanding,” she sighed. “I made a mistake. I love my husband, and I want him to forgive me.” I looked at Judy, who nodded in agreement. My lawyer, who had been quiet until now, asked, “Okay, let’s assume everything you said is true. And know Zack’s occurred—was there any touching, anything that wouldn’t

pass the husband test?” “Absolutely not,” Jod insisted. Judy nodded. My lawyer glanced at me, and I glanced back. I picked up the remote, pressed play, and a screen dropped down from the ceiling, showing Jod walking to Stan Morrison’s car in our driveway. He opened the door for her, and they kissed long and passionately. Then they got in and drove off. I paused the video. “Lie number one,” I said, looking around the room. Everyone sat up straighter; Jod turned pale, and Judy just stared at her sister. On Thursday, after Michael Hamilton’s call, I spoke with my

investigator. We planned to videotape Jod’s every move on Friday night, starting when Stan Morrison arrived at our house. Thanks to Hamilton, we knew the location of their date and the room number they had booked. My investigator was able to get access to their suite before check-in. “You said there was no inappropriate touching, right?” I asked Jod. “Yes,” she replied, though unsure. I pressed play. The video showed Jod and Morrison at the Hilton’s restaurant, where his hand was on her rear. “Lie number two,” I said. Jod looked around. Her lawyer was reading the divorce petition, and

Judy was inspecting her nails. The video continued; Jod and Morrison ordered champagne, finished it, and rushed to the elevator. I had paid my investigator $11,000 to get into their suite before they checked in. Four minutes after entering, Jod was already entertaining Morrison. Then Jod screamed and ran out, followed by Judy. I paused the video. your situation? Not bad, he replied. I'm just trying to get my life back on track after everything that happened. That's good to hear, I said, relief washing over me. Let me know if you hear anything else about Stan. Absolutely, he said.

Take care of yourself, Trey. I hung up and sat in silence for a moment, contemplating the whirlwind of events that had unfolded. The feeling of betrayal still lingered, but I was ready to move forward. I looked out the window, imagining what life could be like after all this chaos. It was time to take control of my life again. You, Michael, asked my wife confessed to the theft and pled guilty. I replied, "She'll get a light sentence, but her boyfriend's looking at serious time." I laughed, and we chatted a little longer before I ended the call.

I immediately dialed Judy's number. "How long have you known Stan Morrison was moving to Florida?" I asked when she picked up. There was a long silence on the other end. "Judy, how long?" I pressed. "Long," she finally answered. "How many times have they seen each other since she moved in with him?" I continued. "Four. She's been here twice, and he's been there twice. Four times." I couldn't believe it. "You knew she was still seeing him, and you were okay with that? After everything?" "Trey, she's my sister," Judy said quietly. I ended the call. Moments later,

Judy called again, but I ignored it. I sat in my cubicle for a while, then walked over to the repair shop to talk to the mechanics. One of them, a friend of mine, was a retired Army vet. He'd lost part of his leg and fingers in Iraq, and he was one of the few who understood what I was going through. We sat outside, and I brought him up to speed. "I can make sure they don't make it to Florida," he said. "No," I replied. "Neither one is worth going to jail over. I just want to

be rid of her." "I can make that happen too," he offered. I laughed. "Nah, living with myself is punishment enough." We talked for a while longer until I heard over the loudspeaker, "Trey, call line 4." Back at my cubicle, I picked up the phone. "Trey Taylor?" "Trey, please don't hang up." I hung up, walked over to the receptionist, and said, "No more calls today. I'm going home." When I turned onto my street, I saw Judy's car parked in front of my house. I pulled into the driveway and, by the time I reached the garage, she

was already at the front door knocking. She remembered my threat about the doorbell, so I entered through the garage and made my way to the kitchen. She kept knocking, so I decided to answer. "You're not welcome here," I said as I opened the door. "Listen—" she started. I shut the door in her face, this time without slamming it. I heated up some spaghetti and meatballs, then went to my bedroom where I fell asleep by 10 p.m. The next morning, I was getting ready for work when I saw Judy waiting for me. She probably thought I

