My Brother Got Pregnant My Cheating Wife & Wants To Adopt Her Baby. I Got Revenge. Sad Audio Story

[Music] Growing up, I always admired my family's resilience and the strength of our bond. My parents, Sally and Edward, built a life rooted in hard work and family values. They taught my brother, Eric, and me the importance of loyalty and carrying forward the legacy of our family business. Even as a child, I knew Tindle Manufacturing was more than just a company; it was the cornerstone of our identity. After college, I took on my role in the company with pride, eager to contribute to its success. Eric, my younger brother, joined the team too, though our

approaches to work were as different as night and day. While I focused on precision and strategy, Eric excelled at charm and persuasion. Despite the occasional clash, I always believed our shared commitment to the company and family would prevail over any rivalry. Friday had arrived, and I dropped off my Volvo at the service center for maintenance. Instead of returning to the office, I asked the mechanic to drop me off at home since he would deliver the car later that evening. It was a sunny spring day, the kind of weather that invites you to tackle outdoor chores,

so the decision was an easy one. As I busied myself clearing leaves near the edge of the backyard, I noticed the unmistakable red gleam of my brother's Corvette pulling into the driveway. "Great," I thought. "The only time he comes over is when he needs something. He never returns." As I got closer, I heard my son, Sam, call out, "Hey, Dad, what's up in the land of chickens?" Dad? Why was he calling my brother Dad? And why was this the land of chickens? My brother said, "I'm dropping off Uncle Joe's saw. I cut the cord by

mistake, and he needs to fix it so I can finish my project." "Is Clueless Joe here?" he added. Clueless Joe? I thought. My name's Joe, and I certainly don't think I'm clueless. At least I didn't until now. Maybe I should stay outside and just listen. Of course, I turned on my phone to record the conversation. Sam answered, "Clueless isn't home. He's usually not here before 5:00. I don't spend much time with him." Then Sam asked, "So when can I visit you now that school's out? It's way more fun there than here." "I'd love for you

to come, but your mom wants to spend as much time with you as she can. You're her only child, and when you leave, she'll be lonely. Cut her some slack on this," my brother explained. Sam replied, "She promised to spend time with me Thursday afternoon, so I can ask about staying with you this summer." That's when Sam asked, "Why doesn't Mom divorce Clueless and move in with you?" I had no idea she spent afternoons at my brother's house. Everything started falling into place in a way I hated. Maybe I was clueless. Eric bragged, "Ever since

I got her pregnant with you, I've asked her about leaving Joe. She says you're great in bed, but you'd be a terrible husband. I love my husband; every moment with him is the best. But with you, the sex is amazing. That's why she won't divorce Joe but still sleeps with me anyway." "I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow at the family party," Eric said casually, like it was no big deal. I felt like I was going to collapse. My world was falling apart—my son wasn't really mine, and my wife had been involved with my

brother in ways I never imagined. I stumbled back to the yard and sat on the rope swing I had pushed Sam on countless times. Now, I sat there crying, the tears mixing with the mud at my feet. What was I supposed to do? I needed to figure this out before taking any action. Then it hit me—the DNA test. Years ago, we all did the 23andMe test. How could it be wrong? Unless Carol swapped my sample with Eric's. Hiding the truth about Sam's parentage—could she have done something that cruel to me? As that thought faded, I

took stock of my life. I'm Joe Tindle, 43, and I haven't gained much weight since college—175 lbs. I wasn't a jock, but I was a good distance runner. Now, between family and work, I run a few times a week. I work as the CFO and CEO of Tindle Machine Company, a family business my grandfather started as a blacksmith, and now we make precision aerospace parts. My dad, Edward, is the president, and my brother, Eric, is the CMO. I have degrees in industrial engineering and accounting, which is why I handle the finances and operations. Eric, my

younger brother, is everything I'm not. At 6'3", he towers over me by 5 inches and weighs 50 lbs more—a classic jock; big, loud, arrogant, and often a bully. Eric was a star running back in high school—a small college scholarship got him through school while I worked and took out loans. He barely graduated, with professors passing him just to keep him eligible for football. With a degree in physical education, Eric struggled to find a job, so he joined Tindle's as a junior mechanic. Our work demands precision, which wasn't his strength, but he used his name to

land new clients. While he couldn't discuss the technical side, he was great at talking his way through things. Don't get me wrong; Eric was good at his job and valuable to the company, but we often clashed. One time, Eric wanted a commission for new sales. It wasn't unreasonable, but he was already drawing a salary equal to mine. I used that moment to ask to keep all the income from my patents. Dad quickly gave in to Eric, but I had to fight for what I... Earned. I first noticed Carol during a 5k charity run. She wore

loose shorts and a t-shirt, and her shape, particularly her backside, caught my eye. As a runner, I was faster than her, but I preferred staying behind her. By the end of the race, I was the only one focused on her. After she stumbled avoiding a dropped water bottle, I helped steady her. “Thanks,” she said, smiling. “I didn't want to fall.” “I’m Joe,” I introduced myself. “I’m Carol. Can I run with you, just to make sure you don't fall again?” I asked. She grinned. “Sure.” That was the start of our relationship. Carol had a degree in

