Speaker 1: I was never one for fate, for all that mystical
Speaker 1: nonsense about omens and signs. But if you pressed me,
Speaker 1: put a colt to my head and demanded I pinpoint
Speaker 1: the exact moment the flimsy scaffolding of my life began
Speaker 1: to buckle. I'd finger the day that support beam snapped
Speaker 1: at the construction site. My name is Everett, forty two
Speaker 1: years old, and up until that greasy Tuesday, I'd cultivated
Speaker 1: the illusion that my existence was built on something solid,
Speaker 1: something approaching stable ground. There was Barbara, my wife, thirty nine.
Speaker 1: She could turn a phrase with a viper's wit when
Speaker 1: she felt like it, which wasn't often with me anymore. More.
Speaker 1: Often she was a locked door, a blank wall. Then
Speaker 1: there was Gage, her son, my step son, sixteen. He'd
Speaker 1: drifted into my life when he was eight, a sullen
Speaker 1: little cloud of preteen angst already forming. I married Barbara,
Speaker 1: and by default I got him. From day one. I
Speaker 1: was the intruder, the guy who didn't belong in their tight,
Speaker 1: slightly dysfunctional orbit. Still I put on a show, built
Speaker 1: him a goddamn tree house he used twice, tried to
Speaker 1: teach him to fish. The little prick more interested in
Speaker 1: his phone batting cages a few times my attempt at
Speaker 1: some rockwlly in fantasy. We had moments, sure, fleeting instances
Speaker 1: where I thought, maybe this isn't a complete disaster. But
Speaker 1: underneath it all, the whole blended family charade, something was festering,
Speaker 1: a rot. We all pretended not to smell. Eight years
Speaker 1: Barbara and I eight years of a life constructed more
Speaker 1: from the bricks of routine and obligation than any genuine affection.
Speaker 1: I told myself. It was enough morning coffee, same stale
Speaker 1: inside jokes that had lost their punchlines years ago, date
Speaker 1: nights at the same mediocre Italian place where the waiter
Speaker 1: knew my order by heart. We didn't fight much, We
Speaker 1: didn't do much of anything. It was a beige existence,
Speaker 1: comfortable in its sheer, soul crushing predictability. In hindsight, that
Speaker 1: was the damn problem, wasn't it. I'd convinced myself. This
Speaker 1: sterile peace was happiness that my paycheck was a substitute
Speaker 1: for actual connection. If her son was a surly little
Speaker 1: fool who wouldn't give me the time of day, well
Speaker 1: that was just teenagers, right. I ignored every goddamn warning flare,
Speaker 1: the increasingly frequent girl's weekends where she'd come back looking
Speaker 1: more exhausted than refreshed, The way she'd cradle her phone
Speaker 1: like a lover, whispering into it late at night, always
Speaker 1: about some crisis at work. I needed a catastrophic failure,
Speaker 1: a literal two by four to the skull, to jolt
Speaker 1: me out of myself imposed stupor and buoy Did I
Speaker 1: get it? The beam collapsing wasn't a gentle affair. It
Speaker 1: was a twelve gage blast of concrete and steel. My
Speaker 1: legs shattered, tibia, fibula, the whole damn chorus line. Three
Speaker 1: ribs cracked like dry twigs, one puncturing a lung nearly
Speaker 1: bled out on a pile of rebar and dust. The
Speaker 1: doctors blessed their patronizing hearts, kept patting my arm, telling
Speaker 1: me how I was lucky. I was drowning in a
Speaker 1: sea of agony. My leg hoisted in traction like some
Speaker 1: grotesque piece of modern art. Tubes snaked from my nose
Speaker 1: my chest, monitoring my every pathetic breath. Nights in that
Speaker 1: sterile cage blurred into a monotonous hellscape of pain. Morphine
Speaker 1: induced hazes, the distant squeak of gurney's and the incessant,
Speaker 1: infuriating beep of machines tethering me to consciousness. My sister Bernice,
Speaker 1: she was there every damn day, homemade soup that tasted
Speaker 1: like ashes in my mouth, updates on Curtis, my dog,
Speaker 1: Probably the only creature in my house who genuinely gave
Speaker 1: a crap about me. She'd stay through the worst of it,
Speaker 1: when the pain meds wore off and the screaming started
Speaker 1: in my head. She was my anchor in that crap storm.
Speaker 1: And Barbara, my loving wife of eight years, vanished, poof gone.
Speaker 1: Not the first day when they weren't sure I'd make
Speaker 1: it through the night, Not the fifth, when I was
Speaker 1: lucid enough to ask for her. Not the tenth forty
Speaker 1: goddamn minutes that's the drive, forty minutes she couldn't spare
Speaker 1: for her husband, who nearly cashed in his chips. I
Speaker 1: tried calling the hospital phone, heavy and slick in my
Speaker 1: sweating palm. The first time she answered with a groan,
Speaker 1: something mumbled about gauge having a soccer game. Can't make
Speaker 1: it ef you know how it is the second time
Speaker 1: a Kurt Curtis is sick. Took him to the vet,
Speaker 1: can't leave him. The third, fourth, fifth time straight to voicemail,
Speaker 1: her professionally cheerful message a cruel mockery. Around day five,
Speaker 1: a sliver of actual panic wormed its way through the
Speaker 1: pain and resentment. Maybe she was in an accident, Maybe
Speaker 1: something terrible had happened. Bernice, Ever, the pragmatist, just shook
Speaker 1: her head, her expression a mixture of pity and weary resignation. Everett,
Speaker 1: you know Barbara, she said, her voice gentle but firm.
Speaker 1: She does what benefits Barbara, always has, always will. Deep
Speaker 1: down I knew she was right, but some pathetic, hopeful
Speaker 1: part of me still clung to the idea of a
Speaker 1: reasonable explanation. A week bled into ten days, ten days
Speaker 1: into two weeks, two weeks into three. The nurses, initially
Speaker 1: all brisk efficiency, started giving me those looks, you know,
Speaker 1: the ones, the pitying glances, the overly solicitous offers of
Speaker 1: an extra pudding cup. Tessa, one of the younger nurses,
Speaker 1: kinder than most, would sometimes perch on the edge of
Speaker 1: my bed offer a hand that felt surprisingly steady. She
Speaker 1: never asked directly why my wife was a ghost, but
Speaker 1: the question hung in the air between us, thick and
Speaker 1: suffocating as the antiseptic smell of the ward. It was
Speaker 1: nearly four weeks, four goddamn weeks of staring at acoustic
Speaker 1: ceiling tiles, listening to the symphony of suffering around me,
Speaker 1: before I finally got Barbara on the phone. Her voice
Speaker 1: was breezy, casual, like she was talking to a distant
Speaker 1: acquaintance she'd bumped into at the grocery store. So I
Speaker 1: croaked my throat raw, thinking of gracing me with your
Speaker 1: presence anytime soon? Or are you waiting for the funeral?
Speaker 1: A beat of silence, then, honestly, Everett, you're not worth
Speaker 1: the gas money right now. Her tone was flat, devoid
Speaker 1: of any emotion, like she was discussing the price of milk.
Speaker 1: Just die fast or heal quick. Okay, I'm tired of
Speaker 1: this whole in between thing. It's inconvenient. The phone slipped
Speaker 1: from my numb fingers, clattering onto the scratchy hospital blanket.
Speaker 1: Her voice, tinny and distant, continued to chirp from the receiver.
Speaker 1: Then a different voice, Gauge's unmistakably smug, adolescent sneer yeah,
Speaker 1: we don't miss you, old man. Click. I just lay there.
Speaker 1: The world tilted, then slowly righted itself. The steady rhythmic
Speaker 1: beep of the heart monitor was the only sound, a cold,
Speaker 1: mechanical confirmation that I was, despite their apparent wishes, still alive.
