A Strange Car in the Driveway

I came home early from a business trip and found a strange car in my driveway. Now, I've read enough of these stories to know what that means. It's a cliché for a reason. Rather than just barge through the front door with guns blazing, I figured I'd do a little detective work. I parked my car down the road and backtracked to the rear of our house. I crouched down low in the bushes and peeked through the window. It was fairly late at night, so I knew I wouldn't be seen.

Sure enough, there was my wife, Hester, standing in the kitchen with some strange man I'd never seen before. I fished my cellphone out of my pocket and snapped a few photos of the two of them just standing there smiling and laughing as if they were old friends. She approached him and wrapped her arms around him in a firm embrace. Then she broke their hug and briefly pressed her lips against his. I suddenly felt queasy. I had always known that someday she would cheat on me. I just had that sinking feeling that it wasn't a matter of "if", but "when." Now that I actually had proof, that vindication didn't feel as victorious as I'd imagined.

I nearly wretched into the bushes, but remembered to maintains my composure. In every one of my favorite online stories, the wronged husband always maintains his composure. Only a truly weak pussy would display even a hint of emotion after witnessing something so devastating. I thought of Clint Eastwood. You never see him display any real emotion in his movies. I tried my damndest to be like Clint.

She turned and walked out of the kitchen toward our stairway and her asshole loverboy followed closely behind like a dog in heat. God, I hated him so much. I felt like jumping through the window, glass shattering at my feet, filled with adrenaline, charging across the kitchen linoleum like a bull, tackling him to the ground, and beating him to a bloody pulp.

"No, stop!" Hester would scream. "Don't hurt him!"

"Fuck that!" I'd shout. "And fuck you, you cheating cunt!"

Oh, man. That would have been great. He would've had it coming, too. You don't mess with another man's woman. Unfortunately, I have bad knees and a bad back, and I've put on a few pounds, so my days of leaping through windows are over. Instead, I just stayed crouched in the bushes and watched as Hester flipped the light switch and disappeared up the stairs. I took a few steps back and looked up to see our bedroom light go on, and then off again a moment later.

Now, as I mentioned, I've been an avid reader of online stories for years. At that point, I knew I had a few choices to make. I could sneak through the door, creep up the stairs, and catch the two of them in the act. Usually, the husband character just stands there and watches for a while for some reason, but I'm no chuckold fag. I couldn't stand there and watch that. No, I'd have to take action.

Now, in the stories, the husband character is always bigger than the lover, and always a better fighter. I'm ashamed to admit, though, that I had let myself go a bit in the physical health category. Just walking from my car to the house left me winded. Whoever that guy was in the kitchen looked like he was in pretty good shape. It was humiliating enough that this guy was fucking my wife. Imagine being doubly-humiliated by getting my ass kicked by her loverboy?

No, I wouldn't be that type of hero. Instead, I'd be the other type of hero I've read about, where the sainted husband plots and schemes to find a way to get his revenge in a more clever way. In the end, I'd make sure that she would be humiliated, her loverboy would end up in the hospital, and I would walk away with clean hands and a full bank account. Yes, sir. That would be my happy ending.

I needed some time to think, so I booked a hotel room for the night. As I lay there staring at the ceiling that night, my thoughts turned to our daughter, Pearl. She had just begun her freshman year in college. Although she was a dead-ringer for her mother, Pearl had always been Daddy's little girl. Surely, she would take my side in the impending divorce. I thought that maybe I should recruit her in my revenge plot. I'd read many stories where the daughter and father form an alliance against the cheating mother. I put that idea on the back burner.

The following day I went to work on my revenge plot. I contacted a lawyer and set up an appointment. I opened a new savings account and began transferring money from our joint account to the new one. I Googled "divorce revenge plot" to get some ideas. Since most of the revenge stories I read involved some type of high-tech spying equipment, I visited my local Radio Shack and asked the guy behind the counter about what they had to offer. You wouldn't believe how much those gadgets cost! I decided to skip that part of the revenge plot and focus on more low-tech solutions. With the cost of the impending divorce, I would need to save every penny for the lawyers.

