Husband Got Nuclear Revenge After Made DNA Test & Revealed Wife Cheated At The Wedding. Audio Story

[Music] “I’m out of here!” I declared. “Fine, and don’t bother coming back!” my wife shot back. Normally, I’d toss out a “go to hell” as I stormed out, but today I aimed for more civilized parting words. We’ve slung similar barbs over our 14 years hitched, but this time I won’t be circling back. In a few days, she’ll grasp what I meant this round. Over the past half year or so, Jenna, my wife, turned into a verbal wrecking ball. I couldn’t figure it; her jabs, to put it mildly, stung. I started dodging her to keep

things from boiling over. Each day, I’d stall longer in the car. Sometimes, I’d slip back home after Jenna and Carrie, our 13-year-old, finished supper. I had to take care of me. Sometimes there’d be leftovers; lately, though, it seems they’ve vanished before I return. I go by Kurt Kaminsky. Technically, it’s David Kurt Kaminsky, but my old man’s also a David, so they dubbed me Curt from the start to sidestep confusion. Nope, not a junior; dad’s David John Kaminsky. Why he skipped the junior bit, I can’t fathom. I’d happily answer to Junior or even DJ, but nope,

just Kurt. Or Nat. Yep, I’m Polish. Well, sort of—an American with Polish roots. Heard all the jokes; well, most of them. They keep turning out new ones each year. As the lone Pole I know, apart from Dad, in this 10,000,000-strong town, I’ve become the punchline. Technically, I’m half Polish; the other half from Mom’s side is German, French, Irish, and English. But since I’m a Kaminsky, I’m a Pole. My soon-to-be ex-wife ain’t who I thought. I only caught wind of this four weeks back. As I said, I was keeping clear of her due to the misuse.

After a few dinners, Mia, one Monday evening, I hit a diner in a booth ready to order. I overheard two guys chatting in the next booth and caught a phrase with “Pole” and tuned in. “So, how long you been with the Paulus missus? Since they tied the knot? Heck, I even betted her on their wedding day, and he’s clueless!” The first voice was unknown, but the second—I knew my best bud, George Cary. I froze. They kept yakking, but I heard zilch until George spilled, “Yeah, we rendezvous at least twice a month. Kurt’s so clueless in

the lot; he’s none the wiser. Dumb luck.” Just then, the waitress came to take my order. Quietly, I murmured, “Sorry, got a jet.” I bolted, making sure they didn’t catch sight of me. I couldn’t wrap my head around it—Jenna, my wife, with my closest buddy, the guy who stood by me at the altar. He’s also my go-to mechanic, and that’s not changing anytime soon. Well, not officially my mechanic—more like an exclusive contractor I rely on solely to fix and inspect all my cars. In case you’re wondering, I run a used car dealership. Yeah, I’m a

used car salesman. Heard all the jokes and jabs, but business is booming. People trust they’re getting top-notch cars at fair prices, and if any issues crop up, I handle them. George has always been a top-notch mechanic, and I keep him busy and compensated well. I wanted to bring him on his staff, but he cracked a joke about not respecting himself if he worked for a Pol. Said it in jest, but I sensed he meant it. Still, I took him on as an independent contractor, though he wasn’t all that independent. The truth is, I was his

sole source of income, and that fact will be his undoing. Leaving the diner, I cruised the streets, doubting what I’d heard. Was it true or just his boasting? They might have hired a PI, but if what he said was legit, their meetups were sparse—might end up a waste of cash. But I decided to snoop through her phone and email. Back home, Jenna was her usual self—fine by me. I needed the truth before talking to her. When she dozed off, I checked her email. Clean. Her phone was locked, but it didn’t take me long to crack

it. Our daughter’s birth date. Found a few sketchy messages, but nothing from George. His name in her contacts wasn’t odd, considering he was my pal. Maybe he was just talking trash, I thought. Yet her recent behavior hinted something's amiss—perhaps not with George, but someone else. I hit the hay, restless. It was past 2:43 a.m. when I finally drifted off. The next day at the dealership, George cracked his usual Polish jokes. I usually let them slide, but today I snapped. “George, what do you even know about Poland? Bet you couldn’t find it on a map if

your life depended on it! You joke about Poles being dim, but I’m sure they could locate the U.S.—maybe even our state! Get to work.” George stared, lost for words. He knew I was on to something. He wasn’t the academic MC type—more street smart, good with engines, not textbooks. I guess that’s why we hung out in high school. I’d help him with his studies, ensuring he graduated. Now I’m reconsidering our friendship. He got me thinking about picking a spouse. I retreated to my office, shut the door, and mulled over how to gather evidence. Confronting them both

head-on wouldn’t fly; they’d just brush it off. I needed solid proof. I rang up a PI in Santa Fe and laid out my worries. He reckoned monitoring them would cost a pretty penny. Given their sporadic meetups, you could slap a tracker on her phone; at least you’ll know its whereabouts when you check. Or set up cameras at home, but unless they’re top-notch—and by that, I mean pricey—they’ll likely get spotted. Even with fancy gear, if she’s alert, she’ll probably catch on. If I were you... I'd tag her phone and hope to catch them red-handed. He suggested

a tracking program and waved off payment. "Consider it a freebie," he said. "Everything I told you is online anyway." Still, you came through with valuable advice. "Expect a check," I insisted. "If you ever swing by Silver City, drop by Kaminsky's lot," he offered. "I don't usually venture out that way, but if I do, I'll look you up," I replied, and I sensed he meant it. A big part of my sales success came from making folks feel important. Early on, I learned folks crave validation. I opted for the tracking software, saving cash and hassle on cameras.