Speaker 1: Let me tell you, morphine can dull the edges of
Speaker 1: a shattered bone, but it doesn't touch that kind of
Speaker 1: a visceration, that kind of cold, calculated cruelty. I spent
Speaker 1: the next few nights wide awake, the pain in my
Speaker 1: leg a dull throb compared to the gaping wound in
Speaker 1: my chest. Every memory, every interaction with Barbara, every dismissive
Speaker 1: sneer from Gage, played on a loop in my head.
Speaker 1: How had I been so freaking blind? How would I
Speaker 1: miss the grand canyon sized cracks spiderwebbing through the foundation
Speaker 1: of my marriage, my life. Each day Bernice, bless her
Speaker 1: loyal heart, brought me not just soup, but another nail
Speaker 1: for the coffin of my denial. Bank statements with gaping
Speaker 1: holes where our money used to be, strange significant withdrawals,
Speaker 1: receipts from jewelry stores I'd never set foot in, plane,
Speaker 1: tickets to can Kun, a solo trip for Barbara, apparently
Speaker 1: booked while I was fighting off pneumonia in an ICU.
Speaker 1: She was siphoning off our joint accounts, our future, feathering
Speaker 1: her nest and as I'd soon discover the nest of
Speaker 1: someone else. A neighbor, Silvio some slick, recently divorced Prick,
Speaker 1: who'd moved in six months prior. Apparently he'd been helping
Speaker 1: her out, fixing all the little problems around the head
Speaker 1: while I was busy trying not to die. The image
Speaker 1: of him, hands all over my tools, my house, my wife,
Speaker 1: sent a fresh wave of bile into my throat. Think
Speaker 1: about it, f Bernice said, arms crossed, shoving another damning
Speaker 1: bank statement under my nose. Her eyes were hard. While
Speaker 1: you're lying here, literally fighting for your life, she's out
Speaker 1: there laughing it up with this, this jigglow, setting up
Speaker 1: a new life with your money. Are you just going
Speaker 1: to lie here and take it? Let her bleed you
Speaker 1: dry and dance on your grave. She knew me, knew
Speaker 1: that beneath the layers of complacency I'd wrapped myself in,
Speaker 1: there was a core of something harder, something that, once ignited,
Speaker 1: wouldn't be easily extinguished. But first I had to get
Speaker 1: the hell out of that hospital. My doctor, a well
Speaker 1: meaning but overly cautious man, insisted on at least another
Speaker 1: three weeks infection risk. He droned. My leg was a
Speaker 1: latticework of metal rods and pins. Breathing was still a
Speaker 1: conscious effort. Tessa, the nurse, tried her gentle persuasion it please,
Speaker 1: it's not safe, you need monitoring. But I'd had enough
Speaker 1: enough of the pity, enough of the helplessness, enough of
Speaker 1: being a god damn patient. I signed myself out ama
Speaker 1: a scrawled signature of defiance. Bernice, her lips pressed into
Speaker 1: a thin line of disapproval, but her eyes understanding, drove
Speaker 1: me to a staybridge sweets, an extended stay hotel, anonymous bleak,
Speaker 1: but mine. It was time to claw back some semblance
Speaker 1: of control, some iota of power in the wreckage of
Speaker 1: my own life. Are you sure about this, ev Bernice asked,
Speaker 1: her voice laced with genuine concern as she helped me
Speaker 1: hobble into the sterile room. What if something goes wrong,
Speaker 1: You're not exactly in fighting shape staying in that bed, Bernice,
Speaker 1: I rasped, sinking onto the stiff mattress. That's what's wrong.
Speaker 1: Every day there I feel more like a sufferer, a casualty.
Speaker 1: Out Here, at least I can start fighting back. The
Speaker 1: first night in that soulless hotel room was a special
Speaker 1: kind of hell. Keeping machines, no hushed footsteps of nurses
Speaker 1: in the corridor, just me, my throbbing, braced leg, the
Speaker 1: stale smell of industrial cleaner, and the crushing inescapable knowledge
Speaker 1: that the woman I'd shared my bed with for eight
Speaker 1: years was actively robbing me blind and screwing another man,
Speaker 1: probably in that very bed. The rage was a living
Speaker 1: thing coiling in my gut. Hot and venomous days were
Speaker 1: spent on the phone, a cheap burner I'd had Bernice pickup,
Speaker 1: first a new bank account solely in my name, then
Speaker 1: securing documents, birth certificate, social Security card, anything an unscrupulous
Speaker 1: witch might try to leverage. I didn't tell Barbara i'd
Speaker 1: left the hospital when she bothered to text, usually a
Speaker 1: perfunctory how you, I'd reply with a vague still here,
Speaker 1: doctor say a while longer. Her response a thumbs up emoji.
Speaker 1: Damn classic Barbara, if it wasn't about her, or if
Speaker 1: she didn't have a pre rehearsed script. She defaulted to
Speaker 1: indifferent silence or digital platitudes. The real ammunition, the spark
Speaker 1: that lit the fuse of my meticulously planned offensive, came
Speaker 1: from Bernice. Barbara was planning a trip Nashville, a girl's
Speaker 1: weekend she'd apparently announced to anyone who'd listen. I knew,
Speaker 1: with a certainty that settled cold and hard in my stomach,
Speaker 1: that girl's weekend was code. Sylvia would be there, or
Speaker 1: some other distraction, paid for with my money. That was
Speaker 1: it d Day, the day i'd unleash what i'd grimly
Speaker 1: dubbed operations Scorched Earth. This wasn't about getting my stuff back.
Speaker 1: This was about erasure. This was about making her feel
Speaker 1: a fraction of the desolation I'd felt in that hospital bed.
Speaker 1: This wasn't an impulse. This was cold, calculated strategy. I
Speaker 1: met a lawyer, Reggie Guy looked more like a roadie
Speaker 1: for a defunct rock band, jeans faded concert tee sneakers,
Speaker 1: but his eyes were sharp and his reputation was sharper.
Speaker 1: He showed up at my hotel, no airs, just a
Speaker 1: battered briefcase and a tablet. So he said, scrolling through
Speaker 1: something on his screen, not even looking at me. Divorce
Speaker 1: or just want to scare her straight with the separation divorce.
Speaker 1: I bit out the word, tasting like acid, and.
Speaker 2: I wanted to hurt.
Speaker 1: Reggie finally looked up, a flicker of something unreadable in
Speaker 1: his eyes. All right, in this state, marital assets are
Speaker 1: split fifty to fifty. But hurt, that's a different kind
Speaker 1: of currency. We can be methodical, we can be precise,
Speaker 1: We can be legal. You want to strip the house, fine,
Speaker 1: make a list everything you owned before you shackled yourself
Speaker 1: to her, that's yours, no contest, joint property. We itemize,
Speaker 1: we value. We take your half, no more, no less
Speaker 1: on paper. But the impact, that's where the art comes in.
Speaker 1: He smirked, a thin, humorless smile. He understood hours. I
Speaker 1: spent hours on those goddamn lists. My handwriting shaky from
Speaker 1: a combination of residual weakness and simmering fury. Bernice, my
Speaker 1: loyal soldier, did reconnaissance. Slipped into the house one afternoon
Speaker 1: when barbar was at work, probably with Silvio, and took pictures, furniture, electronics, silverware,
Speaker 1: even the goddamn lawnmower. I cataloged everything. The living room
Speaker 1: set we'd bought together. She liked the color, I hated it.