I returned home that afternoon, as originally scheduled, and pretended that nothing had happened. For her part, Hester pretended as if she weren't a cheating whore. It almost made me gag to kiss her hello. I nearly vomited later that night when we made love. I couldn't help but wonder whose dick had just been in that pussy and what nasty diseases he had left for me. Everyone knows that STD's are passed through non-monogamous sex. The chance that I had been infected was pretty much one hundred percent. I made a mental note to make a doctor's appointment. Hopefully, whatever she gave me wasn't life-threatening.

I met with my lawyer later that week and explained everything that had happened. Although he was happy to take my money, he seemed a little less supportive than I imagined he would be.

"Are you sure your wife cheated on you, Mr. Prynne?" he asked.

"I'm almost positive, yes," I explained. "There was a strange car in the driveway. You know what that means."

"Have you spoken to her about this?" he asked.

"Of course not!" I said. "It isn't time for the big confrontation yet. I'm still gathering evidence and plotting my revenge."

"I'm sorry...the big confrontation?"

"Yes, you know. I sit her down and lecture her like she's a little girl. I explain in a very calm manner everything that I've discovered. She cries and throws herself at my feet, begging for forgiveness. I refuse to listen to her. I then leave her a sobbing mess on the floor as I storm off triumphantly. The big confrontation."

That jackass just shook his head and stared at me like I had three heads. By the time I left his office, I was beginning to doubt myself. Maybe I didn't have the evidence I would need to exact my revenge. I had taken the day off of work, so I figured I'd swing by the house to see if I could catch her in the act again. Sure enough, when I rolled up in front of the house, there was yet another strange car in the driveway! This one wasn't even the same one I had seen before. How many guys was she fucking behind my back?

Once again, I parked down the road and crept back to the house, Ninja-style. I found the garage door unlocked and quietly entered. I then tip-toed up the stairs and cracked open the cellar door. I peeked my head around the corner and spotted them in the living room. Some young guy was seated on our loveseat facing me. My wife was kneeling in front of him. Her blonde hair was bobbing up and down in his lap while he closed his eyes and wore a big shit-eating smile from ear to ear. God, I hated him.

I quickly whipped out my cellphone, switched over to video mode, and captured several minutes of footage. The asshole suddenly opened his eyes. I thought he looked straight at me, and I panicked and quickly scampered back down the stairs and out of the garage. I made it back to my car and watched the house as I waited for loverboy to leave. The asshole took his sweet time finishing his business. I must have watched the video a dozen times before he finally emerged.

I followed his car straight to the parking lot of the building where Hester worked. The cunt was fucking a co-worker! I was so enraged, I couldn't wait any longer to formulate the next step of my revenge plot. The time had come to ruin some lives and get some payback. With damning evidence in hand, I marched straight into the office to the front desk and demanded to speak to Hester's manager.

"How can I help you?" he asked after greeting me in the lobby. I asked to speak to him privately, and he led me into a small conference room.

"I have some evidence of employee misconduct," I said, gravely. He simply stared at me blankly, so I produced my cellphone and played the video for him. I grinned with great satisfaction as I watched his eyes widen and his jaw drop.

When the video ended, he asked, "Why are you showing me this?"

"Do you recognize the man in that video?" I asked.

"Of course, that's Charlie."

"And the woman is my wife, Hester Prynne. I want them both fired immediately."

"Fired?" he said. "On what grounds?"

I sat back for a moment, stunned. "What do you mean on what grounds? Your two employees are committing adultery! Isn't that a violation of company policy? Don't you have rules regarding employee conduct?"

"Of course," he said, "but I don't see how this is any of our business. What an employee does on his or her own time is not our concern. Our code of conduct pertains to public behavior and statements that negatively impact our company's image. These two people were in the privacy of their own home."

I shook my head in disbelief. Firing employees for adultery was so common in the stories I had read, it had almost become a cliché. I stormed out of the office and headed back to my car. On the way, I spotted shithead's car. I took out my pocket knife and poked a big hole in all four tires. That would show him for fucking with my woman.

Next on my to-do list was a visit with my doctor. After an extended wait, I was finally led to his small examination room.

"I need an STD test," I explained once he finally arrived.