Genomite spotted that night when everyone was out cold; I sneaked up and installed the tracking app on her phone, syncing it with mine. It'll run in the background, unbeknownst to her. Finally, I slept soundly. The next day at work, I kept tabs on the app. Jenna worked part-time at the uni bookstore, 15 to 20 hours a week. She called her earnings mad money and splurged at the salon. She hit the grocery store and later was back home. George was home most of the day, but whenever Jenna was in, he was out working. So at least

for that day, I figured nothing had gone down. That evening, I tried being more civil to my wife and daughter, suggesting dinner out. My wife seemed somewhat responsive; our daughter, typical teen, hesitated, but I insisted. Dinner went smoothly. I casually brought up George, and Jenna shifted uncomfortably, swiftly changing the subject, fueling my suspicions. I want to find out if George's words hold water. I've got to get to the bottom of this somehow. That night, I refrained from checking her phone. My attempts to peek at her calls or texts came up empty; either she swiftly deleted

them or didn't make any at all. Climbing into bed, I thanked Jenna. "Thanks for joining us for dinner." "Thank you, Kurt. It was a nice surprise," she replied, meeting my gaze. "You might be in luck tonight. It's been a while, and like I mentioned, we haven't been getting along lately." After her usual nightly routine in the bathroom, Jenna nestled beside me. I felt conflicted about the possibility of closeness with her. If she had been unfaithful, did I even want it? I resolved to let her take the lead. Until I had solid evidence, I wouldn't initiate.

We did end up being physically engaged, but it was rather ordinary—no need for specifics. Well, at least I enjoyed it. Throughout the week, I kept tabs on her phone's location, finding nothing out of the ordinary. On Saturday night, while she slept, I checked her phone for any messages or calls, yet again finding nothing. I was close to convincing myself that George was just blowing smoke, trying to impress someone with his tales of conquests. This wasn't the first time I'd known him to do so, since our school days. I tossed and turned in bed once more,

my subconscious refusing to let me sleep. At 2:00 a.m., I lay there staring at the ceiling, unable to drift off. I decided to go downstairs for a drink, hoping it might help me relax. Sitting with a glass of Jack Daniels and Coke in one hand and her phone in the other, I decided to check it once more. Entering the password—our daughter's birth date—I opened her phone to the homepage. Suddenly, it hit me like a bolt of lightning: our daughter's birth date was the key. Jenna's pregnancy had been challenging; we had feared losing her several times

due to complications. There was an issue with her Rh factor not matching Jenna's, causing her body to reject the baby. Jenna spent the last three weeks of the pregnancy on bed rest to ensure the baby's safe delivery, and indeed, Carrie was born exactly nine months after our wedding. We were overjoyed at her health, but she proved to be a demanding child. She cried incessantly, had trouble sleeping, and struggled with nursing. It was tough going. In Carrie's second year, Jenna firmly declared we weren't having another child. It saddened me, but truthfully, the baby had drained much

of the joy from our lives. I mentioned that she was born nine months after our wedding; they call such children "wedding night babies" because they're conceived on that night or during the honeymoon. A light bulb went off in my head; if George's claims were true, then there was a strong chance Jenna was already pregnant before our wedding night. Jenna was on the pill. No, we didn't wait until marriage to be physically engaged; it was a significant part of our relationship. The doctor speculated that the stress of the wedding might have interfered with her hormones, rendering

the pills ineffective. Well, if the pills failed that night, they likely failed that day too. Now I know what to do. There's a 50/50 chance I'm not the father. You know the saying: the early bird gets the worm? Well, George might have been an early bird, but in his case, it seems the early worm gets the birdie. I got off the couch and headed to the bathroom, where I found some cotton swabs. Carrie was fast asleep in her room; she finally settled into a good sleep routine at four years old. Before that, it was a

struggle. She lay there snoring with her mouth open. It was simple to gently swab the inside of her cheek with a Q-tip; she didn't even stir. After sealing it in a plastic bag, I repeated the process for myself. Even if Carrie turned out to be my biological daughter, it still left questions about Jenna's faithfulness. If she wasn't, but I pushed those thoughts aside for later consideration. Sunday was for chores, and we each had our tasks. I took my time avoiding... Jenna and Carrie, to keep my emotions in check, I was anxious to confirm my suspicions

but plagued by doubt all day. "Something on your mind?" Kurt, Jenna inquired. I needed a quick answer, so I replied, "I'm planning to buy a bunch of cars at the next auction to stock up the lot. Money might be tight until I make some sales." "Just don't overextend," she advised, always referring to the business as ours, though it was really mine. I'd say, "Set it up as a separate entity to protect my personal finances. Living in a religious community, I didn't want business decisions to affect my personal life negatively. I'm thinking of paying off the

credit cards and keeping only one open to improve our credit." I told her it was a tactic to mask my strategy in case she found out about it later. "Do what you think is best," she responded indifferently. The idea came to me in a flash; it's amazing what your mind can do when you let it. This would minimize fallout if my suspicions proved true. So, bright and early Monday, I took the samples to Western New Mexico University and spoke with someone in the science department. They directed me to the department head, who welcomed the opportunity.