Speaker 1: The bedroom suite I'd owned long before she'd sunk her
Speaker 1: claws into me half. The kitchen appliances. Reggie's voice, cool
Speaker 1: and precise in my ear, blender, toaster, microwave, take one,
Speaker 1: leave one, or take the expensive ones. The big screen
Speaker 1: TV I'd bought for Super Bowl parties. She never attended
Speaker 1: My old recliner, the one she always complained about. My
Speaker 1: tools from the garage, My tools, not Silvio's playthings. The
Speaker 1: only hesitation, the only flicker of something other than cold rage,
Speaker 1: was Gage's room years. I'd wasted years trying to connect
Speaker 1: with that sullen little crap. But then I remembered his
Speaker 1: voice on the phone, We don't miss you, oh Man.
Speaker 1: And the fancy gaming system, the one i'd shelled out
Speaker 1: of fortune for last Christmas, hoping to buy a slip
Speaker 1: liver of his approval. Reggie had been clear, your funds
Speaker 1: bought it during the marriage. It's a marital asset. If
Speaker 1: it wasn't a clear gift to him alone, with documentation,
Speaker 1: take it if you want, send a message, oh I
Speaker 1: wanted to send a message, all right, a big flashing
Speaker 1: neon sign of a message. So the console went on
Speaker 1: the list. Guilt a tiny, insignificant tremor, drowned out by
Speaker 1: the coffony of betrayal. We booked the movers for a
Speaker 1: Saturday smack in the middle of Barbara's Nashville Girls trip. Swift, merciless, clinical.
Speaker 1: I was still unsteady on my feet, relying heavily on crutches,
Speaker 1: my leg a dull, persistent ache. Bernice would supervise the
Speaker 1: heavy lifting, but I had to be there. I needed
Speaker 1: to witness it, to breathe the air of my own liberation,
Speaker 1: to watch the physical manifestation of my old life being dismantled.
Speaker 1: Saturday eight am, the moving truck, an enormous, impersonal beast,
Speaker 1: rumbled to a stop in front of the house I
Speaker 1: hadn't laid eyes on in over two months. As the
Speaker 1: movers burly and impact hopped out, Bernice shot me a look,
Speaker 1: last chance to reconsider Everett pull the plug. Her voice
Speaker 1: was light, but her eyes were serious. I've come too
Speaker 1: far to turn back, now, Bee, I said, my voice
Speaker 1: rougher than I intended. Burn it all down, walking through
Speaker 1: that front door was like stepping into a stranger's life. Curtis,
Speaker 1: my loyal mutt, came skittering down the stairs, nails scrabbling
Speaker 1: on the hardwood, a joyous, yelping cannonball of fur. He
Speaker 1: damn near knocked me off my crutches, licking my face,
Speaker 1: whining his forgiveness for my absence. God, I'd missed him.
Speaker 1: The house itself disturbingly unnaturally tidy, not a speck of dust.
Speaker 1: The woman who considered vacuuming a form of medieval torture
Speaker 1: had apparently discovered domesticity for her lover. The bitterness was
Speaker 1: a corrosive burn in my chest. She'd transformed my home
Speaker 1: into a love nest for him. Systematically, we began my
Speaker 1: pre marriage bedroom set, the heavy oaks she'd always despised.
Speaker 1: The coffee table we'd bought, a joint decision. I now
Speaker 1: regretted half the kitchen crap as per Reggie's cold calculus,
Speaker 1: the TV, my recliner, every tool, every fishing rod, every
Speaker 1: book that was mine. The movers were efficient, their faces stony,
Speaker 1: like a swat team clearing a hostile building. They worked
Speaker 1: from my itemized list, precise and uncaring, barber's vanity, her
Speaker 1: clothes spilling from the closet, her ridiculous collection of knick knacks,
Speaker 1: all left untouched. I didn't want her tainted possessions. I
Speaker 1: wanted to leave her with the shell of what she destroyed.
Speaker 1: Pizza on the living room floor, surrounded by a landscape
Speaker 1: of boxes and gaping emptiness. The silence in the half
Speaker 1: empty house was massive, broken only by the rustle of
Speaker 1: packing tape and the occasional grunt from the movers. One
Speaker 1: of them, a young guy with tired eyes, finally spoke,
Speaker 1: rough day man, been there. I just nodded, stuffing another
Speaker 1: slice of greasy pepperoni into my mouth, focusing on the spice,
Speaker 1: the salt, anything but the gnawing void where my marriage
Speaker 1: used to be. By seven, the truck was loaded, a
Speaker 1: monument to eight years of carefully curated resentment. I locked
Speaker 1: the front door behind me, the click of the dead
Speaker 1: bolt unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet. Should I have
Speaker 1: left a note, a pithy one liner. No, Let her
Speaker 1: walk into the void, Let her confront the echoing emptiness
Speaker 1: I'd orchestrated. That was the only poetry I was interested in.
Speaker 1: Back at the stay Bridge, which I was already starting
Speaker 1: to think of as my new temporary fortress. It was
Speaker 1: organized chaos, boxes piled high, furniture draped in blankets. The
Speaker 1: pain in my leg, ignored for hours, screamed for attention. Exhaustion,
Speaker 1: bone deep and profound, threatened to pull me under. But
Speaker 1: beneath it a dark, unfamiliar thrill, a sense of triumph.
Speaker 1: I'd struck the first significant blow in a war I
Speaker 1: hadn't started, but was damn well going to finish. I
Speaker 1: slept that night on a bare mattress, wedged between boxes
Speaker 1: of my clothes. Curtis curled at my feet, his warm
Speaker 1: presence a small, solid comfort in the vast empty I'd
Speaker 1: timed it perfectly. Barbara was due back Sunday evening. I
Speaker 1: braced myself, expecting the deluge calls, texts, threats, tears, the
Speaker 1: full Barbara melodrama. But even I wasn't quite prepared for
Speaker 1: the sheer, unadulterated fury that erupted my burner. Phone lit
Speaker 1: up around seven pm, a rapid fire succession of texts.
Speaker 1: Where the hell is everything?
Speaker 2: Everett?
Speaker 1: If this is some kind of sick joke, It's not funny,
Speaker 1: You goddamn monster.
Speaker 2: You took Curtis. That's my dog.
Speaker 1: You can't do this.
Speaker 2: I'll have you arrested.
Speaker 1: Call me right now, you cowardly fool Oregon. You'll regret
Speaker 1: the day you were born. I read them, a strange
Speaker 1: calm settling over me. The predicted storm had arrived. My
Speaker 1: heart hammered a dull, steady beat against my ribs. She'd
Speaker 1: found it. The phone began to ring, a shrill, incessant shriek.
Speaker 1: I watched it vibrate on the cheap nightstand for a
Speaker 1: long moment, then switched it off. There was nothing she
Speaker 1: could say that I wanted or needed to hear. Bernice. However, ever,
Speaker 1: my Eyes and Ears had a doorbell camera and stalled
Speaker 1: across the street from my old house just in case.
Speaker 1: She sent me a short video clip. Barbara standing in
Speaker 1: the driveway, an empty leash dangling from her hand, screaming
Speaker 1: at the vacant windows, her voice a raw, ragged tear
Speaker 1: in the quiet suburban evening.
Speaker 2: He took everything. The fool took my dog.
Speaker 1: He can't do this to me. Her performance was oscar worthy,
Speaker 1: hair artfully disheveled, arms flailing for the benefit of any
Speaker 1: curious neighbors. I watched it twice, a cold smile. Touching
Speaker 1: my lips, my hand found Curtis's thick fur. Yeah, buddy,
Speaker 1: I whispered, she never deserved you anyway. I went dark,
Speaker 1: ignored the escalating threats, the increasingly unhinged voicemails. Reggie, my
Speaker 1: rock and roll lawyer, was a bastion of calm, reassurance,
Speaker 1: your golden Everett. Everything taken was documented as pre marital
Speaker 1: or your justifiable half of joint assets. She can scream
Speaker 1: all she wants, she can't touch you. We filed for
Speaker 1: divorce the next morning. The petition was served to a stunned,
Speaker 1: furious Barbara at her workplace. The humiliation, I imagined was exquisite.