wouldn't cause a scene at work. She was wrong. As I tried to pass her, she grabbed my arm. "Damn it, Trey, listen—" I pulled my arm away. "You don't have anything I want here. You let her come back to me while she was sleeping with that fool over and over, and you didn't tell me. All three of you can rot in hell." It was a while before I saw Judy again, but she stayed in touch with my mom. By then, the whole dealership knew what was going on, making for a long day. I stuck around

the dealership trying to figure out my next move, then headed home. Later, my mom called and invited me over for dinner. I went, and she made Italian food. We ate, but the evening took a turn when she said, "I talked to Judy today." "Mom, if you bring up this family again, I'm leaving," I warned her. "Trey, listen. There's something you don't know," she said, her tone serious. "I know everything I need to know. Judy cheated, and I'm divorcing her," I replied, trying to keep my anger in check. "Good, but what about the baby?" she asked,

her voice softer. "What?" I shot up from the table, stunned. "I talked to her. She's pregnant," Mom explained. "You didn't tell me!" my voice cracked with disbelief. "She asked us not to," Mom said. "So you listened to her and ignored your own son?" I shot back, hurt and frustrated. "We thought you might need more time to forgive her," she said, her voice tinged with guilt. "Forgive her? Have you lost your mind? Do you remember what it was like living with a cheater?" I couldn't hold back the anger anymore. "Honey, things are different now. People are

freer to try new things," she said, trying to explain. I stormed out. Was I living in an alternate universe? My mom had been through hell with my dad's cheating, and now she was telling me cheating was okay for my wife? I loved her, but her naivety was astounding. It was like she'd buy an encyclopedia from a traveling salesman in the age of smartphones. I drove past my house and ended up at a car dealership. I had my keys with me, so I went inside, found the employee lounge, and laid down on the couch. I tossed

and turned until nearly 5:00 a.m. before falling asleep. I woke up at 10:30, and my boss found me and put up a sign asking people not to disturb me. When I finally got moving, one of the salesmen told me that the boss wanted to see me. I wasn't feeling great. My back ached from the couch, and I desperately needed a shower, but I made my way to his office. "Trey," he said, looking up from his desk, "you need some time off, and I can make that happen. You remember the Jacobsons, the couple you sold the

blue Pro to?" "Yes," I replied. "Well, last week, Mr. Jacobson had a heart attack in Vancouver. He's okay now—but they need someone to bring the car home, and they've asked for you." "Sounds perfect," I said. "When can I leave?" "Tomorrow," he answered. "Janie will book your flight. Use the company credit card for expenses." "Great! I'll get packed," I said, feeling relieved. "How long should I take?" "Take four days for the trip back," he instructed, "but take ten; the Jacobsons aren't in a rush, and we don't need you back too soon. Hand over your deals to

Ben, and he'll handle them." When I got to Vancouver, I went straight to the hospital. Mr. Jacobson had a lot of tubes and machines hooked up, and Mrs. Jacobson was fussing over him, trying to make him comfortable while he grumbled. It was clear they just wanted to be near each other, and it made me smile. "Mrs. Jacobson! It's good to see you!" I said. "Hi, Trey! How was the flight?" "I picked up Mr. Jacobson," I said. "Now be quiet, Robert; you heard what the doctor said," Mrs. Jacobson teased. "I can tell him to be quiet

now, and he can't argue—doctor's orders." She winked at me. We sat talking while Robert drifted in and out of sleep. Every time we thought he was out, a nurse would come in to check his vitals or adjust his meds. Mrs. Jacobson told me the motor home was parked nearby and that their grandchildren had been with them. Her grandson had flown home, but their granddaughter was packing to return with me once Robert was discharged. Just as we finished talking, the granddaughter walked in, carrying two suitcases for her grandparents. She was about my age, attractive, and clearly

uninterested in me. After a brief exchange with her grandmother, Mrs. Jacobson turned to me. "Darla has been driving our car for the last week; she'll take you to the bus to get it ready," she said. "But Darla didn't seem thrilled." "Darla, stop it! You’ll be fine," Mrs. Jacobson added. "She doesn't want to go back with you, Trey; she thinks she should stay with us." "By the way," Mrs. Jacobson continued, "your boss said you might need a few extra days and suggested traveling through Yellowstone. We promised Darla we'd do that on the way home." "I'll see