I handed over some business cards and offered a 10% discount to anyone working on the samples. He seemed appreciative. "I've been eyeing a new car to replace my Camry. I might swing by and check out your selection. If nothing catches my eye, I'll work with you to find something," I mentioned. "Thank you, I'll keep that in mind," he replied. As I left the university, I knew I wore a smile, but it was tinged with worry. The test results could spell the end of my marriage. When I mentioned buying new cars to Jenna, it was merely

a cover-up for my troubled thoughts. Yet, the idea started to grow on me. I summoned Paul, my accountant, loan officer, and occasional salesperson, into my office and shared my plans. "We're going to make this work," I assured him. "There's something else, Paul," I continued. "I want to clear the mortgage on my house. Can we work out a lump-sum payment?" "Let me crunch the numbers and get back to you after lunch," he replied, exiting my office. As he left, I pondered contacting my lawyer for a family law referral, but then I hesitated, thinking, "Hold your horses,

let's see the results first." I've yet to find concrete evidence of infidelity. After lunch, Paul presented the spreadsheet, and we discussed the next moves for both plans. The following two days dragged on, each moment filled with anticipation for the DNA test results. Late Wednesday evening, the department head phoned, confirming the outcome and arranging to visit to discuss the car. When he arrived, I ushered him into my office; his expression said it all before he even spoke. "The samples aren't related," he confirmed. I nodded, though the news hit hard, even though I'd half-expected it. He gave

me a moment before handing over the envelope with the results. When I glanced back up, my demeanor shifted. "So, about that car you were eyeing?" I inquired. "Well, it might sound cliché, but I've hit the big 5.0, and I'm eyeing a sports car, thinking of a Mazda Miata," I shared. Though I didn't have one in stock, I promised to scour the auction the next day for a well-kept one. "I'll ring you this afternoon with any updates," I assured him as he left. "I've told Anna I might leave early, but I'll be reachable if needed," I

thought to myself, knowing she wouldn't call; she rarely required my assistance. She handled most tasks herself. As I drove around the city, everything seemed different. I made a call to my lawyer, who, though saddened by the news, directed me to a colleague he trusted. After the call, I booked an evening appointment. The next day, over a snack at a restaurant, I reflected, "Have I truly squandered the past 15 years?" I couldn't even claim to have a child from this marriage. While I still regarded her as my child to some extent, biologically she wasn't mine. What

to do next? I couldn't pretend ignorance anymore. I'd been aware before, but now there was no turning back. One thing I was certain of: George would face consequences. It didn't matter that he'd been my closest friend for years; with friends like him, enemies seemed preferable. Jenna too would face repercussions. I wondered if she was aware that Carrie wasn't mine. Even if she wasn't, she kept this truth hidden from me: the secret of her infidelity on our wedding day with my best man, my supposed friend. Now, I had no reason to doubt what I'd overheard; she

indulged with him at least twice monthly. Anger began to well up inside me, and before it spiraled out of control, I knew I needed solitude away from everyone. I should have called Jenna, informing her I wouldn't be home that evening. Going home was out of the question; I feared I might do something that would land me in jail. She picked up the call. "Hello, Kurt." "Hey, I'll be spending the night in Albuquerque to prep for the auction tomorrow at 8." "Oh," I responded flatly. "Well, okay then. Have a safe trip." I rarely ventured to Albuquerque

for auctions, so this deviation was notable. I wondered if she'd exploit my absence for the night; she'd have to come up with an excuse regarding Carrie for my parents, which wouldn't be easy to explain. Nevertheless, I'd intermittently check her phone tracker throughout the evening to see if she ventured elsewhere. I navigated the roads to Albuquerque, aiming to purchase at least 20 cars, including a Mazda Miata. I'd arranged for their pickup and delivery to my lot post-auction. Now the... Dilemma: who to entrust for their mechanical inspection? I knew George wouldn't get any further business from me

once his current routine inspections and repairs were done. Upon hearing I’d irked two dozen cars, he'd likely envision dollar signs and inflate his charges, but that wasn’t going to happen. I’d keep it under wraps until the last minute. I needed to consult with a local auction dealer to identify someone skilled and dependable to inspect them before shipping to our small town, arriving in Albuquerque around 9:00 a.m. I checked into a Best Western hotel. Despite being the owner, I couldn't justify splurging on an expensive hotel using company funds. The room was comfortable, as was the bed—just

what I needed. I'm a simple person with simple needs. Upon entering the room, I immediately checked Jenna's phone tracker, discovering she was still at home, or at least her phone was. Sleep proved elusive that night. I couldn't shake off thoughts about her actions and motivations. How could she justify her affair, especially on our wedding day, and continue it for who knows how long? I started to reassess our marriage. It was never perfect, but I believed in our exclusive love. Now I realized it was a mistake from the very beginning. In the initial years following the

wedding, things weren't smooth sailing; naturally, we didn't anticipate a baby right away. Our original plan was to wait 3 to 4 years before starting a family. We had agreed on having three children before tying the knot; however, Carr's arrival disrupted these plans. Learning that my best friend was the cause of this disruption made all the struggles seem futile. Fourteen years of effort seemed wasted, despite the good times we’d had being overshadowed by this revelation. If Jenna hadn't been involved with George, perhaps she would have conceived with me. Maybe her pregnancy wouldn’t have been as difficult,