secondary education and worked as an English teacher. A year after we met, we got married in her home church. After two wonderful years, we decided to start a family. Despite our best efforts, countless nights and weekends focused on getting pregnant, Carol couldn't conceive. We tried everything—changing diets, different positions, tracking ovulation—but nothing worked. Neither of us wanted to get fertility tests yet; maybe in a year, we thought. Then Carol missed her period. She didn't tell me right away, worried about jinxing it. When she missed the second one, I was overjoyed. I had always wanted a family,

and Tindle Legacy was something I deeply valued. But the pregnancy wasn't easy; Carol was bedridden for the final two months, and the delivery almost cost both her and our son. Sam, who grew too large for her pelvis, was delivered by cesarean section. The doctor warned us against trying for another child due to the high risk to Carol's health. That was it for us—Sam became our one and only. Sam was an energetic boy full of life. He loved roughhousing with me, much to Carol's dismay. We spent hours tossing a ball around. His grades weren't stellar but

average for his age. However, after his 15th birthday, our relationship began to change. I figured it was just typical teenage rebellion. He used to enjoy spending time with me, but now he was too busy with his phone and Game Boy. When I tried to talk to him, he became surly and distant, often mocking my career as an accountant, especially as he grew taller and more muscular than I was. Over the years, Carol continued to be the ideal wife—smart, dedicated, and now the principal of McKinley School, which specialized in helping students with academic and behavioral struggles.

But I started noticing tension at home. Her stress from work seemed to spill over, and she'd make sharp comments about things I did or didn't do. Despite this, she remained affectionate at bedtime; our sex life was fulfilling and frequent. So when I overheard my brother Eric telling Sam that he was his father and had been sleeping with Carol for over 17 years, I was stunned. But what did I really know? The most troubling thing was that Sam's body frame resembled Eric's and my father's, but not mine. Something felt off, but I wasn't sure what. That

evening, I watched Carol closely. There were no obvious signs of an affair. Dinner was lively, and after Sam went out with friends, Carol and I cleaned the kitchen together. She asked me to load the dishwasher while she went to the bathroom, then returned wearing only a lace apron, telling me to hurry up because she had plans for me. We laughed, touched, and finished cleaning before heading to bed, where I had some of the best sex I'd ever had. She was passionate and responsive—no signs of faking. The next morning, we drove to my parents' house for

my father's 70th birthday. Carol didn't want to ride in my Volvo, and Sam wanted to drive himself, so we all went in her Lexus. At my parents' house, the greetings were routine: Carol, Sam, then me. But when Eric hugged Carol, it was warm and enthusiastic on his part, while her response was flat, even bored. This wasn't how a lover should behave after 17 years of an affair. I was beginning to piece things together, but I didn't want to seem suspicious, so I casually tested the waters. I asked Eric if he'd cover for me at the

office on Thursday, knowing he had no clue about accounting. He said he'd be out for a big project. Carol, sitting across from him, made a strange noise as she blew bubbles in her iced tea—her way of signaling I was on the right track. I pressed further, joking, “Will you get all sweaty from this big project?” He responded, “Nah, I've worked with this person before and always come out on top.” Carol's reaction was so intense I could feel the tension rise. The room went silent; no one moved, no forks clinked, no ice rattled in glasses. It

was like a graveyard. I realized they all knew. I was still playing the role of clueless Joe, but I was starting to understand what was really going on. Breaking the silence, Dad announced, “I’m retiring from being president of Tindle. Eric will take over as president. Joe’s share will be 75% of Eric’s, but with his patent income, you'll both make about the same.” It was clear now—the family business, my father's legacy, was being passed down to Eric, and I had been kept in the dark all this time. Carol squeezed my arm, giving me a warm smile.

“So I report directly to Eric?” I asked, trying to clarify. “Eric? The guy who can't tell a CNC machine from a popcorn popper? That's a disaster waiting to happen!” Carol replied with a shake of her head. Before I could respond, she continued, “Listen, little brother, I’ve always been the one in charge while you’ve been busy counting beans. It takes an alpha, not a chicken like you, to lead. Deal with it, Joe.” Once again, I felt my world tilt. "Win, you lose. That's enough," boys' dad cut in, his voice firm. He turned to Eric, who had

been quiet up until now. "Eric, you won't be the boss. I'm still the chairman of the board, and I own all the stock. You'll run this business the way I tell you. This company has been in the family for over a hundred years, and I won't let it fall apart. We're Tindles, and the legacy is in our hands, just like the men on the wall." Dad pointed to the framed photos of three generations of Tindles that lined the living room wall. "By the way, Dad," I asked, curious, "which picture is your grandfather?" Dad paused for

a moment before answering. "He's on the left, next to my father. I'm on the far end." "Thought you'd know that." "I was just confirming," I said, "because I have a question." I glanced at the pictures. "I don't look like any Tindle alive or dead—different body type, hair color, facial expression. Eric and Sam look like Tindles, but not me. What's going on?" My mother's shoulders sagged, and Dad's face went red. The room went silent, and everyone exchanged uncomfortable looks. "I dropped a bomb, and now they had to deal with it." "Joe, it's time you knew the

family secret," Dad said, his voice heavy. "Your mother and I were planning to marry, but she got pregnant after a drunken night at her bachelorette party. We were already sleeping together, so she thought the baby was mine. When you were born, you were small and sickly, but we thought it was because of your mother's complications. We didn't know until you were about ten that you weren't my biological son. Your mother had kept it hidden. She'd slept with someone else before we were married, and you looked like him. When DNA tests became available, we confirmed you

