Author's note: This week's story is a little different for me. I wanted to do something that several of you have asked for. A story where the husband doesn't get angry and turn into a Green Beret or MMA fighter and kick everyone's ass. He's just a normal, shell shocked guy with no plans for world domination beginning with ruining his ex and her new man's lives. He just leaves it up to Karma. And gets on with his life. If you don't like it, don't worry. next week will be something different and I'm working on something special for Halloween. Thanks for reading it. And a special thanks to Mikothebaby for editing this story. SS06.
I have to admit, I never saw this coming. My car was running rough. It needed to be serviced and I didn't have the money for it. I probably shouldn't be driving it, but I had no choice. I closed the door and saw the looks of people around me as I got out. My BMW didn't belong in this neighborhood.
I headed for the secretary of state office. As I walked into the office, probably based on the way I was dressed, the security guard pointed me towards a license renewal lane. I shook my head and he looked at me puzzled.
"Do you need another picture taken?" he asked. I shook my head negatively.
"Well what are you here for?" he asked. Almost every head in the crowded office turned to listen. Most of them didn't have the decency to even pretend that they weren't interested.
"I'm here to register for State Aid," I said quietly. "You know, Welfare? As in I have no income and no money and I'm going to fucking starve to death, welfare? Or is it, they just came and threw me and all of my stuff out of the crappy apartment that I moved into after I was forced out of the house that I thought I'd live in for the rest of my fucking life, welfare? Maybe it's, I can't find a God damned job to save my ass, because no one will hire me, welfare?"
"Calm down, lady," he said, in a nervous voice. "Half the people in this office are here registering for or dealing with welfare. I know what you need. Go over there and get one of those forms. Fill it out completely and put it in the inbox at the counter. Then have a seat and someone will call you."
"How long will it take for them to call me?" I asked.
"Not very long," he said. "It shouldn't be longer than maybe, 2 or 3 hours at the most."
He wasn't kidding. There were people sleeping while they waited to be called. There was a magazine rack in the corner, but it was empty. I got the feeling that most of the magazines weren't returned when the people who read them were finished with them.
Everyone in the place looked at me constantly. I knew they were wondering why the fuck someone who dressed like me, was here.
It's a long story and kind of funny actually. It all started exactly 2 years from next Tuesday.
My name is Melinda Conrad. Okay I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that my name sounds an awful lot like Mel Conrad. That guy who struck it rich last year and gives away all of that money to charities and all of that bullshit. Well you're right. He's my husband. Okay, technically he's my ex-husband. And you know what else? I got a bum deal. I am directly responsible for that man becoming a God damned gazillionaire and I have nothing to show for it. Okay maybe I'm not directly responsible, but if I hadn't forced him to divorce me, he wouldn't be rich. So I deserve some of the credit don't I?
Two years ago, we were really fucking happy. We weren't rich by a long shot. We were just your typical, average, everyday, middle class family. My husband Melvin Conrad, my daughter, Melissa Conrad and me, were three peas in a pod. We were a very close family. We had a great house. It's the one they forced my ass out of. Then I had to move into that shitty apartment that I was just evicted from, but anyway on with the story. The three of us loved each other like there was no tomorrow.
My husband wasn't very exciting, but he was reasonably good looking and he loved me. He worked very hard to provide for our family and as I've said we were comfortable.
Our daughter had just completed her first year at the state university when it hit me. There are so many names for the same thing these days, but you know what I had. Some people call it a midlife crisis, others call it a hormone imbalance and still others call it empty nest syndrome. They're all great names for "spoiled woman gets bored and does stupid shit and usually regrets it-itis." Occasionally it hits men too, so you guys out there shouldn't feel superior or immune to it. When you see a balding forty something man driving a fucking sports car with a twenty year old blonde beside him, he's probably got it.
Any way I had asked my husband out to dinner because I had to tell him something. Something awful that I had done and I needed to clear the air about. I'm a decent looking woman to say the least. At forty, I was still capable of turning heads on a good day. I'm a little heavier than I was when we first met, but it's all in good places. Mel loved me so much and I was soooo stupid.