and we wouldn't have had such a challenging child leading her to not desire more children. George shattered my life when he seduced my future wife on our wedding day. Now he entertains her at least twice a month, all the while likely mocking me. The oblivious fool; he must face consequences, I thought as I lay down, attempting to calm myself and drift off to sleep. Anger simmered within me once more. I needed to regain composure or risk a sleepless night. I turned on the TV to watch a mindless comedy show; laughter helped soothe my nerves, and

by 11, I was ready to doze off, looking ahead to a busy day. The auction went smoothly; I snagged some excellent cars at favorable prices and networked with dealers in the Albuquerque area. Spotting no Miatas at the auction, I inquired with other dealers. Two of them had one each: one red and the other black. I negotiated potential deals, pending confirmation of my client's preferred color. Naturally, both dealers agreed, assuring me they’d handle the transaction once I provided details of the cars on my lot. I should have frequented this auction more often. Interacting with fellow businessmen

in the same industry inspired me to expand my operations and provided a welcome distraction from my personal troubles. Later in the afternoon, during my meeting with the lawyer, the news wasn't encouraging. I faced losing half of my assets, along with alimony and child support payments for a child who wasn't even mine. In that moment, I decided against pursuing a divorce. Instead, I resolved to leave her with George's child. Paying off the mortgage on the house, she could remain there, but with only my name on the mortgage, she wouldn't be able to sell it. By continuing

to cover taxes and utilities while living elsewhere, she wouldn't have the option to resign and claim the house. However, I needed to make a decision regarding my business. Although it was registered as a corporation, I had a gut feeling that without proper protection, I could risk losing it. Consulting my business lawyer became a priority. Arriving home utterly exhausted from a demanding day, I informed Jenna of my fatigue. “I’m beat. Planning to shower and hit the sack,” I muttered, making my way to the bedroom. “Want dinner?” she inquired. “No, had a late lunch,” I replied. At

least she cared enough to ask. The shower was blissful—almost like my troubles were washing away. While problems persisted, I found solace in devising solutions. Minutes after my head hit the pillow, sleep enveloped me. The past week had been stressful, but with a plan in motion, I finally found mental reprieve. Rising early, feeling rejuvenated, I headed to the office before Jenna and Carrie stirred. There, amid spreadsheets and financial reports, I orchestrated my next moves. I briefed Paul on the 23 car purchases and instructed Anna to cease assigning work to George, emphasizing the need for secrecy. She

eyed me quizzically. “You’re the boss,” she remarked. “Thank you, Anna. You’re invaluable.” At 9 sharp, I phoned my business lawyer seeking advice. “Your business is registered, but she might still force a sale to claim half its value. Consider selling preemptively,” he suggested. “I can't; it’s my life,” I retorted. “Let me mull it over and get back to you by week's end.” This news hit hard. I’d poured sweat and tears into building my business, akin to raising a child. “Unlike Carrie,” I thought bitterly. Rage threatened to consume me again, but as a seasoned businessman, I knew

to compartmentalize. I refocused on my business agenda. First up: contacting Doug, who confirmed George’s claims. “Doug Kurt Kaminsky here. I’ve got intel on two Miatas you might fancy—red and black. Still interested?” “If the price is right,” he replied. “Which color do you prefer?” “Let me show you both. We’ll crunch numbers afterward. Even if we can’t agree, I can sell it easily,” I assured. “And your pick?” he pressed. “Red makes a bold statement.” But fades faster. Black's elegant, but heats up quickly. "Here, planning to garage it?" "Yes," he affirmed. "Reddit is then. When can we meet,

Monday or Tuesday?" "Perfect, call upon arrival." Deal. After hanging up, I dialed the dealer with the red Miata to negotiate a swap. He showed interest in the BMW sitting on my lot for three months, recognizing its better prospects in a larger city. Meanwhile, George showed up with several cars still awaiting repairs. As an independent contractor, his flexible schedule suited my needs, despite my simmering anger toward him. Overhearing a salesman discussing the impending arrival of 23 cars, George inquired about the schedule. "Hey Kurt, when are these cars from the auction coming in? I want to plan

my repairs," he queried. "The auction house will handle the delivery, likely late next week or early the following," I informed him, truly struggling to keep calm in the presence of this betrayer. I managed to chuckle as he departed. That weekend, I distanced myself from Jenna, occupying myself with yard work and errands. Checking her phone tracker no longer concerned me; I harbored only contempt for her. Raising another man's child felt unforgivable. Monday found me back at the car show. I arranged to trade the BMW for the Miata, setting off to Albuquerque to finalize the deal. "We'll

grab lunch upon your arrival," the dealer suggested, informing Anna of my day-long absence. I instructed her to hold the fort. "Got it, boss," she affirmed, her reliability shining through. A raise was in order. The journey and lunch were pleasant, forging a new camaraderie with the dealer. Driving back in the Miata, wind tousling my hair, I relished the freedom. Deciding to splurge further, I resolved to procure a black car, realizing I didn't need more than a two-seater. Soon, I pulled into our driveway in a fiery red sports car. Jenna glanced out the window and exchanged words

with Carrie, prompting them both to step outside to observe. "Why do you need this car, honey? We need something with a back seat for Carrie," she remarked patronizingly. "Just picked it up from Albuquerque for a client. Thought you might want to take a ride," I responded. "No honey, I'm not a fan of small cars," Jenna retorted, with a hint of disdain. "Carrie," I called, motioning for my daughter to join us. "No, Dad, I'm already teased enough because of my last name. I don't want to be seen with a Polish used car salesman." Her words stung.