weren't my son, but Eric was." That explained a lot about how I'd been treated differently from Eric, but it wasn't the bombshell I was expecting. I'd been trying to find out about Sam's biological father and got this instead. Still, I had more questions. "Okay, Dad, that explains my body type, but why doesn't Sam look like me? Why does he resemble you and Eric?" Dad's voice softened. "Joe, you and Carol were desperate to have a child. It was stressful for Carol, and she came to your mother for advice. After a lot of thought, we realized you

were likely sterile from your severe case of MPS. We knew for the Tindle legacy to continue, Eric needed to help. Carol was reluctant at first, but she agreed because we all wanted the family to continue. We hoped this wouldn't come out, but with DNA tests and the differences in body types, it was bound to be discovered." I felt overwhelmed, like a storm was raging inside my head. No words came to me. Both Carol and my mom held me, tears in their eyes, knowing how much pain I was in. "My son, my son, I'm so proud

of you," my mom whispered. "My husband, my husband, I love you so much," Carol said softly. "We hoped you'd understand, Joe, and embrace the love we all have for you," Dad added. "Gee, Edward," I muttered bitterly. "Can I call you Edward now that I know you're not my father? Why would you think I wouldn't mind being humiliated by my own family?" "Sam sneered, 'Now you know what it's like to be humiliated. I had to grow up thinking you were my father when I knew the truth about Eric.'" Everyone turned in shock, and Carol snapped back,

"Joe's been the best father anyone could ask for. He gave everything for you! You should be grateful he raised you!" Sarcastically, I shot back, "Why wait so long to show concern for my feelings? Why not tell me the truth right away instead of lying all these years? I bet you had a good laugh behind my back while I proudly talked about my great son. Instead, you called me clueless." "Joe," once again, the room was silent. "We couldn't tell you, Joe," Dad said, his voice heavy. "It would have hurt too much, and we hoped no one

would find out. We needed you at the plant. You're the brains behind everything; we'd be lost without you. Plus, we couldn't afford anyone as good as you. A headhunter told us the salary for CFO and COO was more than double what we pay you." I felt my anger rise. "So you encouraged my brother to father my child, not mine, just to keep the Tindle bloodline going. You kept me working for peanuts to boost your profits! You made me think I'd be running the show one day, but I guess Tindle blood is more important than competence.

I can't believe you did this to me! What's next? Are you going to tell me Carol's still sleeping with Eric?" The room went still. I waited for an answer, bracing myself. Carol finally spoke in a small trembling voice. "I'm sorry, Joe. I didn't love him. I hate him for what he is, but I needed him to keep my sanity." She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. My instinct was to comfort her, but my anger held me back. She had done this to herself; she had to face the consequences. Dad spoke, but his voice was shaky. "I'm

sorry, son—" "Weak!" I interrupted, my voice sharp. "Don't call me that! You destroyed my whole life, gave me nothing but the bare minimum of affection compared to Eric, encouraged my wife to cheat on me—all while I had no idea! I was just a fool! Now you're telling me I'm not even your son? You've all been laughing behind my back while I played the clueless idiot. I'm done with all of you!" been screwing me over for your own gain, and none of it benefited me. I'm nothing but a sucker. I'm like a lost child, abandoned with

no one to help me. With that, I stormed toward the door, but just as I reached it, Eric grabbed my arm. "I'm sorry, Joe," he said, smirking. "Since this means so much to you, I'll stop screwing your wife. She's all stretched out from me anyway, so I'll give her back to you." The arrogance of that man hit me like a slap. I turned toward him, seething, but as I spun, I landed a punch aimed at his face, only to miss and strike him in the throat instead. His eyes bulged, and he gasped for air, collapsing

to his knees. I didn't hesitate; I stepped back and kicked him in the groin, watching him scream and crumple in pain. Carol and Sam rushed to him, but their reactions were different. Sam tried to comfort his mother's lover, while Carol began kicking Eric in rage, shouting, "You deserve this!" I left the chaos behind and got into Carol's car. I backed it into Eric's precious Corvette before speeding away, clipping Edward's new pickup on the way out. My mind was a whirlwind of confusion and anger, and I could barely keep the car on the road. I found

a deserted gas station to stop and let my emotions run wild. First, I cried until I thought I might pass out; then the anger exploded, and I pounded the car's dashboard. Finally, exhaustion set in, and I was too drained to move. As I sat there, my phone buzzed repeatedly—texts and calls from Carol. I sighed deeply. What could I do now? They'd shattered everything. Not only was I betrayed, but my mother had also kept the truth about my real father hidden from me. Three days ago, I was on top of the world; now my life felt

like a total mess. The only good thing I could focus on was that I had options. I could stay clueless Joe, keep my low pay, and report to Eric or Edward, but seeing them every day would gut me, especially after what they'd done. I couldn't do it. Option one was out. Option two was to quietly leave and let the Tindle family carry on without me, but they wouldn't care. I was already invisible to them; that wasn't an option either. Option three was the one I liked: stay in the family, but on my terms. I'd make

them regret every lie, cheat, and betrayal. I'd make them feel the same pain they caused me. Yeah, that felt right. I was 20 miles from home, and it was time to go. Carol's car was in the yard, not the driveway, and I'd packed up everything I needed into my Volvo—important papers, clothes, and all. Anything I didn't need immediately went into Sam's Acura. Sam's annoying dog whined at me as I left, but I was glad to be rid of the hassle. He left me a parting gift—a big pile of crap next to the house. I scooped