Speaker 1: About a week later, Gage texted me a single, unpunctuated word, Hey.
Speaker 1: My first instinct was to block the number, to sever
Speaker 1: that tie completely, but a morbid curiosity, a desire to
Speaker 1: see just how deep the rot went, won out. I
Speaker 1: told him if he had something to say, he could
Speaker 1: damn well say it to my face. He showed up
Speaker 1: at the Staybridge the following Sunday, shoulders slumped, his usual
Speaker 1: teenage swagger noticeably absent. He mumbled something about how screwed up.
Speaker 1: Everything was at home. How Barbara was a walking inferno
Speaker 1: of rage. How Sylvia was suddenly around all the time,
Speaker 1: acting like he owned the place, like he was the
Speaker 1: new man of the house. Then the kicker Mom. She
Speaker 1: wanted me to say that stuff to you on the phone,
Speaker 1: he muttered, staring at his scuffed sneakers. That day when
Speaker 1: you were in the hospital, she was pissed you kept calling,
Speaker 1: said you were being a pain in the a. She
Speaker 1: told me if I said we didn't miss you, if
Speaker 1: I made you feel like crap, she'd get me that
Speaker 1: new VR headset. I just stared at him, the cold
Speaker 1: fury and my gut twisted tightened. Part of me, the
Speaker 1: part that was still raw and bleeding, wanted to throw
Speaker 1: him out on his a. But he was sixteen, a
Speaker 1: pawn in his mother's manipulative games, or just a chip
Speaker 1: off the old block. Well, I said, my voice flat,
Speaker 1: devoid of any sympathy. Did you get the VR system gauge?
Speaker 1: He looked up, a flicker of defiance in his eyes
Speaker 1: quickly extinguished. Yeah, that one word. It told me everything.
Speaker 1: Barbara hadn't just abandoned me, She'd actively poisoned her own
Speaker 1: son against me, bribed him to twist the knife. It
Speaker 1: didn't matter anymore. I'm fresh out of room for manipulation's gauge,
Speaker 1: I said my voice, like ice from her or from you.
Speaker 1: A few days later, the universe, in its infinite capacity
Speaker 1: for black humor, decided to throw silvia in my path.
Speaker 1: I was at the grocery store, limping down the aisle
Speaker 1: with a carticking out frozen dinners and bruised fruit. The
Speaker 1: bachelor's banquet, And there he was, by the goddamn deli counter,
Speaker 1: oozing smarmy charm as he ordered his pershido, muscular, tanned,
Speaker 1: wearing a shirt two sizes too small, A sleazy, self
Speaker 1: satisfied smirk plastered on his face. He spotted me. The
Speaker 1: smirk widened. He sauntered over all false bottom me. Hey there,
Speaker 1: Champ Everett right. He stuck out a hand. I ignored it.
Speaker 1: Heard you redecorated the place. Little dramatic, wasn't it? Stripping
Speaker 1: at bear like that? He spoke as if we were
Speaker 1: old pals discussing a minor sporting infraction. My blood, already simmering,
Speaker 1: began to boil. I gripped the handle of my cart,
Speaker 1: knuckles white. That's none of your goddamn business, I said,
Speaker 1: my voice low tight. He chuckled a greasy, unpleasant sound. Relax, man,
Speaker 1: Barbara's got a bit of a mouth on her, you know,
Speaker 1: telling everyone you're unstable, losing it. Guess the accident really
Speaker 1: did a number on you. Legs still giving you trouble.
Speaker 1: He glanced pointedly at my braced leg, the smirk never
Speaker 1: leaving his face. The air crackled. Patrons nearby were starting
Speaker 1: to notice they're shopping slowing. You keep Barbara's name out
Speaker 1: of your damn mouth, I growled. The restraint I was
Speaker 1: clinging to starting to fray, and you stay the hell
Speaker 1: away from me and from what's mine. He leaned in,
Speaker 1: his voice dropping to a conspiratorial taunting whisper, his breath
Speaker 1: smelling of cheap cologne and something rotten. Oh, I think
Speaker 1: you'll find she's not yours anymore, pal hasn't been for
Speaker 1: a long time, And between you and me, you're not
Speaker 1: half the man you think you are. Now that she's
Speaker 1: shall we say available, we'll see who she really prefers.
Speaker 1: He winked. That was it the snap. I didn't think
Speaker 1: I reacted. My grocery's forgotten. I lunged, not a punch,
Speaker 1: not something that could be easily construed as attack. I
Speaker 1: shoved him hard. All the rage, the betrayal, the helplessness
Speaker 1: of the past few months channeled in that one violent expulsion.
Speaker 1: He stumbled back, surprised, arms flailing, crashing into a towering
Speaker 1: display of potato chips. Bags exploded, raining down around him
Speaker 1: like greasy confetti. What the hell man? He sputtered, eyes
Speaker 1: wide with shock and a dawning fury. And then the
Speaker 1: moment that still plays in my head on a loop,
Speaker 1: a moment of pure, unadulterated, cathartic release. I slapped him
Speaker 1: open palm, a crack that echoed through the brightly lit
Speaker 1: aisle like a bang. His head snapped to the side,
Speaker 1: a collective gasp from the onlookers, a stunned, perfect silence
Speaker 1: that I hissed, my voice trembling with adrenaline. Is for
Speaker 1: trespassing on my wife, on my life. I turned my
Speaker 1: back on him, leaving him amidst the ruins of the
Speaker 1: chip display, one hand clapped to his cheek. A flustered
Speaker 1: manager rushed over, babbling about security, about calling the police.
Speaker 1: Sylvia was dabbing at his lip a smear of red,
Speaker 1: probably just the force of the impact, not actual blood,
Speaker 1: but the humiliation was palpable. Sir, do you want to
Speaker 1: leave quietly? Or do I need to involve the authorities,
Speaker 1: the manager stammered, looking from me to Silvio. I'm done here.
Speaker 1: I bit out, grabbing my crutches. I hobbled out, leaving
Speaker 1: my cart, leaving the whispers and stars behind. My heart
Speaker 1: hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. As I
Speaker 1: fumbled with my car keys. I saw Silvio storm out
Speaker 1: of the store, already on his phone, face contorted in rage,
Speaker 1: calling Barbara no doubt, let him. Let them both stew
Speaker 1: in the mess they'd made. I was past caring. I
Speaker 1: was just getting started. Days crawled by. Physical therapy was
Speaker 1: a witch, each session a fresh reminder of my body's betrayal. Tessa,
Speaker 1: the nurse from the hospital, had transferred to the outpatient clinic.
Speaker 1: We ran into each other, coffee happened. She tiptoed around
Speaker 1: the subject of my imploding marriage, her sympathy a gentle balm.
Speaker 1: I hadn't realized I craved when I finally laid out
Speaker 1: the sordid details. The band, the affair, the financial ruin.
Speaker 1: She just shook her head, her expression a mixture of
Speaker 1: sorrow and disbelief. Everett, she said softly, her hand briefly
Speaker 1: covering mine. I am so so sorry that happened to you.
Speaker 1: No one deserves that. Her kindness was a stark contrast
Speaker 1: to Barbara's casual cruelty. But I was a goddamn minefield
Speaker 1: of unresolved anger, nowhere near ready for anything resembling human connection. Still,
Speaker 1: it was nice not feeling entirely alone in the wreckage.
Speaker 1: Then Barbara, ever the drama queen, decided to escalate another
Speaker 1: trip Nashville, again, her moving on party. She called it
Speaker 1: a celebratory middle finger to me and our collapsing marriage,
Speaker 1: funded no doubt by the dregs of our joint savings.