He showed up a little bit late, no more than 5 minutes so I didn't beat him up over it. He smiled at me. His face still lit up like a Christmas tree every time he saw me. You'd think that it had been weeks since we'd seen each other but it was actually only that morning.
I was really nervous as he wrapped his arms around me and gave me a hug. I had butterflies in my stomach then. Something told me I was making a BFM. For those of you who aren't up on your technical jargon, BFM stands for Big Fucking Mistake.
He sat down across from me. His expression was one of absolute joy. I was sure he thought that this was a good thing. I hated to crush the man that I'd lived with, loved, and raised a daughter with for over twenty years, but I had no choice. It was him or my happiness.
"How was your day, honey?" he asked. God damn him, he was the one who'd gone out and worked all day. What did he think I'd been doing, all day? Did he think I'd was working on a cure for cancer or trying to solve the Middle East crisis? I woke up at 9 and loaded the dishwasher. I threw a load of laundry in the washing machine and my day was halfway over.
"Mel, I want a divorce," I told him. He spat the sip of water he'd just drunk straight into my face. I'm sure it was an accident but it ruined my makeup and my hair. I just sat there with water and spit running down my face while he tried to get his breath back.
"Are you serious?" he asked quietly.
"Very," I replied with as much dignity as I could muster, considering that I looked like a fucking raccoon with my water proof mascara proving once and for all that it wasn't water proof.
He stood up and wiped his mouth and said, "My attorney will be in touch with you." The pain and the heartache on his face alone hurt me. I felt like the lowest form of pond scum on earth. Everything inside of me, every fiber of my being told me to get down on my knees and tell him it was just a joke. But I didn't move. He turned to walk away after throwing some bills on the table.
"Wait Mel," I said. "This isn't the way this was supposed to go. Don't you want to talk about it and ask me some questions? Don't we need to discuss how the divorce will go?"
He turned to me and looked at me curiously and asked, "Why?"
I was shocked. I'd rehearsed this whole thing over a hundred times in my head. And this reaction hadn't come up in any of them. He hadn't gotten angry and he hadn't resorted to crying. He hadn't demanded to know why or threatened me at all. He'd simply accepted what I was saying and moved on.
"What would that help? Would it make me feel any better? Would it make you feel any different? I doubt all of those. I'm sure for you to be doing this it means you've found someone else and you want to be with him. The way I felt about you obviously isn't enough to change your mind, although it really wouldn't have mattered. Since you're doing this, you've already slept with him, correct?"
I nodded my head and said, "But..." He cut me off.
"Which means that you are of no further interest to me," he said coldly. "Okay, you want questions? Do I need to get a DNA test or is Melissa mine?"
"God Mel," I said. "For heaven's sake of course she's yours. What do you think I am?"
"You really wouldn't like the answer to that question," he said. "Goodbye Melinda." Then he turned and walked away. He didn't seem to be nearly as angry or upset as I thought he'd be.
"God damn it Mel," I screamed after him. "Aren't you going to even try to fight for me?"
My voice rang out across the restaurant. He turned again and from three tables away, delivered his answer.
"Why, Melinda?" he asked. "I can't change the way you feel. Who am I to try to tell you that your feelings are wrong? You obviously don't love me the way I love you. If you did we wouldn't be doing this. Since you no longer love me, I have to get over you and move on. Besides I only fight for things I want and after hearing what you've had to say this evening, that no longer includes you. Have a great life. I have no intention of trying to stand in your way."
Everyone in the restaurant stared at me as Mel made his way to the door. I felt a shiver go down my spine. I'd read about that kind of feeling. People say that it happens to you when someone walks over the ground that you'll be buried under. I guess what it really means is that as I already told you, I made a BFM.
My heart and my head were both screaming at me, but I couldn't listen to them, then. I called the waiter over and asked him where the ladies room was.
.... There is more of this story ...