it up, walked into the master bedroom, and placed it on the wedding ring quilt my mother and grandmother made for us, topped off with my wedding ring. Carol would get the message. I stacked all the photos of her and Eric's kid on the dining table and hammered a nail through them, shattering the glass. Then I was done. I drove my packed Volvo to a hotel across town, unloaded it, and went to the airport. After renting a car, I picked up Sam's car, put it in storage, and began setting up my new life. I didn't want

to be found, so I stayed out of sight, eating pizza and drinking beer in my hotel room. While I hid, I moved all my personal funds, closed joint credit cards, and took the money. I emptied Sam's college fund, which I'd saved for him, and left him with nothing. He'd have to ask Eric for that now. That night, it took some effort to sleep. I kept thinking about the good times with my family, but the truth hit: they never cared about me, so why should I care about them? I shifted from clueless Joe to fearsome Joe.

Tomorrow, fearsome Joe would hit Tindle Manufacturing. I parked a little distance from the office, not wanting to be noticed, and broke into the building. As CFO, I had full access to the company's accounts. I moved all the money into the main account, leaving just enough for two payrolls. I maxed out the credit line and transferred everything to our Cayman Islands account. I changed all the login details so no one could access anything. I even updated the address to a fake one, cut off utilities, and made sure everything was set up to be untraceable. I laughed

to myself as I finished. The Tindle man had always kept every business record, but now everything was in the cloud, and I was the only one who could change anything. I had them exactly where I wanted them. I changed all the passwords and login details, locking everyone out of the accounts and machines. Eric's computer was next. I copied files—videos of him with staff, local wives, and of course, Carol—onto a thumb drive. I didn't mess with his computer, saving this for later. The utility room was my final stop. It wasn't just a utility room; it was

a fortress. The main power line entered here, and the room was secured. The only people with access were the electrician and me. I turned off the power and added new locks. By the time they figured out the problem, the power company would shut off the supply. The keys to the building and everything else were soaked in cleaning fluid to erase any trace of... Ownership. Walking out of the building that had been my life's work felt strange. I had always dreamed of running the company, but those dreams had turned into nightmares. Eric partied with his buddies

while I worked to build the business. My family's texts and emails were all the same: "We love you. We're sorry. Please talk to us." But I was done. My mother begged for forgiveness, asking me to make things work with Carol and Sam, but the number 17 kept coming to mind—17 years of Carol betraying me with him. My whole world had crumbled, and I was ready to move on. I called my lawyer, Bob Carson, and scheduled a meeting for Tuesday afternoon. I gathered the documents I needed and planned my attack. I wanted to file for divorce

on grounds of infidelity but doubted Carol would agree to move to another state for that. I also didn't want to pay child support, but was okay with splitting everything 50/50. Tindle stock wasn't an option as I didn't own any. Carol's salary was close to mine, so Bob thought the divorce could be quick unless she fought it. We'd serve her papers at her school; time to make her feel the shame she'd put me through. At the meeting, I also mentioned rearranging Tindle funds. As CFO, I had authorization to move money, but Bob warned me it could

lead to a lawsuit if it caused Tindle any loss. I didn't care; they'd have to spend a fortune to sue me, and I was ready to air all their dirty laundry in court if it came to that. Bob mentioned a $3,000 retainer for any future work. I quickly scheduled meetings with three companies that wanted my services and access to my patents. There was no reason to stay in town anymore; I had friends who could help, but I didn't want to burden them. My only option now was to fight my way up, start over, and leave

this mess behind. At 43, I had nothing but a new chance ahead. A week later, Bob Carson called. "Joe, I just got back from the county attorney's office. Edwards is demanding your arrest for embezzlement, wire fraud, and grand theft." Bob explained to the county attorney and Edward that all the funds were in a Tindle account that had been active for years. "The money still belongs to the company. Nothing's been withdrawn. Edward just needs to arrange for a new signer on the account." I knew this would force Edward to fly to the Caymans, a trip he

hated. Especially over what? A month after Carol was served divorce papers, my lawyer called to ask if I'd responded to her calls. I laughed. "Of course not! No calls, texts, emails, or letters!" The divorce was stalled because Carol was fighting over Sam's college fund. In the car, even my lawyer thought it'd be tough to get those past the judge. I told him I'd agree to split the college fund. If she doesn't like that, I'll sue for fraud. I've paid for Sam's expenses for 16 years, believing I was his father. I'll sue Carol, Eric, Sally, and

Edward. I might not win, but the media would have a field day with Tindle's dirty laundry. A week later, my lawyer called again. Carol was willing to sign the papers if I met with her for an hour. She wanted to explain her actions. I didn't care to see or talk to her, but I agreed. I needed to wrap up everything legally and be done with her and anyone named Tindle, under the condition it was just the two of us. I also insisted on recording the meeting to ensure I wasn't trapped or compromised. It might sound

paranoid, but after 17 years of being clueless, I wasn't taking any chances. At 3:00 p.m. the next week, I backed my rental car into my old driveway. Seeing no suspicious cars, I walked to the door, which opened as if she'd been waiting for me. No fanfare, no special dinner—just two stacks of papers to finalize our divorce. The marriage had already ended emotionally; the paperwork was just the final step. She offered a drink, but I declined. I didn't care how she was. Instead, I said, "You got me here. Go ahead." For the next 15 minutes, I