what I can do," I replied. As we were leaving, she handed me a letter authorizing me to take the bus across the border and kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks for helping! Be careful." Darla and I drove to the RV park. She kept quiet, grunting and ignoring me. I tried to make conversation, but she wasn't having it. When we reached the bus, she went inside, taking the car keys with her. I asked her for the keys, but she tossed them at me, and I barely dodged them. "What's your problem?" I muttered as I picked them

up. Fed up, I hooked the car up to the bus. After a short break, I considered grabbing a cold beer, so I went inside to see if the Jacobsons had any. "No beer?" I asked. "I'm not your maid," I shot back when Darla closed the fridge and stormed off. That was it. I was done with all the women in my life—Jod, Judy, my mom, and now Darla. Mrs. Jacobson was the only one still remotely civil, but even that was wearing thin. I disconnected the power and water, got in the driver's seat, and started the engine.

By 8:00 p.m., I'd crossed into the U.S. and cleared customs. Darla had to step outside for the border check before returning to the bedroom. I was ready to get this trip over with. By 7:00 a.m. the next day, we were in Burley, Idaho. I'd stopped a few times overnight for coffee and sandwiches, but I was tired and irritable. Darla sat in silence next to me for a while before finally speaking, "I'm hungry; is there anything to eat?" I snapped, remembering how she'd treated me the night before. "I'm not your damn maid," I said, pressing the

gas pedal harder. She glared at me and stormed off to the bedroom. By 9:00 a.m., I needed to stop at a rest area. When I came back from the bathroom, she was getting off the bus. "If you get off, you can't get back on," I said, starting the engine. By noon, I was sore from driving, so I pulled into a parking lot between two trucks and collapsed on the couch. I passed out almost instantly. I woke up to the hum of the Cummins diesel engine and realized we were moving. Checking the time, I saw I'd

been asleep for five hours. Darla was driving fast. After watching her for a bit, I figured she knew what she was doing; her grandfather had obviously taught her well. I made some coffee and sat in the passenger seat. We drove in silence for two hours, but I started to get worried about the fuel. We'd been driving for about 25 hours, averaging 60 mph and had covered around 1,500 miles at 8 mpg; we were almost out of fuel. "Hey, we should stop for gas," I said, but she didn't respond. I tried again, "We need fuel," still

nothing. Finally, she snapped, "I took care of it while you were snoring." Surprised, I went back to the couch and fell asleep again. I never saw her eat, drink, or use the bathroom during the trip, but she managed everything while I slept. After another three hours, we stopped at a truck stop in Dumas, Texas. It was past 10 p.m. I made sandwiches, grabbed coffee, and took the wheel, heading for Houston. I drove through the night, only stopping once for a bathroom break and some snacks. By 8:00 a.m., I pulled into the dealership in Houston. I

needed a break, so I went downstairs to the restroom. It had been less than 40 hours since we'd gone through customs, but it felt like days. As I came out of the restroom, I saw the Jacobsons' car pulling out. The window was down, and I got an unsavory gesture. From Darla, I returned it, then made myself coffee in the break room before crashing on the couch. I didn't stir until 3:00 p.m. When I woke up, I found a note from my boss saying he wanted to see me. I headed to his office and knocked. "You’re

monopolizing the break room," he said, half-joking. "I got a call from Mrs. Jacobson. She wanted to know how you survived driving with her granddaughter." I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" He shrugged. "Apparently, Darla was a pain the entire trip. The Jacobsons didn't want her with them, and the grandson left because he couldn't handle her anymore. Mrs. Jacobson was impressed you didn't strangle her." I smirked. "I wanted to, believe me." He laughed. "Anyway, they’re glad you made it back safely. Mr. Jacobson will be discharged soon, and they want us to service the bus. They're

even talking about buying it." "That's great," I said. "I thought they might sell it." He shook his head. "Not a chance. Now go home and get some rest. The break room needs a break from you." After just three days, it felt like I’d been gone longer. I showered, shaved, and slept for almost 30 hours. When I finally checked my phone, I realized I hadn't even thought about it. I dug through my clothes from the trip, looking for it, but my phone wasn’t there. I called my boss. "Hey, can you check the break room and the