Typical of a teenager's bluntness, I was taken aback. Where did this disrespect come from? Glancing at Jenna, I realized she was treating Carrie's remark as inconsequential. Now both the women in my house were showing disrespect. Teenagers might not always be close with their parents, but the hurtful manner in which she spoke made me question the authenticity of my family life. "I'm going for another drive. I'll be back soon," I announced. Shifting the car into reverse and driving off, fueled by frustration, I navigated the roads of Silver City until I returned home around 9:30. Heading straight

upstairs, I took a quick shower and crawled into bed. When I didn't emerge from the shower, Jenna entered the room, casting a bright light into my eyes. Squinting, I closed my eyes. "Are you sulking because we didn't choose a sports car? Aren't you going to spend time with your family? You're not just Polish; you're childish!" she chided. Her sudden attitude shift puzzled me. I couldn't shake the feeling that it stemmed from George. Spending time with him had seemingly influenced her disregard for my heritage, now passed on to our daughter. Yet she wasn't even my daughter;

despite supporting her, I needed to accept that fact. "Looks like you and your daughter would rather do without a Pole around, so you might as well just leave," I retorted heatedly. Her demeanor only fueled my anger. She would regret treating me this way. From then on, the atmosphere in the Kaminsky household grew cold and silent. The following day, I contacted Doug, who came over to inspect the Miata. He was thrilled with it. After discussing the numbers, he was pleasantly surprised by the great deal he received: $3,000 less than Kelley Blue Book. As he was finishing

up the paperwork, he mentioned, "My best friend handles purchasing for the university, and we rotate about 16 cars every two years. It might not be much, but could you speak with him?" "Always happy to do business, and I'll ensure he gets a good deal," I replied. "I'll have Jim reach out to you by the end of the week." "Thank you," I said. That's how I expanded my business: by treating people well and showing appreciation for their referrals. On Wednesday, my lawyer called. "Hey Kurt, I think I have a solution to your potential issue. Can you

swing by this afternoon to discuss it?" "Absolutely! I'm eager to get started." The tension at home had become unbearable. At the meeting later that day, I heard the plan and was pleased with it. It would take about two weeks to execute, but if successful, it would be worth it. Over those two weeks, I gradually moved personal items and tools from my house to an apartment nearby. Meanwhile, George awaited the arrival of the two dozen cars to do some work, but I kept delaying him. During the past weekend, I did some yard work and cleared out

my closet and drawers when Jenna and Carrie weren't around. Jenna did laundry during the week, so she didn't notice the emptiness of my closet. This brings me back to that Monday night when I told Jenna, "I'm leaving." She once again began to show rudeness and disrespect, targeting me for being Polish and a used car salesman. In the past, I would go to a motel for a night or... Two, depending on my level of anger, the following Tuesday morning, I arrived at the parking lot early and gathered my employees in the conference room. It was a

regular weekly meeting, so nothing seemed unusual. I began, “Good morning. As you all know, the cars I purchased a couple of weeks ago arrived yesterday afternoon. They've all been inspected and prepped, ready for sale. We won't be using George for any more work here. If he asks, just say we're going in a different direction. You've all been fantastic; you're like family to me, so it's tough to discuss what’s next.” Pausing to wipe a tear, I continued, “I've sold the business.” Surprised, they looked at me, but nothing changes regarding your roles, except Anna, who will take

on some of my duties and receive a corresponding raise. Despite their astonishment, they began congratulating Anna, recognizing her hard work and worthiness. “Anna, please come talk to me after the meeting; there are some things we need to discuss,” I said. “I’ll still be involved in the company, but only in an advisory capacity, and may occasionally sell. I don't want to interfere with your sales,” I assured her. They were all relieved that I’d still be around, even if only occasionally. After the meeting, as we exited, George stood there. “Hey, why wasn't I included in the meeting?”

he asked, surprised. “Because it was for staff only, and you're not an employee,” I explained. He seemed taken aback. “I see the cars have arrived; I'll get to work on them,” he said. “No need, they’ve already been prepared for sale,” I replied firmly, leaving him stunned. “But I always check the cars,” he protested. “George, I've sold the business, and the new owner wants to go in a different direction,” I informed him, holding back my anger. I’ll save that for another day. I kept it brief, realizing sometimes less is more. “I can't believe you sold the

business,” he exclaimed, making it about himself. “What now? You can pick up your check for the past two weeks' work. It wasn't much; Anna rarely utilized your services,” I stated bluntly. He’d been expecting to work on the cars, but he was out of luck. I felt no sympathy; I just wished I could tell him what I really thought of him. When I spoke with Anna, I asked her to keep our conversation confidential. “Of course, Kurt; I'll never divulge anything you don't want,” she assured me. “Here's the plan: I've set up companies registered in Nevada. One

buys the parking lot, the other buys the company. I own all the shares in both. Eventually, I'll divorce Jenna and ensure she doesn't get the business.” “Why?” she asked. “I've moved out. Jenna doesn't know yet, but I'm not going back. She had an affair with George; in fact, Carrie isn't my daughter. I suspect she's George's. I'm not sure if Jenna knows, let alone George. They'll find out soon. I won’t divorce, but I'll keep paying utilities and taxes for our house so she can't claim abandonment and take everything if she files for divorce. I don't want