listened to Carol repeat the same tired script, the cheater's apology word for word—nothing new. I tried to keep track of how many "I'm sorrys" and "Can we work this out?" she threw at me, but her words were starting to bore me. She even went so far as to quote the family history, mentioning how Edward had forgiven my mother, using the bolded letters I'd written. The numbers were clear: once a year for 17 years, 24 times each year, adding up to 408 times on her envelope. "It wasn't that many times," Joe, Carol said. "Okay, show me

the math." How many times? I shot back. In a small, shaky voice, she murmured, "Too many." There was no anger on my face, just a complete lack of emotion. When she saw my disinterest, she changed her approach. "Do you want to ask me any questions?" she asked, her voice softening. I met her gaze and asked, "Why?" After a heavy sigh, Carol began, "You know, I was pressured into having a child with Eric's prosthetic fluid." "Your dad..." "Oh, sorry," I muttered. "Edward really wanted that Tindle bloodline to continue. He was worried that any woman Eric knocked

up wouldn't be good enough to carry the family name. Even when I was trying to get pregnant with Sam, I still slept with you, hoping you'd be the one to get me pregnant. I really wanted to have your baby and be a family, but I screwed that up." The urge to call her the same floozy name Edward... Hated was tempting, but I resisted. I let her stew in her own words for a moment before responding, "I don't agree with your conclusion, Carol. I've heard that excuse enough times to be disgusted by the idea of Eric's

baby being some bond in our family." Carol shook her head, a defensive edge creeping back into her tone. "So, was keeping up the affair with Eric while pregnant your way of holding our family together? Was it that enjoyable humiliating me in secret?" "No, Joe, it had nothing to do with you," she said, her voice softer now. "Nonsense," I retorted. "It had everything to do with me! I was your husband. You promised not to sleep with anyone else, least of all my brother! What the hell made you think it was okay to sleep with other people?

That it didn't matter as long as I didn't find out?" "I'm sorry, I misspoke, Joe," she corrected herself quickly. "What I meant was it was more about me than you. When I chose to get pregnant with Eric, I realized he wasn't nearly as good a lover as you. He was selfish—all about his own needs, not mine. I couldn't wait for him to stop. I hated the way he made me feel: sweaty, dirty, uncomfortable. After I got pregnant, I stopped seeing him. From then on, all my love was for you because you cared about me and

made me feel good." "Which you did," I responded flatly. "After being with him, I appreciated how you treated me, both in and out of the bedroom." She continued, "So you went back to him because I was too good of a lover?" I asked incredulously, "That's ridiculous." She shook her head in frustration. "This may sound awful—" "Yeah, the whole Eric thing sounds pretty awful," she interrupted. "Let's just get on with this sad, sad story about how you had to screw the big, bad man who didn't please you." I said, a bitter edge in my voice, "Please,

Joe, I only have an hour left to talk to you. I still love you, but I know I've ruined my chances with you. I just want to convince you that what I did had nothing to do with our relationship. You were the best husband I could have asked for, but I have a flaw. I've been successful in life, and sometimes that makes me think I'm smarter or better than others. I lose sight of my compassion and act arrogantly. I needed someone to treat me harshly, and Eric fit that role. This flaw came out when your

parents pushed me into having Eric's baby instead of yours." "You mean when you were treated like a farm animal?" I interrupted, my voice rising. "I suppose that's one way to put it. There was no love involved. We undressed, had sex, and I left. No cuddling, no kissing afterward. I liked the sex but not the loving kind we had. It was about his rough passion, his big tool hitting me hard, pulling my hair. No emotional connection afterward; there was nothing—no affection, no promises, no plans—just rough sex when I needed it. Sometimes twice a month, sometimes not

for months. Eric didn't care about frequency. The bottom line is, Joe, I went back to him because I needed that humiliation. I needed something to keep me grounded, to stop feeling so superior. It wasn't because you were a bad lover—you were tender, loving, and treated me like a queen. But I used Eric to fix my superiority complex. Looking back, I see I made a huge mistake, and I'm sorry I hurt the best man I've ever known. I hope that someday, when all this is behind us, you'll remember the good times we had." "That's a pretty

far-fetched story," I said, skeptical. "At least I know most of the facts—or do I?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. She replied quietly, "Yes, you know all the facts." "Now do I really? Let's see, what don't I know? When was the last time he slept with you?" "The last time I saw him was when I kicked him in the kidneys after that awful day at your parents' house. I assume he didn't use a rubber?" I pressed. She shook her head, confirming my suspicion. "Did you ever think Eric's Magic Johnson could give you an STD?" I asked,

my voice harsh. She only shrugged. "Did we ever have sex on the same day you slept with Eric?" I asked, watching her face pale. "I always douched afterward and again at home," she responded, but the answer didn't settle my question. "That didn't answer my question—how many times, Carol?" I pressed again. "Not many, Joe, but there were times you really wanted to make love, and I hated turning you away. I told you I'd rather give you head and that you didn't need to go down on me." "Now that we've danced around the issue, let's get to

the truth. Did you ever give me sloppy seconds?" I asked, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. She hesitated. "I didn't keep track of that. I didn't want to do that to you, but yeah, there were probably times when it happened. I can't give you an exact number, but it probably did." The lasagna I had for lunch at Mama Ana's Ristorante was now boiling in my stomach like the lava of an empty volcano. The thought that I had sloppy seconds pushed me to the edge; just like the volcano, the hot lava erupted from my mouth