coach for my phone? I think I left it somewhere." He called back a few minutes later, confirming, "No luck." "Damn," I muttered to myself. "How many customer calls did I miss?" I went to the dealership and caught up with a few client messages. By noon, I was heading back to my cubicle after grabbing coffee when I saw Darla walk into the break room. I quickly ducked into the staff area and waited. After about 10 minutes, the loudspeaker called my name. I took my time sipping my coffee before heading to my boss's office. He greeted me

and mentioned that Darla Jacobson was there to return my cell phone, which I'd left in her grandparents' car. As he was talking, his phone rang, and he stepped away to take the call. I nodded at Darla and followed her into the showroom. She held out my phone, but I kept my distance, not reaching for it right away. After a few steps, she placed it on a nearby table. "Am I really that bad?" she asked. "Yes," I replied. She left without saying another word. Back at my desk, I was processing everything when a loud crash from

outside caught my attention. I saw a wreck involving two cars, and when I got to the scene, it was Darla. She'd been injured but wasn't in immediate danger. As medics worked on her, she looked up and smiled. "You always catch me at my best," she said before passing out. The EMTs took her to the hospital. I called the Jacobsons to update them, assuring them Darla was okay. Then I heard Mr. Jacobson's cold response: "A broken arm? Too bad it wasn't her neck." After that, Mrs. Jacobson asked me to call Darla's parents, which I did. Later,

I noticed 54 messages on my phone, mostly from my mother, Judy, clients, and one from Michael Hamilton. I set up appointments with the clients and ignored the rest. I left work at 5:00 p.m., heading home but detouring to the hospital. At the information desk, I found Darla's room, where her parents were already visiting her. Her mom introduced me to Ralph and Joanna Jacobson. They were friendly, but Darla's dad joked about how she'd talked non-stop about our trip. "Darla won't stop talking about it," her mom said. "I bet," I thought, recalling how unbearable she could be.

After a brief conversation, I said my goodbyes, but Darla's dad stopped me to thank me for calling them. I nodded and left, feeling out of place. Back home, I debated calling my mother but decided against it. That decision lasted for weeks, during which both my mother and Judy tried calling, but I ignored them. Even my stepfather reached out, and while I spoke with him, I cut the conversation short when he tried to pass the phone to my mother. I received the divorce papers from my attorney, sent to the address Judy had given me. Her signature

was bold and written in red marker, and there was no mention of her pregnancy, if it was real. In two months, I'd be free. I was starting to think about staying single, which also made me think about my current celibacy. "Damn it, I hadn't been with anyone in so long," I thought before heading to the bathroom to shower and get ready for dinner. Just as I finished getting dressed, the phone rang. "Hello?" I answered. "Hi Trey, it's Dody Jacobson," came the voice on the other end. "Hi Mrs. Jacobson, how's Robert doing?" I asked. "Call me

Dody," she replied warmly. "He’s doing great. He’s even planning our next trip to Colorado. I'm a little nervous about how he'll handle the mountains, though." "Don't worry, Dody. His trainer will make sure he's safe. As long as he doesn't try to speed, he'll be fine." "That's what he says. He's been reading all about mountain driving." I chuckled. "Well, I might need some Valium before we go." She laughed, and I could hear the warmth in her voice. I liked Robert and Dody; they were a good couple. "Anyway," she continued, "we’re having a barbecue this Friday at

6:00 to celebrate Robert's recovery. Bring your wife; we'd love to meet her." I froze for a moment, realizing I'd never mentioned my personal life to them. Darla probably hadn't either; they didn't know I was almost divorced. "Thanks, Dody," I said, regaining my composure. "I'd love to come." And with that, I ended the call. It was a great week at work; I sold three vans, one of which had been a high-end bus owned by a country star. My commission was excellent. I arrived at the Jacobson estate on Friday at 6:00 p.m. The house was impressive, and

the garage housed their boat, which I'd driven over from Vancouver. A valet parked my car, which felt strange, but I went with it. Inside, there were about 50 guests. Doy greeted me with a hug and asked where my wife was. "I'm in the process of getting a divorce," I told her. She pulled me back and said, "Your wife is an idiot." Then she put her arm around me, leading me to the crowd. When she mentioned introducing me to some nice young ladies, I knew I didn't belong. I decided to stay only briefly while finishing my

