1. No More Februarys


    Date: 8/18/2024, Categories: Loving Wives, Author: bySelfTherapy 

    ... slowly to the front door, key in hand. But the door wasn't locked. She opened it, stepped inside and closed it, saw her husband's suit coat over the back of the nearest chair. "I'm home. It's just me, the same old me...well, not exactly because I've realized some things I wish I'd known before last night."

Silence. The living room looked normal, just as they left it, except for the suit coat and beside the chair Jim's suitcase, back from the hotel. She walked toward the kitchen. Louder now, "Honey, where are you? I see your jacket and bag." On the kitchen table was a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and a juice glass with what looked like melted ice and a little whiskey in the bottom. A chair was pulled out, and there was a note pad and pen on the table. Standard Jim problem solving format. On the pad, in Jim's printing, but getting sloppier as the words went down the page:

"WHY???

Me:

Attention? Work, kids, her, what else could I do?

Money? PROMOTION How soon? More work, won't see kids.

Muscles?GYM?diet.

Her:

SLUT?First time? How long?How many men? KIDS?DNA!!!

Fantasy? Never discussed--Dee maybe?cuck shit?

Hate? why? Hidden

drugged? no. maybe? NO--excuse

DEE:

always been slutty. bad influence?

SETUP????? Dave too? Swingers? WHOLE GANG???!!!need new ...
    ... friends

DIVORCE?

kids.custody? Support $$$ house?

Alimony? $$$ lawyer bills PI $$$

paid to fuck around!HELL NO!!!

LEAVE

where? outside USkids?how?

Permanent.HIDE? How long? Job?

"

She sat in the chair, crying again as she read the note. "Oh Jim...my sweet, sweet loving Jim. I'm soooo sorry I put you through this. But where are you sweetheart? I need you and I know you need me. Let me make it better, please? Where ARE you?" She stood up, checked the garage where she found both cars parked as usual. She walked to the den where she found Jim's shoes and tie, the safe open and on his desk scattered financial papers, their wedding album and another photo album of last year's vacation. It was open to a page with a large photo she took of Jim with both kids, all smiling like they owned the world even though it was just miniature golf. There was another nearly-empty whiskey glass. The computer was off.

She headed upstairs to their bedroom where Jim had probably drank himself to sleep. There was an unpleasant smell, like vomit and something else, getting worse as she got closer to the bedroom. Then she really understood what she'd done.

Jim lay back on the bed, still dressed, lower legs hanging off, his sock-clad feet barely touching the floor. Behind him on the wall, a giant splatter of red.
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