in a full-blown projectile vomit. Suddenly, the table and Carol were covered in the remnants of my previous meal. I stumbled toward the door, leaving a trail of small chunks of meat and pasta behind. Carol's sobs echoed in my ears. Guess she didn't appreciate having puke on her carpet. "Dress too bad. My attorney had to redo the paperwork because no one at the courthouse would touch it. Two weeks later, the divorce was finalized with me getting half of the college fund and car proceeds. Carol keeps the house until scum-sucker Sam finishes high school. I'm sure he

was pissed, but since he didn't want me in his life anymore, I took my money and left. Since I didn't father that ungrateful kid, I refused to pay child support. If the court demanded it, I changed the filing to infidelity and sued all the Tindles for fraud. No one wanted that kind of shame; hell, I was already ashamed to be a Tindle. During my self-imposed exile, I was torn about whether to watch the video files I downloaded from Eric's office. I was still struggling to process Carol's betrayal, let alone be calm enough to watch two

people I hated having sex. Each file was named, and when I saw the name Cindra on a relatively small file, a chill ran down my spine. Cindra was the wife of one of my best friends, John Brown. John was two years ahead of me in high school, but we barely spoke back then. He was a jock; I was a nerd. But this nerd helped the jock pass his English class. John excelled in science and math, but struggled with English. Over the semester, we became friends, and after he left for a small college on a football

scholarship, we lost touch. When he came back to town after graduation to be near his aging parents, he asked me about work. I was happy to see that his skills lined up with what we needed in the shop. I recommended him for a job, and we picked up our friendship where we left off. A couple of years ago, John and Cindra hit a rough patch. From what I heard, Cindra had gone out for a girl's night and either got comatose or drank too much. Somehow, she ended up sleeping with some guy. A shame. She told

John as soon as she got home, but by then, the damage was done. They had two young kids, and a divorce would have been disastrous. The Cindra video file was the smallest, and it started with her stumbling into a hotel room. It was clear someone had set up a phone camera on the dresser. She walked like a zombie, staring at the king-size bed. Eric walked into the frame and undressed the disoriented Cindra. At first, I thought there was no audio, but soon realized it was because there was no talking. I'd always been impressed by Cindra

in a bikini at the lake, but seeing her without clothes left me breathless. I could understand why John didn't want to lose her. I watched the video of Eric and Cindra, and it was disturbing. Eric treated her with complete indifference, showing no regard for her as a person—just a cold, detached interaction that left no doubt about how little he cared. Afterward, he grabbed a drink from the mini-fridge and lit a cigarette. Cindra shuffled to the bathroom, cleaned herself up, got dressed, and left. No words, just a cold encounter. John had always wondered what happened that

night, but now I had the evidence. If he ever wanted revenge, I invited him over to my apartment to talk. After a couple of beers, he asked what the top-secret conversation was about. "Unbeknownst to you, John, I came across a video of your wife having sex with another guy," I said. "It looks like she was either comatose, drunk, or both. I can tell you who it was, show you the video, or both. Which one would hurt the least?" It took John a while to compose himself. Tears welled up in his eyes, and his breaths grew

deeper. I placed my hand on his shoulder but stayed silent. "Who was it?" he finally asked. "Brother Eric," I replied. "But she can't stand him; thinks he's an idiot. Why would she sleep with Eric?" John's voice was full of disbelief. "She looked out of it. I'll show you the video so you can see for yourself. She wasn't the one making the moves." After watching the video, John's face fell. He now knew the truth: his wife had no idea who the man was and couldn't explain why they had sex. She cried uncontrollably as she confessed everything

to him. "Why would he screw an employee's wife like this?" John asked, trying to stay calm but clearly struggling. "It was a one-time thing, and he never contacted her again," she explained, her voice trembling with guilt. "My guess, John, is that he didn't even know her last name. He probably comatosed the most attractive woman in the room and went for it. He didn't care about her name, just her body," I added, my tone blunt. John stood up and wiped his eyes. "Thanks, Joe. Surprisingly, this helps. I'm glad I forgave her before because she was so

upset and sorry, but now I know the facts. I'm not sure if I'll tell Cindra, though. I'll have to play it by ear. Can I have this video, Joe?" he asked, his voice calmer now. "Of course, I think it's the only copy," I said. John hesitated for a moment, then looked at me with a wry smile. "Would you be upset if your brother had a few accidents in the next few months?" "Be my guest," I replied with a shrug. "It works in my favor too. I already kicked his nuts once, so I'll be the prime

suspect. Just let me know when, so I can have my alibi ready." "Thanks, Joe. You're like a brother to me." "Yeah, and you're a way better brother than I ever had." We hugged, and as he left, he..." called over his shoulder, "Keep in touch." I didn't spend much time going over the videos of Carol and Eric; it just wasn't worth it. The thought of it messed with my mind too much. Eventually, I decided to delete all the videos with Carol's name on them. I didn't want to see those two ever again. But as I was

erasing the files, fate stepped in, and I accidentally hit play instead of delete. When I accidentally played one of the videos of Carol and Eric, I saw enough to confirm what I already suspected. Carol appeared fully engaged in the situation, with no signs of hesitation, and it was clear she was complicit in what was happening. She wasn't lying when she said that with Eric, her husband, family, and friends all disappeared from her mind. Of course, she barked like the witch she was. The woman I had once loved and dreamed of was now humiliating herself like