brisket and beer. I spotted Darla running away from a guy. I didn't expect her to be here, but I should have. She grabbed my hand before I could slip away. "Come on, Trey," she said, pulling me into the house and toward the library. Yes, the library. Once inside, she looked at me, clearly upset. "This guy's an a-hole. I have a behavior problem and need help." I started to walk out. "Where are you going?" she called after me. "I'm leaving," I replied, heading toward the door. "Before you kick me out," she asked, almost pleading. "Because I

agree with him," I said, turning back slightly. "He shouldn't have said that in front of everyone!" "Someone had to say it!" "Damn it, Trey! You're supposed to be on my side!" she shot back, frustration in her voice. "Why? The only nice thing you ever said to me was while you were lying in the street bleeding," I retorted, my words sharp. She slumped onto a chair, and I stood still, not looking at her. "How's the arm?" I asked, trying to break the tension. "It itches like hell," she muttered. "I have to use this thing to scratch."

She pulled out a tool from her cast that looked like a back scratcher. "I've got to go," I said, heading for the door. "Trey!" she called after me. "Yeah?" I turned back slightly. "If I promised to behave, will you have dinner with me?" she asked softly. I paused before replying. "Darla, I'm going through a divorce. I don't need the extra stress, and I'm likely to do something that'll make things worse. So, no, dinner's not a good idea." Saturday morning, I packed up and left. My mom showed up at my door later that day, and I

let her in. "I've been thinking it over, and I agree with you," she said. "There are things we can compromise on, but faithfulness in marriage isn't one of them. You reminded me of the pain with your father, and no one should go through that. I'm sorry for pushing you to get back with Judy. I was selfish, only thinking about the baby and the idea of being a grandmother. Please forgive me." I forgave her, and we hugged. We chatted for another hour before she left. Monday mid-morning, my phone rang. "Trey Taylor," I answered. "Good morning, Trey.

It's Michael Hamilton. I have news." "What's the news?" I asked. "Stan Morrison called to ask for his job back, and they said no," he replied. I laughed. "Just thought you might want to know." "Thanks, Michael," I said, hanging up. Now I was on a first-name basis with him. Around noon, the Jacobsons' carriage pulled into the yard. I was with customers, so I couldn't greet them right away. Thirty minutes later, after walking my clients to their car, I made my way to the bus. Darla opened the door. "Hi! Come on in," she said. I stepped inside

and turned left, avoiding the driver's seat. Once seated, I noticed the smell of lasagna from the kitchen. Darla handed me a glass of wine. "Clink!" she said, holding up her glass. We both took a sip. "It was a great idea to offer lunch instead of dinner. Also, I figured it'd be better to talk privately instead of embarrassing or pissing you off in public," she said. "I asked my grandparents if I could use the bus, and when I explained why, they agreed. They just made me promise not to drive off if I got mad." "You said

when, not if," she said with a smile. "He knows you well," I expected an argument, but Darla stayed calm, took another sip of wine, and turned to fill her glass. "I hope you're hungry. I made lasagna this morning. It's really good, if I do say so myself," she said, moving around the kitchen despite her cast. The doorbell rang. "Bring it in, please!" she called. I went to open the door, and my boss stood there. I waved it off awkwardly. "It's okay," I said, closing the door and returning to my seat. Darla seemed at home as

she moved naturally around the small kitchen, clearly comfortable. I smiled, but I knew one of us would probably do something to annoy the other eventually. She asked me to sit at the dining table, and I did. The bus was tight on space, but the living area expanded with sliding drawers. We ate, chatted, and finished a bottle of wine. Neither of us had gotten on each other's nerves yet. After a couple of hours, I decided to head back to work. "Thanks, Darla! It was a nice surprise, and the food was great." "My pleasure," she said, walking

me to the door. As I stepped down, she leaned in and kissed me gently. We both paused, shocked. "Is dinner still off the table?" she asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "How about tonight? Let's say 7:00." She gave me her address, and I started to leave. Leave, but we kissed again. It took me another 10 minutes to finally leave. I stepped off the bus and saw six faces, including my boss, watching me through the exhibit hall window. As soon as they realized I saw them, they scattered, except for my boss, who opened the door