Speaker 1: Money the courts hadn't yet frozen. Bernice, my ever vigilant sister,
Speaker 1: had flagged more suspicious transfers. The rage, which had momentarily
Speaker 1: subsided into a low simmer, roared back to life. If
Speaker 1: she wanted to swam off to Nashville for a screw
Speaker 1: you every tour, fine letter, But this time I wouldn't
Speaker 1: be waiting by the phone. This time, I'd be there
Speaker 1: at the house, our house, still legally speaking, waiting to
Speaker 1: greet her. I was done hiding, done being the sufferer. Reggie,
Speaker 1: cool as ever, talked me through the legalities. Properties still
Speaker 1: in both your names. You have every right to be there, Everett.
Speaker 1: She can't claim trespassing. Just try not to commit any
Speaker 1: actual felonies. Okay, he'd even had a smirk playing on
Speaker 1: his lips. Early Saturday morning, I parked my battered car
Speaker 1: down the street, out of sight, still limping, still reliant
Speaker 1: on a cane now instead of crutches, but fueled by
Speaker 1: a cold heart resolve. I wanted to see her face.
Speaker 1: I wanted her to understand unequivocally that the doormat she'd
Speaker 1: wiped her feet on for eight years was gone. She
Speaker 1: came home a day early Sunday afternoon, rolling her suitcase
Speaker 1: up the walkway, humming to herself a picture of care
Speaker 1: free liberation. I stepped out from the side of the house,
Speaker 1: Curtis trotting calmly at my heel. She stopped dead. Her
Speaker 1: eyes widened, then narrowed, like she'd seen a particularly unwelcome ghost.
Speaker 2: What in the absolute hell are you doing here?
Speaker 1: She hissed, her voice tight, the suitcase thudding to the pavement.
Speaker 2: You can't just show up. This is my home.
Speaker 1: I leaned on my cane, affecting a calm I didn't
Speaker 1: entirely feel. Actually, Barbara, it's our home. Name's still on
Speaker 1: the deed. Remember? Or did that slip your mind while
Speaker 1: you were blowing through our rapidly dwindling savings in Nashville
Speaker 1: with your boy toy. Her attempt at a sneer faltered,
Speaker 1: replaced by a cornered, almost feral look.
Speaker 2: I needed a break.
Speaker 1: Gauge is driving me up the wall, and you, your
Speaker 1: whole disappearing act, your silent treatment, a harsh, humorless laugh
Speaker 1: escaped me, my disappearing act, Lady, I was in a
Speaker 1: damn hospital bed half dead while you were auditioning my replacement.
Speaker 1: Then you told me and I quote to die fast
Speaker 1: or heal quick because my continued existence was inconveniencing your
Speaker 1: social life. Does that ring any bells, Barbara? Or has
Speaker 1: the Tennessee moonshine addled your memory? She rolled her eyes,
Speaker 1: a flash of her old dismissive arrogance. Oh, stop playing
Speaker 1: the goddamn martyr, Everett. It's not a good look. If
Speaker 1: you'd been a better husband, a more attentive partner. Maybe,
Speaker 1: don't I cut her off, my voice dropping to a
Speaker 1: dangerous level. Don't you dare try to pin your crappy
Speaker 1: behavior on me. You spent months, maybe longer, screwing Silvio
Speaker 1: behind my back while I was working my a off
Speaker 1: to pay for this house, for your shopping spreeze, for
Speaker 1: your son's endless list of wants. Her mouth tightened into
Speaker 1: a thin, ugly line. You can't prove a thing, I shrugged,
Speaker 1: a casual gesture that belied the inferno raging inside me
Speaker 1: doesn't matter. We both know the truth. We're done, Barbara,
Speaker 1: this charade is over. I just wanted to see your
Speaker 1: face when you finally realized you can't push me around anymore,
Speaker 1: that the gravy train has made its last stop. Her eyes,
Speaker 1: like a cornered animal's, flickered to Curtis, who was sniffing
Speaker 1: a rogue grasp by the patio. Give me my dog,
Speaker 1: She snapped a sudden, desperate lunge for some semblance of control.
Speaker 1: He's mine. My eyebrows shot up. Oh now he's yours. Funny,
Speaker 1: I don't recall you ever feeding him, never walking him.
Speaker 1: Unless it was for a goddamn Instagram post. You only
Speaker 1: wanted him when it suited your image. Sorry, sweetheart, but
Speaker 1: this dog, he's not going anywhere near you again. She
Speaker 1: advanced a step, her face contorting a raw, primal anger
Speaker 1: in her eyes. I'd never witnessed, not even in our
Speaker 1: worst arguments. It was almost impressive, you son of a witch,
Speaker 1: you piece of freaking trash. You waltz back in here,
Speaker 1: into my house, half mine, I corrected, a small, vicious
Speaker 1: smile playing on my lips. I was enjoying this, the
Speaker 1: stripping away of her composure. And you have the unmitigated
Speaker 1: gall to stand there acting like this is all my fault,
Speaker 1: like you're some kind of innocent sufferer. I took a
Speaker 1: slow breath, the familiar ache in my leg a dull
Speaker 1: counterpoint to the adrenaline coursing through me. Whose fault it is,
Speaker 1: Barbara is irrelevant. At this point. We're getting divorced. You
Speaker 1: stole my money, you shattered my trust, you left me
Speaker 1: to rot. Now you think you're entitled to something more. No,
Speaker 1: I just came here to see if you had the
Speaker 1: guts to say any of your nonsense to my actual
Speaker 1: face instead of through lawyers or over anonymous texts, and
Speaker 1: then she snapped on a dime. Her carefully constructed facade shattered.
Speaker 1: You want something real, Everett, she shrieked, her voice cracking.
Speaker 1: I'll give you a freaking reel. She launched herself at me,
Speaker 1: a blur of fury. Her hands clawed form my shirt,
Speaker 1: nails sharp and manicured, raking at my chest. The gaudy
Speaker 1: diamond ring I'd stupidly bought her glinted in the afternoon sun.
Speaker 1: She kicked out, aiming for my injured leg. Instinct, raw
Speaker 1: and primal took over. I stumbled back, trying to maintain
Speaker 1: my balance on the uneven patiostones, the cane clattering away,
Speaker 1: plunged again, grabbing for my arm. I sidestepped a clumsy
Speaker 1: but effective pivot and used her own momentum against her.
Speaker 1: My hands came up not to strike, but to push,
Speaker 1: to create space to get her the hell off me.
Speaker 1: A firm, desperate shove. She flailed, arms, pin wheeling, a strangled,
Speaker 1: high pitched shriek tearing from her throat. As her balance
Speaker 1: deserted her. Her body pitched backward, a slow motion tableau
Speaker 1: of surprise and rage, and then she was gone, disappearing
Speaker 1: with a tremendous, ignominious splash into the goddamn swimming pool.
Speaker 1: The sound was deafening in the sudden quiet. I hobbled
Speaker 1: to the edge, heart pounding, watching her sputter and thrash
Speaker 1: in the shallow end. Her expensive Nashville outfit was ruined,
Speaker 1: hair plastered to her face, mascara streaming in black rivulets
Speaker 1: down her cheeks. She coughed, glaring up at me with
Speaker 1: an expression of pure, undeluded hatred. You you a hole,
Speaker 1: she screamed, waving towards the steps, water cascading off her.
Speaker 1: I just stood there, panting, the adrenaline making my hand
Speaker 1: Ann's tremble. Don't you ever, I said, my voice low
Speaker 1: and shaking with a terrifying cocktail of emotions. Put your
Speaker 1: hands on me again, Barbara, I freaking mean it. Curtis,
Speaker 1: as if on cue, let out a sharp bark, a
Speaker 1: canine exclamation point to my threat. For a fleeting second,
Speaker 1: I saw something flicker in her eyes, fear, genuine fear.