He tried to hide his surprise, but failed. "Okay, which one?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Which STD test? There are more than a dozen of them: Herpes, Chlamydia, Hepatitis, Gonorrhea, Syphilis, HIV—"

"Just, you know, an STD test," I said. "Can't you just test for them all? I'm sure I have something."

"Um...okay, well, there is a ten-test panel."

"Okay, let's do that."

"It's three-hundred and fifty dollars."

I nearly fell off the little table. "You're kidding me."

"Well, unless you qualify for low-income status."

Shit. Did I really want to pay that kind of money or just wait for the symptoms to appear? Reluctantly, I shelled out the cash. Better safe than sorry. The nurses collected just about every bodily fluid I owned - except the fun one - and promised I would have the results by the end of the month.

When I returned home that evening, I was surprised to find yet another strange car in the driveway. This time, it was a police cruiser. I tentatively stepped through the front door to find Hester chatting with two uniformed officers.

"Henry Prynne?" one of the officers asked as they both approached me. I merely nodded. "Sir, we need you to come with us down to the station. We have some questions to ask."

"What's this all about?" I asked.

"Sir, we can talk about it down at the station."

They each grabbed me by an arm and escorted me to the back of their cruiser. I looked out the back window as Hester stood in the doorway looking upset and confused. Once we arrived at the station, the two cops led me to an interrogation room where they showed me footage from a security camera. There I was, in full high-definition, slashing the tires of that prick's car. There was no denying it was me. I was screwed.

I spent the night in a jail cell and was released on bail the following morning. I ended up paying a massive fine along with the cost of damages for the tires. I really don't understand how that happened. In the stories I've read online, the husband always gets away with whatever vengeance he takes on his wife or her lover. Hell, they even get away with murder! All I did was slash a few tires.

Hester was furious with me because I refused to explain why I did it. It wasn't time for the big confrontation just yet. I had to wait for my STD test results. I figured that would be the ultimate piece of damning evidence. Incredibly, though, when the results finally arrived, I was given a clean bill of health. Just my luck. I must have been the only guy in the history of humanity whose wife had sex with another man and didn't end up with a deadly disease!

It seemed as though nothing was going according to plan. My STD tests came back negative. My lawyer seemed to think that photographic or video evidence wouldn't make a difference in our divorce proceeding. He also told me my bank account transfers would be discovered, and the money I'd transferred would end up in my wife's account, regardless. Hester's manager refused to fire her or her lover. I couldn't beat up either of her lovers, and couldn't even slash their tires! All that was left was the big confrontation. At least I still had that.

I sat in my swiveling chair in the center of our living room and waited. In one hand, I held a glass of Scotch. In the other, I softly stroked a cat who purred softly on my lap. I sat in the quiet darkness of the evening and listened. As soon as I heard the door creak open behind me, I swiveled my chair around to face my wife. She stood at the entrance wearing an expression of utter confusion.

"Hello, Hester," I said in a low and calm voice. "I've been waiting for you."

She frowned and shook her head as she closed the door behind her. "What on earth are you doing? And where did you get that cat?"

"Never mind that," I said, employing my best Clint Eastwood imitation. "Have a seat. It's time for us to have a little chat."

She shook her head again in disbelief and strolled straight past me. "In a minute. I've gotta pee."

I waited patiently and listened to the tinkling sound from our downstairs bathroom. I stroked the cat and took a sip of Scotch, enjoying the burn as it traveled down my throat. It helped to build the anticipation of the burn that was to come. As the minutes passed I grew more impatient.

"Are you almost finished in there?" I shouted down the hallway.

After an interminable wait, the toilet flushed at last and she casually sauntered back into the living room. "Okay, what is this all about?" she asked in exasperation.

I leaned forward and slowly pushed a manila envelope toward her across the coffee table. She eyed it quizzically before picking it up and opening it. Her eyes widened. I took another sip of my drink and savored her reaction.

"Divorce papers?" she asked. "What on earth—"

"Shh, shh!" I said, pressing my index finger to my lips. "This is the part where I speak and you listen. You see, I know you've been cheating on me, you filthy, disgusting, whore. And not just with one man, but with multiple men. And it's been going on for quite a while. I've been aware of it the entire time."

"What?" she exclaimed. "Why-?"