her to take over the business. That's why I agreed to the company being bought twice. Let them figure it out; the proceeds will be spent by the time she gets the divorce done. Plus, I barely make anything from consulting and a few commissions. Anna, you can handle daily operations; I'll be available for questions, but I trust you and your judgment,” I explained. Anna smiled at the news of the new owner, but when she heard about Jenna and George, her expression turned deadly serious. This woman was someone I deeply admired and respected. “I have one more

task for you before I go. I need you to order a new sign and letterhead. We're changing the business name to Helpless Car. This will reinforce the idea to George and Jenna that the business is under new ownership,” I explained. I spelled out the name to ensure she got it right. She looked puzzled. “I'll explain the name choice someday; for now, just know it tells the whole story,” I told her. Though she seemed puzzled, she trusted me enough to follow through with that. I bid farewell to everyone and headed out. I got into my Audi

and drove toward Albuquerque. About two hours later, I received a call from Jenna. I hadn't expected her to call so soon. This was a familiar pattern: I'd leave for a day or two, she'd call, we'd talk, and I'd return. Things would change briefly, then revert to how they were before; we'd have another argument, and the cycle would repeat. I decided to answer the call, curious to hear what she would say this time. “Hello,” I spoke through the car's speakerphone. “Kurt, what's going on?” she asked, sounding hesitant. “Nothing much, just heading to Albuquerque,” I replied flatly.

“Why are you going there?” she inquired. “To pick up the car,” I stated without emotion. “So what? I heard must not be true. George must have called you, figuratively speaking. Perhaps he asked your mistress what's going on with her husband?” she speculated. “I don't know,” I responded. “What did you hear?” she pressed. “George called and said you sold the business,” she revealed. “Why would he call you?” I questioned, perplexing her. She corrected herself. “HEK, your best friend,” she said. “He was curious if I knew.” “Best friend? What a joke. I was a joke to him,

the silly pole, clueless about what's happening with his own wife behind his back. Apparently, my family felt embarrassed that I was a used car salesman. So yes, I sold the business; now you won't have to bear that stigma anymore. Shouldn't we have discussed this first?” she worried, likely concerned about our livelihood. “This is my company. I owned it before we got married, and I can sell it.” Whenever I want, I just hope the new owner treats my former employees well. Did you get a good price for it? She fretted about her standard of living. I

didn't care; I just knew I needed a change. I'll start job hunting after I take some time off to relax. "What about the mortgage?" she panicked. "I used the money to pay off the house. You only need to worry about utilities and taxes now." "What about food, gas, insurance?" she almost hysterically asked. "Guess I overlooked those. Do you think you could work more hours?" I suggested. "When are you coming home? This is the moment of truth," she pressed. "I won't return," I said casually. "Remember what you said when I left that evening? Don't worry, I'll

figure out how to cover the bills so the power won't be shut off." "You can't do this, Kurt! You need to come back!" she pleaded, desperation evident in her voice. "No, I really don't want to," I responded impassively. "Kurt, please don't do this," she cried. "I've already made my decision." "What about your daughter?" she tried to appeal to my emotions. "You mean Carrie, the girl who's ashamed of her last name and the fact that her old man is or was a used car salesman?" "Kurt, she's just a 13-year-old girl. You can't take this to heart,"

I retorted. "Well, it doesn't matter anymore. I won't be back again, so none of you will be embarrassed of me." With those words, I hung up and powered off the phone, letting her contemplate. I knew she'd try calling me back and grow frustrated when I didn't answer. After calming down from the call, I tried to enjoy the leisurely drive to Albuquerque. I assumed her next move would be to contact her lover for more information and to relay what I'd said. Upon reaching my destination, I switched my phone back on and noticed five missed messages. I

listened to them: three from Jenna, one from George, and one from Anna. I immediately dialed Anna. "Hi, Anna. Sorry my phone was off; I've been getting unwanted calls," I explained. "Yes, I know. Your wife and George called me to find out where you were. I told them you don't own this place anymore, so you won't be coming back. Hope everything is okay," Anna informed me. "Great," I replied. "They hassle you too much. Tell them you'll call the police for phone molestation." "I like that," she said. "Kurt, you might feel like you don't have family or

friends anymore, but trust me, you do. We are your family and always will be." "Thank you, Anna. You know just what to say. I hope your husband realizes how lucky he is," I remarked. "Trust me, he does. He tells me all the time. Never take that for granted," she assured me. "I won't," I promised. After ending the call, I debated whether to call my unfaithful wife or that idiot. Nah, let them stew. Exiting the Audi, I entered the parking lot office where the owner awaited. "I have that Audi I mentioned. Interested in discussing a swap?"

he proposed. "Let's see," he admired the car's condition inside, out, and under the hood. "I could sell it in a week." "Are you sure about the exchange? Feels like I'm getting the better end." "You can return the favor sometime," he suggested. "I'm not here to profit; I just want a sports car," I replied. Thirty minutes later, back on the road, top down, relishing the ride. Now where to? North sounded good, so off to Santa Fe. Over the next two weeks, I journeyed through northern New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, and Colorado. I stayed close in case Anna

needed me. I checked in with her a few times, and once things seemed settled, I headed west. Of course, they kept calling—at first annoyance, then apologies, finally hints of resentment. I listened but shrugged it off when they reported my canceled credit card. I chuckled. George even called, branding me a villain for leaving Jenna and Carrie. I chuckled some more. My lawyer texted me: Jenna threatened legal action if I didn't return. I returned his call. "Hello, Kurt speaking." "So my wife made threats to you?" "Yes, but if you're still paying on the house, don't worry; she'll