this, and it hit me hard. That moment wiped away every good memory I had of her. Two weeks later, Jon came over for a beer to thank me for answering some awful questions that had haunted him for years. He also thanked me for showing him that Cindra had been sexually attacked, not cheating. He had an idea to use the remaining recordings to expose cheating wives and help husbands devastated by Eric's actions. I gladly handed over the rest of the disgusting videos to him. Meanwhile, my job search was progressing. One of Tindle's main competitors reached out

and asked me to come for an interview in their city. It was the first glimpse of happiness I'd felt in a while. I made myself available at any time they wanted to meet. The Donan Corporation, led by CEO Tim Donan, offered me an attractive employment package. The only catch was that I had to meet with the head of Reynolds Resources for a personality evaluation. After everything I'd been through in the past few months, I worried about what they might find wrong with me. The person I was supposed to meet the next morning at 10 was

Mickey D. Reynolds, the owner. Reynolds Resources did more than just personality evaluations; they handled HR duties, employee recruitment, corporate governance, and reporting for Donan Manufacturing. Tim said it took a load off his mind, as he was more of a hands-on engineer than someone who enjoyed paperwork. The office was sleek and modern—a stark contrast to Donan's more utilitarian setup. After giving the receptionist my name, I was offered coffee and a seat on the couch while Mickey was getting ready to see me. "No, Mr. Reynolds. It's Mickey D," she said with a smile. To my surprise, Mickey

D was actually Mickey D. She was an attractive woman, probably in her early thirties. She wasn't phased when I stumbled over my words as we shook hands; she gave me a firm yet feminine grip that I found pleasing. For the next couple of hours, we discussed my traits, preferences, and my approach to engineering. Our conversation was polite and pleasant. She subtly asked why I was leaving Tindle. She knew it wasn't appropriate to ask personal questions but gave me the space to share if I wanted. "I was passed over for president and underpaid for the work

I was doing," I told her. "Oh gosh, Joe, it's already 11:45! I bet you're ready for lunch. I'll send my report to Tim, and he'll be in touch with more details. Would it be against company policy if I took you out to lunch? You know, like a new employee tour?" she asked with a sly grin. "I'd love to do that," I replied. And so we went out for the first of many lunches, which turned into dinners and more. Over the next few months, I was slow to jump into a relationship, but I was eager to

spend time with her. I really enjoyed her company. From her reaction, she seemed happy with the pace and the development of our friendship. During this time, Tindle Manufacturing was struggling financially. Even though they had the cash to pay the bills, the money just wasn't available. Edward had to act fast as vendors and suppliers needed to be paid. He had to dip into his emergency assets to keep the company afloat. The 60 acres of prime land close to town were worth millions, but the thought of mortgaging it sent a chill through the Tindles, who had owned

the property for over a century. They used the mortgage funds to keep things running until Edward went to the Caymans to gain control of the money. Unfortunately, the damage to their reputation was severe. Suppliers who used to allow 14-day credit terms now demanded cash upfront. This severely hurt their working capital, and the mortgage wasn't paid off when the money from the Caymans finally made it back to the States. As time passed, Mickey D learned the details of the explosion in my personal and professional life. She was understanding, as her world had exploded too. Two years

ago, a UPS truck had run over and eliminated her husband, the founder and driving force behind Reynolds Resources. After his end of life, she had worked tirelessly to keep the business afloat. Meanwhile, Jon told me that someone attacked Eric in a dark bar parking lot. Eric had taken several blows from a steel pipe lying on the ground. He begged for mercy, reaching up with his right hand. The attacker grabbed Eric's middle finger and bent it back until he heard it snap. After a shriek of pain, Eric passed out, missing the admonition from his attacker, "That's

for sticking your finger in my wife." My job at Donan brought much-needed happiness into my life. I settled in quickly, and since I didn't have a non-compete clause with Tindle, I started poaching their... best customers. They knew I had left the company and were happy to hear from me. I wasn't the salesman Eric had been, but I knew what the customers needed and how to produce it better, faster, and cheaper than Tindle. Eric, on the other hand, knew little about our products; he just knew they had to be paid for. He wasn't out calling on

customers much, as he kept getting hurt, usually after leaving a bar. Six months after the divorce was finalized, my relationship with Mickey D was fantastic. In addition to being beautiful, loving, smart, and caring, she was a lot of fun to be with. After many dates and growing closer, our evenings became more intimate— not rough, but full of touching, kissing, and rubbing. One night, it became clear that Mickey was acting as though she wanted to be in bed with me. After dancing a bit closer than usual, she picked up on my sexual interest as her leg

brushed against mine. She looked up with those stunning eyes and asked, “Shall we leave now?” “Absolutely,” I replied. Then I kissed her with more passion than I ever had before. We couldn't keep our hands off each other. On the way home, things almost got out of control, but with endorphins flowing, how could we stop? It wasn't a wild shirt-ripping contest; just slow, deliberate undressing in her bedroom, both of us exploring unfamiliar territory. Our breathing quickened; heart rates rose. Then, as we paused, she whispered in my ear, “Did you bring protection?” “No,” I replied. “I'm sterile;

that's why Carol had Eric's baby.” “What did the doctor say about being sterile?” “No doctor; my mom told me I had the MS as a kid, and that's why I couldn't get Carol pregnant.” “The same mother who lied to you about your father and encouraged your wife to sleep with your brother? If I were you, I wouldn't believe a word she says. You need a real doctor's opinion.” She paused. “Now, let's have some amazing Zach.” By morning, we'd had Zack at least four times, and I believed Mickey had probably quadrupled that number. After we'd both