for me. "Well, I'm off to get ready for my date tonight," I said, laughing. 10 minutes later, Darla drove the bus out of the parking lot. As we headed to her house, my phone rang. "Trey Taylor, so you managed not to eliminate each other, huh?" Do's voice came through. "Hey, Doy, I think Robert's listening." "We want to hear your side," Robert said. "I'm a gentleman; I don't kiss and tell," I laughed. "Horse crap," Robert interrupted. "Watch your language, Robert," Dty scolded. She continued, "When Darla asked to borrow the coach, she was nervous but finally confessed

it was to make you lasagna." "I had no idea she could cook," I said. She blushed when she said it. "She made you lasagna?" I asked. "Yep," she just knows. Darla had replied, blushing. "Trey," Doy said, "she's tough on the outside, but she's a good girl at heart. She's been hurt a lot and uses that attitude as armor. Just don't hurt her, okay?" "Understood," I said, though I thought Robert was overreacting. "I'm just saying, treat her right," Robert warned. "Don't worry," I replied. Before I could hang up, my phone rang again. "Trey, it's Judy," came

the voice on the other end. The anger hit me instantly, but I forced myself to stay calm. "What's up, Judy?" "I just wanted you to know," she began, her voice tight, "Jod kicked Stan out, but he came back today and battered her up. She's in the hospital, Trey; her nose is broken. She's in ICU, and Stan's in jail." My heart sank. "What about the baby?" I asked, barely able to keep my voice steady. "She lied about it," Judy replied, her tone flat. "It's gone. And honestly, I'm done with her, Trey." "She's still my wife until

the divorce is final," I said. "She stopped being your wife the day she signed those papers," Judy retorted. "Goodbye." When we reached Darla's gated community, the guard acted surprised when I told him I was visiting her. He laughed as he called her to check and wished me luck as he opened the gate. At dinner, I learned Darla liked steak and potatoes, medium-rare ribeye with blue cheese and baked potatoes. I was impressed by how she handled cutting the steak with her arm in a cast. She ate half, then switched to her drink, and the waiter offered

to pack the leftovers. I joked, "I didn't know you had doggy bags here." The waiter grinned. "First time for everything." As we left, the same guard was at the gate, but this time his expression was less amused. I glanced at Darla and joked, "I don't have many dates, and he's not used to me coming home in the same car I left in. Usually, I take a cab." When we got to her house, she invited me inside. "What would you like to drink?" she asked. "A gin and tonic," I replied. We sat in silence for a

while, and then she made a move. I got the hint; we spent the night together. The next morning, I called my boss. "I won't be in today," I said. "Why not?" he asked. "I'm still on my date from last night," I replied. He laughed. The days following were unexpectedly quiet, as though the storm that had consumed my life had finally passed. The finality of my decision settled over me like a heavy but reassuring weight. I was done chasing answers and seeking closure from those who had broken my trust. I had moved on—not perfectly, not painlessly,

but decisively. Darla and I continued to see each other. Her sharp edges softened with time, revealing a humor and depth that complemented her fiery nature. I discovered in her a shared resilience, a refusal to be defined by past mistakes. Our differences often led to spirited debates, but they became a source of growth rather than conflict. She challenged me in ways I didn't know I needed, and I found myself slowly, cautiously allowing hope to bloom again. Jody's presence in my life faded like the final echoes of a distant storm. I received updates through Judy, but they

felt more like distant news than personal revelations. I no longer felt anger, only a strange muted gratitude for the lessons learned in the past that led me here. My work at the dealership thrived. The Jacobsons became regulars, their enthusiasm for life a constant reminder of what a true partnership looked like. They often invited me and Darla for dinners, their support unwavering as they encouraged our relationship. It was at one such dinner that Doy leaned over and whispered, "You've been through enough, Trey. Let yourself be happy." I still thought of my mother, of her misguided attempts

to smooth over my life's jagged edges. Our relationship had improved, though her mention of Jod or the past still caused tension. But I'd learned to set boundaries, to choose the people and stories I allowed into my life. One evening, after a particularly long day at work, I found myself on the Jacobsons' couch, parked outside Darla's home. She'd invited me over for lasagna, and as I stepped inside, I was greeted by the familiar scent of garlic and herbs. She smiled at me, her cast finally removed, and raised a glass of wine. "To new beginnings," she said

softly. I clinked my glass against hers, the weight of the past lifting slightly with each sip. I didn't know what the future held, but for the first time in years, I wasn't afraid to find out.