Speaker 1: Then it was gone, replaced by a white hot, incandescent fury.
Speaker 1: You are going to pay for this, Everett, she spat,
Speaker 1: pushing clumps of wet hair from her eyes. I will
Speaker 1: ruin you. I will take everything you have left. You'll see,
Speaker 1: I snorted, a harsh, humorless sound. Good luck with that, sweetheart.
Speaker 1: You've already done your worst, and guess what, I'm still
Speaker 1: freaking standing. I turned, retrieved my cane, and limped away,
Speaker 1: leaving her there a sodden, shrieking fury in her own backyard.
Speaker 1: Let the neighbors watch, let them whisper. This was the
Speaker 1: real Barbara, stripped bare of her pretenses, and for the
Speaker 1: first time, amidst the betray and the anger, I felt
Speaker 1: something else, a dark, exhilarating thrill. I'd stood up to her,
Speaker 1: I'd fought back. Does that make me the villain? Maybe?
Speaker 1: But every story has one, and sometimes the villain is
Speaker 1: just the one who's finally had enough. I didn't hear
Speaker 1: a peep from her for the rest of the day.
Speaker 1: I imagined her nursing her wounded pride, probably on the
Speaker 1: phone with Silvio, weaving a tale of my unprovoked brutality letter.
Speaker 1: I went back to my sterile hotel room, collapsed onto
Speaker 1: the bed, and slept the sleep of the utterly, profoundly
Speaker 1: exhausted My phone remained silent until around six that evening,
Speaker 1: it buzzed on the nightstand, call her id gauge. I
Speaker 1: let it ring, half tempted to just ignore it. He
Speaker 1: left a voicemail, Uh, Everett, dude, we got to talk,
Speaker 1: like seriously, it's important. His voice was a typically teenage whine,
Speaker 1: but with an undercurrent of something that sounded suspiciously like panic.
Speaker 1: I sighed against my better judgment. I called him back.
Speaker 1: He asked if he could come over. Said it was
Speaker 1: about college, about how all the money was suddenly gone,
Speaker 1: how Barbara was ranting that I needed to pay, that
Speaker 1: it was my job as her soon to be ex husband.
Speaker 1: I told him fine, if he wanted a conversation, he
Speaker 1: could have it face to face. He agreed to come
Speaker 1: by the next morning. I steeled myself. I figured a calm,
Speaker 1: rational discussion about financial aids, student loans, the harsh realities
Speaker 1: of life. My capacity for empathy, however, was running on fumes.
Speaker 1: He arrived around noon the next day, not knocking, just
Speaker 1: barging into my apartment, because of course he did, scowl
Speaker 1: etched on his face, arms crossed in that belligerent teenage stance.
Speaker 1: He didn't even glance at Curtis, who had approached him
Speaker 1: with a hopeful tail wag. He marched right up to me.
Speaker 1: Mom says you locked her out of all the accounts,
Speaker 1: he announced, no greeting, no preamble, just accusation. She says,
Speaker 1: you're not going to pay for my college, and I
Speaker 1: need that money. It's my future. I leaned heavily on
Speaker 1: my cane, the effort of standing, of just existing in
Speaker 1: this same room as this entitled brat suddenly immense. Hello
Speaker 1: to you too, Gauge, always a pleasure, he huffed, impatient. Whatever,
Speaker 1: I'm serious, I'm applying to schools. And she said, you
Speaker 1: cleaned out everything. Dad, He stopped, the word catching in
Speaker 1: his throat, alien and unused Everett, whatever you got to pay.
Speaker 1: That's the deal, right, You married my mom. You're supposed
Speaker 1: to take care of us.
Speaker 2: That's what stepdads do.
Speaker 1: A bitter, incredulous laugh clawed its way out of me
Speaker 1: and my gauge. Is that the deal? Because last I checked,
Speaker 1: you and your mother made it abundantly clear that my
Speaker 1: services were no longer required. You specifically informed me that
Speaker 1: you didn't miss me, that you wanted me gone. Hate
Speaker 1: to break it to your kid. But actions have consequences,
Speaker 1: and one of those consequences is that I am no
Speaker 1: longer your personal damn atm Gage's face flushed a dull,
Speaker 1: angry red. That was mom's idea, okay, she said, if
Speaker 1: I told you that you'd back off, stop dragging things out,
Speaker 1: She said you were too soft, that you'd fold. I
Speaker 1: raised an eyebrow, a slow, deliberate movement. Well, Gage, it
Speaker 1: appears I'm not so soft anymore, am I. You want
Speaker 1: college money, apply for scholarships, get a part time job.
Speaker 1: Ask your mother where all our money really went. Maybe
Speaker 1: her new pal Silvio can chip in from his lucrative
Speaker 1: career of well, whatever the hell it is he does
Speaker 1: besides comforting lonely housewives. His eyes narrowed, fury radiating off
Speaker 1: him in palpable waves. Don't you damn talk about Silvio
Speaker 1: like that. He's a good guy, better than you anyway. Oh,
Speaker 1: for Christ's sake, Gauge, grow up. I snapped. My patient's
Speaker 1: completely gone. I know exactly what he is, and frankly,
Speaker 1: so should you. He's the reason your mother conveniently forgot
Speaker 1: she had a husband lying in a hospital bed. He
Speaker 1: was keeping her busy it's not my freaking problem. Gage shouted,
Speaker 1: his fists clenched, his face contorted, I just want my
Speaker 1: goddamn college money. If you don't pay, I swear to God,
Speaker 1: I'll make your life a living hell. You hear me,
Speaker 1: you'll regret this big time. The threat, raw and impotent,
Speaker 1: hung in the stale air of the cheap hotel room.
Speaker 1: I felt something inside me, something cold and hard, solidify.
Speaker 1: I might be the villain in their twisted narrative, but
Speaker 1: I'd be damned if i'd cower before this spoiled over
Speaker 1: indulged brat. You better get the hell out of my apartment,
Speaker 1: I said, my voice a low, dangerous growl before I
Speaker 1: do something we'll both regret. I am sick to freaking
Speaker 1: end of you and your mother thinking you're entitled to
Speaker 1: bleed me dry. You want me to pay for your
Speaker 1: college after everything? Not a chance in hell. Now get out,
Speaker 1: go cry to mommy. He kicked out his heel, slamming
Speaker 1: into the side of my cheap particle board coffee table.
Speaker 1: The jolts sent a sharp stab of pain up my
Speaker 1: already aching leg. Screw you, he screamed, his voice cracking.
Speaker 1: You can't do this to me, you can't. I'd had enough.
Speaker 1: I grabbed his arm, my grip surprisingly strong, fueled by
Speaker 1: pure adrenaline and rage, I spun him around, yanked open
Speaker 1: the door, and shoved him hard out into the hallway. Yes, gage,
Speaker 1: I said, my voice trembling with barely suppressed violence. I
Speaker 1: absolutely damn can now go home. I slammed the door
Speaker 1: in his face, the sound echoing the finality of it all.
Speaker 1: My heart hammered against my ribs. I leaned against the door,
Speaker 1: taking ragged, shallow breaths through the thin wood. I could
Speaker 1: hear him cursing, screaming, a litany of pathetic, childish threats.
Speaker 1: Then the sound of retreating, stomping footsteps. It wasn't over,
Speaker 1: of course, it wasn't over. Minutes later, a series of
Speaker 1: sickening thuds from outside, then a crash, the unmistakable sound
Speaker 1: of shattering glass. Adrenaline, cold and sharp, jolted through me.