"Tut-tut!" I responded. "I speak, you listen. That's how this goes. I know about you and your little co-worker. A little young for you, don't you think? I mean, you're no spring chicken anymore. I also know about your little sleepover a couple of weeks ago while I was away on business."

The expression on her face was priceless. She looked like she had a moth caught in her throat. Just then, the front door opened once more, and our daughter, Pearl, appeared. She seemed to be as confused as her mother.

"Ah, just in time," I said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Come, take a seat, sweetie."

"What's going on?" Pearl asked. "You said to come home immediately. Is everything okay?"

"Everything will be just fine, honey," I said. She sat down and turned her head sideways as she looked at me.

"When did we get a cat?" she asked.

"Never mind the cat!" I shouted a little louder than I intended. I cleared my throat and resumed my Clint Eastwood impression. "Now let me tell you about what a lying, cheating, bitch your mother is."

Pearl's mouth gaped open and she looked from me to her mother. "Mom, is this true?"

Hester began to speak, but I silenced her once more. "She doesn't get to speak now," I explained to Pearl. "But by all means, if you want to take this time to tell your mother what a disgusting whore she is, feel free. Maybe you could come up with some inventive names for her, like Skankisaurus or Cheaterella. Really, I don't want to put words in your mouth. Just fire away whenever you think of them. Be creative."

"But why are you saying this?" Pearl implored. "What makes you think she's cheating?"

I chuckled softly and sipped my drink. Poor Pearl. She had always been so innocent and pure. I produced my cellphone and scrolled to the photos I had taken of Hester on the night I had discovered the first strange car in my driveway. I watched with glee as the two women reacted to the photos I displayed.

"Now, my dear wife," I said, "this is the point where you beg for forgiveness. Maybe you tell me it was a 'mistake.' Maybe you tell me it meant nothing. Or maybe you say it'll never happen again. You know, the usual bullshit."

Hester merely stared at me in disbelief and shook her head. Pearl looked back and forth between the two of us, waiting for someone to speak.

"This is why you want a divorce?" Hester said at last.

"Of course," I responded with a chuckle. "You cheat, you suffer the consequences. You're lucky I'm only asking for a divorce."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"I'm just saying, I've read about some husbands who take it a little further, and make the split a little more painful...sometimes even permanent."

"You would murder me?" she shouted. "You saw me hug and kiss someone and that's grounds for murder? When did you become a psychopath?"

"I read plenty of stories online where that happens," I said in defense. "It happens more often than you'd think. And the husband always gets away with it, too."

Hester shook her head and folded her arms. "Okay, first of all, I can't believe what a sick person you are. I mean, that's just despicable. Not to mention petty, weak, insecure, and pathetic. But more importantly, you know that man in your photo is my cousin, Pete, right?"

I felt like someone just splashed a bucket of ice water in my face. Pete? Who the hell was Pete? And what was he doing in my house? I looked to Pearl for help, but she simply shrugged.

"You met him at Katie's wedding last year," Hester continued. "You seriously don't remember?"

"You have a huge family," I said.

"And you were shit-faced," she snapped. "You probably don't remember anything about that night. Pete happened to be in town and needed a place to crash for the night. You know how I hate being here alone. I figured it would be nice to visit with him."

"Well, why the fuck were you hugging and kissing him in the kitchen?" I asked. "And where the fuck did he sleep?"

Hester sighed. "My family - unlike yours - is very affectionate. We hug and kiss each other all the time. It's what we do."

"She's right," Pearl chimed in. "That side of the family is always up in my grill."

"It's not as if we were making out in the kitchen," Hester continued. "It was a brief peck on the lips. And he slept in Pearl's room that night. There was nothing sexual about it. Frankly, that's disgusting."

"Well, it looked sexual to me," I blurted out.

"Pete is gay!" Hester shouted. "For god's sake, don't you remember this?! We even talked about his upcoming wedding - to his boyfriend! Do you not hear a single word I ever say?!"

Oh, yeah. Gay Pete. Suddenly it was all coming back to me. It didn't matter, though. I still had my most damning piece of evidence. I waved at her dismissively and proudly displayed my phone once again to show the two of them the video I had captured. I then sat back and waited for the flood of tears and apologies to begin.