struggle to prove it," I assured him. "I can offer something better," I continued. "I have a recording where I declare my departure and she insists I don't come back. It's gold." "Send it my way," he requested. "If she causes any trouble, I'll take it to her lawyer. Let them sort it out." "Thanks! I'll check in next week to see how it's going." I roamed the Southwest. The Miata wasn't the coziest, but it was a blast. Caught glances, even a few flashes from bored, middle-aged women, but I wasn't seeking that. After all, I was still hitched,

no matter what. I drove to Reno, then Lake Tahoe, the coast, Napa Valley, and zigzagged along Highway One, to San Diego, Death Valley, to Vegas, then Phoenix—no rush. Chatted with folks in parking lots; some envied a guy in his 30s who could just hit the road. After approximately three months covering 8,000 miles, I opted to head back to Silver City. Upon arrival at Helpless Auto, I was warmly welcomed by my entire team, including a few new faces. They all expressed joy at my return. Stepping into Anna's office, formerly mine, she looked up, spotting me; her

smile widened even more. Rising from her chair, she walked around her desk and gave me a tight hug. After chatting for a bit, I inquired, "Do you think I can treat everyone to food and drinks at Wrangler's? Can you close the store by 5?" "It was already 3." "Absolutely! I'll make sure of it. The whole team will be there." After bidding them farewell and announcing... Our meeting in 2 hours. I left them in high spirits. Next, I paid a visit to my lawyer. During my travels, he informed me that Jenna had attempted to claim abandonment

to seize my assets, but he managed to thwart her efforts. We discussed our next steps. At 5, I joined the team at Wrangler restaurant. We enjoyed a fantastic dinner, and it was delightful catching up with everyone. As the evening wound down, they began to depart, leaving only Anna and me. She gazed at me and said, "You know, Kurt, you might feel powerless and lost, but you're mistaken. You simply placed trust in those you loved." I met her gaze. "So you figured it out?" "Yes," she replied. "It took some time, but your mention of the new

name, telling the whole story, lingered in my mind until I grasped it. You may be Polish, but those jokes never truly define you; they insult your heritage and who you are." "Thank you, Anna. You're the primary reason I returned. I had to witness how you handled my responsibilities." "I'm pleased to say you haven't filled my shoes; you forged your own path." "I had an exceptional mentor," she expressed gratitude. We embraced, and then she departed to her husband, who appeared genuinely content. I headed back to the apartment I hadn't visited in 3 months. The air was

stale, necessitating some ventilation. Opening the windows, I allowed the refreshing evening breeze to permeate the rooms. I grabbed a beer and settled on the terrace overlooking the pool. Several people were swimming, and a family was enjoying themselves nearby. My mind drifted to Jenna and me; we once harbored lofty aspirations and dreams when we tied the knot. Now they seem to have vanished. Glancing at the wall clock, I noted it was around 8:30. A realization struck me: it was time for a confrontation. I rose, hopped into my Miata, and drove to my house, technically still mine

since I purchased it before marrying Jenna and my name was the only one on the deed. Disappointment washed over me as I pulled into the driveway. The yard was unkempt; it appeared the landscaping had been neglected. The porch light was on, indicating Jenna was likely home. I approached the door and knocked. After a moment, Carrie answered. Her eyes widened as she greeted me, "Dad!" "Hi, Carrie. Is your mom home?" She stuttered before yelling, "Mother!" From the kitchen, I heard Jenna's tense, high-pitched voice. "What's the matter?" Carrie continued to stare at me and loudly exclaimed, "Dad!"

Jenna appeared from around the corner, spotting me, and shrieked, "Where are you going?" I opted to respond calmly to her outcry. "Traveling," I stated evenly. Just then, George emerged from the bedroom in his underwear. "Oh," I remarked, "the whole family is here: Mom, Dad, and child." "What the hell are you talking about?" Jenna retorted sharply. "I guess George has stepped in to fill my role after all; it's rightfully his," I remarked. Jenna appeared puzzled while Carrie's tone turned visibly enraged. "Actually, young lady, you seem to be misinformed," I interjected, knowing she disliked being corrected. "George

never worked for me by his own choice, so I couldn't have fired him. Regarding bills, all utilities and car insurance are covered." Jenna interrupted, "What about groceries and gas for the car? You had a job. Did you lose it? It used to cover expenses while I was away. Do you think you can just waltz back in and take over?" Jenna challenged. "No, I'll wait until you and your partner find somewhere else to live." It was clear they were staying together in my house, and Carrie seemed fine with it. Jenna retorted, "I'm not leaving my home."