Speaker 1: I wrenched the door open, gauge. He was in the
Speaker 1: parking lot, a goddamn brick in his hand, swinging it
Speaker 1: wildly at my car are The driver's side window was
Speaker 1: already a spider web of cracks, the side mirror hanging
Speaker 1: by a wire, You worthless, cheap, old fool, He shrieked,
Speaker 1: his face a mask of contorted, tear streaked rage. You
Speaker 1: pay for my college, or I'll make you pay another way.
Speaker 1: I'll destroy everything you own. The sheer, unmitigated entitlement of
Speaker 1: it stole my breath, You little piece of crap, I roared,
Speaker 1: lunging out of the doorway, my cane forgotten, hobbling as
Speaker 1: fast as my wrecked leg would allow.
Speaker 2: Drop the freakin' brick.
Speaker 1: He brought it down again with vicious force on the
Speaker 1: hood of my car, leaving a deep, ugly dent. Then
Speaker 1: he dragged it across the driver's side door, scoring a
Speaker 1: long silver scar in the paintwork. This is what you get,
Speaker 1: he screamed, spittle flying from his lips. Neighbors were starting
Speaker 1: to appear on their balconies, phones already out recording. Curtis
Speaker 1: was barking frantically from inside my apartment. I fumbled for
Speaker 1: my own phone, fingers slick with sweat, and dialed nine
Speaker 1: to one one. I'm done playing your game's gauge, I said,
Speaker 1: my voice, surprisingly steady, staring him directly in the eye.
Speaker 2: You're going to jail, you little psycho.
Speaker 1: He continued to swear a torrent of filth, took one
Speaker 1: last defiant swing at the already ruined windshield, then turned
Speaker 1: to bolt, but the wail of sirens blessedly quick cut
Speaker 1: through the afternoon air. A cruiser, lights flashing, screeched to
Speaker 1: a halt. At the entrance to the parking lot, two
Speaker 1: officers were out in a heartbeat, weapons drawn, voices sharp
Speaker 1: and commanding. Police hands in the air. Get on the
Speaker 1: ground now. Gauge froze, the brick, clattering to the asphalt.
Speaker 1: Tears of rage and frustrated impotence streamed down his face.
Speaker 1: He won't pay for my future, he shrieked, a full
Speaker 1: blown hysterical meltdown. He's trying to ruin my life. The
Speaker 1: officers were on him in seconds, forcing him to the ground,
Speaker 1: cuffing him with brutal efficiency. One of them, a stern
Speaker 1: faced woman, gave me a curt nod. You want to
Speaker 1: press charges, sir. I swallowed the lump in my throat,
Speaker 1: thick and painful. He trespassed, I said, my voice hoarse, shaking.
Speaker 1: He vandalized my property. He threatened me, Yes, yes, I
Speaker 1: want to press charges. They hauled Gage to his feet, panting, disheveled.
Speaker 1: He glared at me, eyes blazing with a hatred that
Speaker 1: was almost pure. You're gonna regret this, you old freak,
Speaker 1: he spat. You'll see Mom will fix this. She'll get
Speaker 1: me out, and I'll be back. I'll make you pay.
Speaker 1: I said nothing. My first impulse was to unleash a
Speaker 1: fresh torrent of invective, but a profound, soul deep exhaustion.
Speaker 1: It settled over me. I just watched as they bundled
Speaker 1: him into the back of the cruiser, the door slamming
Speaker 1: shut with a metallic finality. Neighbors gaped from their porches,
Speaker 1: their faces a mixture of shock, disapproval, and morbid curiosity.
Speaker 1: I turned away, unable to meet their eyes. It didn't matter.
Speaker 1: I was done, done being their punching bag, done being
Speaker 1: the collateral damage in their dysfunctional lives. The aftermath was
Speaker 1: a predictable crap show, formal complaints, police statements, insurance claims,
Speaker 1: a barrage of hysterical texts and voicemails from Barbara accusing
Speaker 1: me of ruining Gage's life, of being a vindictive monster,
Speaker 1: ruining his life by what holding him accountable for his actions.
Speaker 1: Bernice ever practical, advised me to seek some measure of peace,
Speaker 1: warned that the conflict was consuming me. Peace easy for
Speaker 1: her to say, Peace felt like a distant, unattainable shore.
Speaker 1: I was drowning in a toxic brew of anger, betrayal,
Speaker 1: and a grim, unsettling satisfaction that I was finally unequivocally
Speaker 1: hitting back and hitting hard. I'd like to say that
Speaker 1: was the end of it, the grand dramatic climax, But
Speaker 1: untangling eight years of a toxic marriage isn't a clean break.
Speaker 1: It's a messy, protracted amputation. A few days later, a
Speaker 1: new number on my caller ID Silvio, probably calling to posture,
Speaker 1: to gloat, to issue more empty threats. I let it
Speaker 1: go to voicemail. Heard you had a little run in
Speaker 1: with your boy Everett, and saw that video of you
Speaker 1: baptizing Barbara in the pool. Real classy, real tough guy,
Speaker 1: aren't you. Why don't you come talk to me, man
Speaker 1: to man. You want to put your hands on someone,
Speaker 1: try putting them on me. I'm waiting. I deleted the message,
Speaker 1: a weary sigh, escaping me. If he wanted a confrontation,
Speaker 1: he could find me. I wasn't seeking him out, I
Speaker 1: wasn't playing his childish games. The court set a date
Speaker 1: for the divorce proceedings. Barbara naturally contested everything, the property division,
Speaker 1: the assets, even hilariously custody of Curtis, claiming he was
Speaker 1: her emotional support animal. Reggie, my legal gladiator, calmly, methodically
Speaker 1: dismantled her arguments, presenting a mountain of evidence my pre
Speaker 1: marital assets, her documented withdrawals, the Cancoon tickets, the jewelry
Speaker 1: receipts for Silvio, the witness statements from the movers. She
Speaker 1: didn't have a leg to stand on. She backed down
Speaker 1: on the dog, but dug in her heels about the house,
Speaker 1: playing the sufferer, the wronged woman about to be cast
Speaker 1: out onto the street. The sale, however, was inevitable joint mortgage,
Speaker 1: joint debt. The final hearing was a month away. I
Speaker 1: braced myself for a final, ugly courtroom battle. During those weeks,
Speaker 1: Gage's case lumbered through the juvenile court system. He was fined,
Speaker 1: ordered to pay restitution for the damage to my car,
Speaker 1: a little over one thousand bucks for the glass and paint,
Speaker 1: and mandated to attend anger management classes. He seethed. Barbara
Speaker 1: tried to intervene to charm the prosecutor, to claim I'd provoked.
Speaker 1: Gauge that I'd attacked him first, but my neighbor's doorbell
Speaker 1: camera footage was irrefutable. Gauge the aggressor, gauge the vandal,
Speaker 1: gauge Screaming threats. He started a campaign of maltreatment, texting
Speaker 1: me from burner apps, a stream of juvenile insults and curses.
Speaker 1: I blocked each new number, a tedious but necessary ritual.
Speaker 1: My physical therapist, a no nonsense woman who'd seen her
Speaker 1: shriff try, warned that the emotional stress was impeding my recovery.
Speaker 1: So I channeled the rage into my exercises, into my rehab.
Speaker 1: Strangely it worked. Each painful extension, each grueling repetition, became
Speaker 1: a blow against them. By the time the final court
Speaker 1: date loomed, I was off the cane, relying only on
Speaker 1: a supportive brace from my leg Stronger, harder. The day
Speaker 1: of the divorce hearing, I walked into the courtroom in
Speaker 1: a new suit, Reggie at my side, a quiet, confident presence.