exhausted our sexual energy, the topic of my fertility came up. I promised to see a fertility specialist and get my prostatic fluid tested. Of course, I'd have to wait a week until my body recovers. Anything close to the prostatic fluid count I produced that weekend should be fine. After an awkward visit to the doctor's office for the prostatic fluid test, I was told to return in a week for the results. Since Mickey was curious, I asked her to come with me to the doctor's appointment. The doctor didn't take long to inform us that I wasn't

infertile; my prostatic fluid count was 25 million, which was lower than average but not alarmingly so. The normal range is between 50 and 100 million. The mobility of my static fluid was also within the average range. The doctor reassured us that unless we were trying to conceive immediately, there was no reason to worry. He suggested I take some vitamins and avoid excessive drinking, as that might help. His best advice? The best way to get pregnant is not to try too hard. It’s a bit like roulette; your prostatic fluid just needs to meet the egg. With

my lower prostatic fluid count, the odds were slim but not impossible. Mickey D went back on birth control, and I used a rubber for a couple of months. We decided it was best to wait until after the New Year to think about moving in together, but first, she wanted me to meet her parents. She told them she was dating a great guy, and they were eager to meet me. I was a little nervous as we drove up to a large but unassuming house. As soon as the door opened, Mickey D stepped in front of me

and hugged a man in gray slacks and a red Christmas sweater. She turned slightly to the right and said, “Daddy, I want you to meet the man I love: Joe Tindle. Joe, meet my father.” I interrupted, saying, “Mr. Donan.” “Oops,” I said. “Tim, I didn't know you were her father. Wow, I don't know what to say.” “Just say, ‘Nice to see you, Tim,’ and come on inside,” Tim said. “Why didn't you tell me Tim was your father? Don't you think that would have been something I'd be interested in?” “Yes, Joe,” Mickey answered, “and that's why

we didn't want you to know. We wanted to see if you were interested in me or my inheritance. Plus, we didn't want you to take heat from the employees for dating the boss's daughter and only heir to the company.” Like me, I had a younger brother, but he died when he was 16. So what does being invited to Christmas dinner with your parents mean for me? I asked. “Does it change our relationship?” “Joe, it means I love you and want you to meet my family. Business is separate. Since you've told me you have no family,

I'm asking you to spend Christmas with mine.” “Okay, now I get it about Mickey D; the D is for Donan,” I said. “I really am clueless, aren't I?” She giggled and replied, “Maybe you should have a D in your name for ‘duh’.” We all laughed, and the tension eased. We had a wonderful afternoon and evening. I genuinely enjoyed spending time with Tim and Mickey's mother, Barbara. Although I was a bit clueless, I got the sense that my request for Mickey's hand in marriage would be met with approval from her parents. I was pretty sure Mickey

would say yes, but after everything I'd been through, I didn't want to take anything for granted. My instinct proved right three months later when I went down on... One knee with a blue velvet box in my hand, Mickey jumped off the couch and into my arms. She kissed me passionately, then pulled back just long enough to pant, "Yes, yes, yes!" Then she returned to kissing me as if her life depended on it—not that I minded her enthusiasm. Three months after Mickey and I got married, we had a small private wedding. There were no guests from

my side of the family—just John, CNRA, and a few new friends. After a relaxing honeymoon in the Caribbean, we returned to my apartment and started our new life together. The first thing we did was decide it was time for Mickey to stop taking her birth control pills. We figured it might take a while for us to conceive, so we were in no rush. We also went to the county courthouse to change our names. Mickey decided to return to her maiden name, Mickey Donan, and I followed suit, changing my name to Joseph Timothy Donan. We felt

it was the right move for us both. When we asked him for his blessing, he was touched. With tears in his eyes, he whispered, "Thank you, son," which meant a lot to me. Meanwhile, JN had found a video of Carol and Eric together, one of the many from their affair, and determined to get some revenge for both of us. He sent copies to several junior and senior boys at the school where Carol worked. The video was titled "Principal Screwing Class 101." A week later, Carol was walking down the hallway at school when she began hearing

barking sounds. At first, she thought it was some kind of strange coincidence, but the barking continued, coming from groups of boys in the hallways. When she stepped into the office, it stopped—only to start up again as soon as she left. After the video of Carol and Eric spread, the students at her school began mocking her in the most humiliating ways. Their disruptive behavior, like making barking noises, was relentless, and it completely destroyed her credibility and respect among the staff and students. At first, she tried to ignore it, but as the noise followed her everywhere, she

became more and more uncomfortable. The barking grew louder as she walked across the school grounds the next morning, and she quickly realized that someone had spread the video of her and Eric. It was a humiliation she wasn't prepared for. After a tense encounter with Eric at his office, where she demanded to know if he had leaked the video, he claimed he hadn't, saying the video had been hacked and gone viral. But Carol knew the damage was done; her reputation, her career, and her dignity were on the line. She tried to push through the day, but

it was clear that her professional life was unraveling. She bolted from her office and ran home to lick her wounds. The next day, she went back to work, but the damage was beyond repair. The boys at school continued to mock her, and she eventually lost all credibility with the staff, students, and the school board. [Music] [Applause] [Music] [Applause] [Music]