"Correction, this is my home. It was mine before we married, and only my name is on the deed," I asserted. "You left, so now he's mine!" Jenna insisted. "That's not how the law works. Since I cover the utilities and taxes, I remain the legal owner, even though I've been away briefly. It's still mine. Don't worry; I'll give you until the end of next month to find a new place. Just make sure you take your daughter with you." "What do you mean, your daughter? She's our daughter!" Jenna protested. "You couldn't have said it more accurately," I

chuckled. Jenna looked confused. Turning to Carrie, I disclosed, "Carrie, I know you dislike being called Polish, so here's some news: your real father isn't me; it's George." Silence enveloped the room. After a moment, Jenna whispered, "What?" "Yes, Jenna, it seems your carelessness on our wedding day resulted in a child, but not mine. However, it's good news for you, Carrie; you can now take your real father's last name and become Carrie. I wonder if perhaps mom chose the name Carrie out of respect for her lover," I pondered aloud. Jenna and George exchanged looks, the color draining

from his face. "What about you, George? Don't you want to step up as a father? Well, that's unfortunate; it's time to take responsibility. But look at the bright side: it's just four more years until college," I remarked. Jenna and George nearly echoed each other: "I don't believe in that." With a swift motion, I handed them the DNA report. "See for yourselves." They snatched it, glanced at it, and then both collapsed. "Carrie, inform the lovebirds that your mom will be served with divorce papers next week, along with an eviction notice," I instructed before walking away. Throughout

my absence, I couldn't shake the thought of whether this affair had been ongoing during our marriage. Did she choose me, or was I just a pawn? I felt utterly helpless, ignorant, and vulnerable. George had mocked me behind my back and even cracked Polish jokes to my face. Back at the apartment, I drowned my thoughts in beer. The next morning, I visited the lawyer to initiate. The paperwork, despite knowing I'd have to sell the house and split the proceeds, being a barely working person, meant I wouldn't owe alimony or child support, especially with another man in

my place. At least that's what I hoped for. The betrayal by Jenna and George was devastating. Rebuilding trust, whether with a man or woman, would be a daunting task; perhaps I should consider therapy. As the divorce proceedings commenced, I returned to work at the dealership, emphasizing to my colleagues that I was no longer the boss and only needed one sale per week to cover my expenses. I even insisted on just one. When faced with court-ordered child support, I ensured that my bank accounts were emptied, leaving only enough for my basic needs at month's end. Jenna

hired a lawyer, though I questioned how she could afford one; perhaps he worked pro bono. Regardless, they'd be in for a surprise. Despite scrutinizing my accounts and the sale itself, they failed to uncover anything substantial. I learned from my colleagues that during my absence, George visited the dealership almost daily for the first two weeks, trying to secure work from Anna; however, she consistently turned him down. Eventually, he gave up. Now he regretted not obtaining his ASC certification, as his only job prospect was at Valene, doing quick oil changes for $13 an hour. I hoped Jenna

would work full-time or they'd struggle financially. I contacted the realtor and notified Jenna that I was listing the house for sale, anticipating a 50/50 split of our assets. Since she had already received an eviction notice, she needed to vacate before the sale closed. One evening, Jenna knocked on my door, and I reluctantly let her in. "What do you want?" "Kurt, can we talk?" she asked. "I'm not sure it's a good idea; we're in a legal battle," I replied. "Come on, Kurt, it's just us—no lawyers. Can we have a civil conversation?" she pleaded. "All right, but

let's go to Denny's," I suggested. There'll be witnesses, I thought to myself. I didn't trust her enough to be alone with her at Denny's. After exchanging pleasantries, I asked, "Why, Jenna?" She hesitated before answering. "I guess the simple answer is that I liked both of you and couldn't choose." "So you were seeing both of us at the same time?" I questioned. Jenna looked down and admitted, "Yes, but George warned me not to tell you because he knew it would ruin your relationship with him." "Then why did you say yes when I proposed?" I inquired. "Because

I loved you and George," she replied. "I loved him too, but I knew he wouldn't make a good husband, so we ended things. When you proposed, I focused on us and our wedding plans." "So on our wedding day, you were with him?" I probed. Jenna started crying and confessed, "Yes, everything was a mess." "Then what was it?" I pressed further. "I didn't want to lose him, and he didn't want to lose me," she admitted. "Well, now you have each other and your child. By the way, she did a great job with the name. I didn't

even realize until later during my travels." "I didn't know Carrie wasn't yours," I revealed. Jenna looked at me and said, "CT, I still love you." "It's nice to hear, Jenna, but I'm not sure you understand what love truly means," I replied. "I loved you more than anything, and clearly, you can't say the same," she retorted. "I loved you, but now I feel nothing but contempt," I stated firmly. Jenna realized our relationship was over; there would never be an us again. Before she left, I had to ask one final question: "Have you ever stopped?" After hesitating,

she decided to tell the truth: "We never ceased. We had our quiet times, but we typically met twice a month," she admitted. "I was hoping for a different response, but I appreciate your honesty. One more thing: about a year ago, your behavior towards me changed. What triggered it?" I inquired. Her face flushed red, then she grew slightly angry. "George started pushing for a bacchanalia not involving you. I might have considered it if you were involved, but we couldn't navigate it. His persistence made me resent you for something I knew you wouldn't agree to. It's odd,

but I thought I could have both of my men together and resented you for not being open to it," she confessed. "Did you go through with it?" I asked. "No, I contemplated it, but then you left, and everything fell apart," she admitted. "Well, now you're free to pursue it. Your choices don't affect me anymore," I remarked, sensing our conversation was concluding. I settled the bill, and we headed to our cars. Four months later, we stood before a judge and finalized our divorce. George was present too. Exiting the courthouse, Jenna suggested, "Maybe we can grab a

drink the traditional way." "Certainly," I agreed. Despite the previous animosity, it had dissipated. Then I thought, this marks the end of my association with them. They can now be together; let them wallow in their own mess. They deserve each other. Ha! Jenna will have to adjust to a lower standard of living. All right, maybe the resentment hasn't completely faded. Despite being Polish, I demand respect.