Speaker 1: Barbara sat at the opposing table, flanked by her own
Speaker 1: frazzled looking lawyer. She was tapping her foot her eyes
Speaker 1: darting around the room a caged animal looking for an
Speaker 1: escape route. Gage was thankfully nowhere in sight. Silvio, too
Speaker 1: was conspicuously absent. Perhaps the well had run dry, Perhaps
Speaker 1: he'd realized Barbara was more liability than asset. The judge,
Speaker 1: a stern, no nonsense woman, cut through the nonsense with
Speaker 1: a surgical precision. She reviewed the financials, the asset divisions,
Speaker 1: the evidence of Barbara's inn discretions. She asked Barbara if
Speaker 1: she had any final compelling arguments. Barbara fumbled, looked desperately
Speaker 1: at her lawyer, who gave a minute, almost imperceptible shake
Speaker 1: of his head. It was over in less than an hour.
Speaker 1: Marriage dissolved.
Speaker 2: How's to be sold?
Speaker 1: Proceeds split down the middle, after my documented pre marital
Speaker 1: assets and her documented financial misuses were accounted, for each
Speaker 1: of us to depart with what was legally unequivocally ours.
Speaker 1: In the hallway afterwards, Barbara, her face pale, her eyes
Speaker 1: red rimmed, tried one last desperate gambit. Everett, I just
Speaker 1: she hesitated, a tremor in her voice, actual tears welling.
Speaker 1: I don't understand how everything, how it all fell apart
Speaker 1: so fast? How it got so ugly. I looked at her,
Speaker 1: really looked at her, for perhaps the first time in years,
Speaker 1: and I felt nothing, a vast, echoing emptiness where love,
Speaker 1: or what I'd mistaken for love, used to be. It
Speaker 1: fell apart, Barbara, I said, my voice cold, devoid of inflection,
Speaker 1: the moment you decided I wasn't worth the gas money,
Speaker 1: the moment you told me to die quickly. Actually no,
Speaker 1: it fell apart long before that. You just finally stopped pretending.
Speaker 1: This ugliness. You orchestrated it. You just never expected me
Speaker 1: to fight back. A tear escaped, tracing a path through
Speaker 1: her carefully applied makeup. I was angry, she whispered, and scared.
Speaker 1: And Sylvia, he was just there. But he's gone now.
Speaker 1: They all leave. Eventually, her voice was small, lost For
Speaker 1: a nanosecond, a flicker of something akin to pity stirred
Speaker 1: within me. I crushed it that, Barbara, I said, turning
Speaker 1: to walk away. My bracelegs stiff, but steady is your problem,
Speaker 1: not mine. I didn't look back. Weeks later, the house
Speaker 1: sold quickly hot market. After the lawyers took their pound
Speaker 1: of flesh. The remaining proceeds were split. Reggie ensured the
Speaker 1: check cleared and my new solitary account. I paid off
Speaker 1: the lingering medical bills, put a down payment on a small,
Speaker 1: unremarkable condo in a different part of town, and bank
Speaker 1: the rest a fresh start, or at least a different one.
Speaker 1: Gauge I heard through Bernice was living with Barbara in
Speaker 1: a cramped two bedroom apartment, grudgingly attending his anger management
Speaker 1: sessions and working a crappy part time job at a
Speaker 1: fast food joint to pay off his restitution to me.
Speaker 1: He never apologized. I never expected him to. As for me,
Speaker 1: I kept up with the physical therapy. Tessa, the kind nurse,
Speaker 1: the one who'd shown me a sliver of human decency
Speaker 1: when I was at my lowest, became a friend. Coffee
Speaker 1: turned into occasional dinners. She listened without judgment, her gentle
Speaker 1: presence a quiet counterpoint to the lingering bitterness that still
Speaker 1: sometimes threatened to consume me. I wasn't ready for anything more,
Speaker 1: anything complicated, but her friendship was a lifeline. Months past,
Speaker 1: the legal dust settled, my legs scarred and permanently stiff,
Speaker 1: healed as much as it ever would. I could walk
Speaker 1: Curtis for miles without the constant grinding pain. The suffocating
Speaker 1: tightness in my chest began to ease, replaced by a
Speaker 1: kind of weary resignation. Barber's calls dwindled, then stopped altogether,
Speaker 1: save for the occasional maudlin wine fueled voicemail about how
Speaker 1: Gage really needed a father figure, or how maybe we
Speaker 1: made a mistake. I erased them, unlistened. So here I
Speaker 1: am single, a slight, permanent limp, a modest condo that
Speaker 1: smells a dog kibble in new beginnings. Do I have
Speaker 1: illusions about my own actions? About the cold, calculated cruelty
Speaker 1: i'd unleashed. No, I was ruthless, I was vengeful. I
Speaker 1: took not just what was mine, but I took it
Speaker 1: in a way designed to inflict maximum damage, maximum humiliation.
Speaker 1: After the abandonment, the betrayal, the casual disregard for my
Speaker 1: very existence, I don't lose a moment's sleep over it.
Speaker 1: Gauge faced his consequences, fine, community service, restitution. Hisge was
Speaker 1: impotent against the cold, impartial machinery of the law. Barbara
Speaker 1: begged me to drop the charges, offered to pay me back,
Speaker 1: to make it right. I refused. Some lessons can only
Speaker 1: be learned the hard way. Respect I've discovered isn't given.
Speaker 1: It's taken, usually from those who've tried to strip you
Speaker 1: of it. Silvio, he slithered away a footnote in the
Speaker 1: saga of my imploded marriage, probably already sniffing around his
Speaker 1: next mark. My last interaction with him was that slap
Speaker 1: in the grocery store, a fitting farewell. Barbara tells her version,
Speaker 1: I'm sure paints me as the monster, the misuser, the
Speaker 1: one who shattered her adylic life letter. I embraced the
Speaker 1: role she cast for me. I became the villain of
Speaker 1: her story, and in a strange, twisted way, it set
Speaker 1: me free. If that's villainy, then I wear the label
Speaker 1: with a certain grim satisfaction. The empty house, the stolen dog,
Speaker 1: the hospital betrayal, the push into the pool, the brick
Speaker 1: through the windshield, the acrimonious divorce. It's one hell of
Speaker 1: a chapter, but it's closed. Bernie and I are closer
Speaker 1: than ever. Tessa is a genuine friend, a reminder that
Speaker 1: not all human connection is transactional. Curtis is living his
Speaker 1: best life, snoring at my feet as I write this,
Speaker 1: and me I'm back at work, supervising taking it slow, rebuilding.
Speaker 1: If you asked me if I regret any of it,
Speaker 1: the scorched earth tactics, the cold fury, the refusal to forgive,
Speaker 1: the answer is complicated. The man I was the one
Speaker 1: who lay in that hospital bed, ignored and betrayed. He
Speaker 1: regrets nothing. He did what he had to do to survive,
Speaker 1: to reclaim some part of himself. People show you who
Speaker 1: they are in a crisis. Barbara showed me her true colors,
Speaker 1: and I, in turn showed her mind. In the end,
Speaker 1: maybe everyone got what they deserved. Barbara is a drift
Speaker 1: in the emptiness she created. Gage learned a harsh lesson
Speaker 1: about consequences. Silvio learned that not all marks are easy,
Speaker 1: and I I found a strength I never knew. I
Speaker 1: possessed fpacity for ruthlessness I never suspected, and in that
Speaker 1: discovery a strange, unsettling kind of peace. It's done. The
Speaker 1: battles are over, the apologies never came. I'm okay with that.
Speaker 1: I'm not waiting for their remorse to heal me. I'm
Speaker 1: healing myself. One day, one step, one quiet evening, with
Speaker 1: my dog at my feet at a time, and for
Speaker 1: the first time in a long long time. I can breathe,
Speaker 1: and that I've learned is worth everything.