Chapter 2: The Breakdown

The first sign of trouble arrived after Marzia qualified as a lawyer. Until then, we had both agreed that having a child would hinder her traineeship and studies. But now she was 28, and I was 30, and I started bringing up the idea of starting a family. I thought it was the right time for both of us. But she cut me short; she told me that she had a new career to build, that it wasn’t the right moment, and that maybe in two or three years we could start. Then she added that she was having second thoughts about having children altogether.

Well, that was a massive change of heart, because whenever we had discussed the topic before, she had always told me she wanted at least two. That was why our house had four bedrooms.

That issue drove the first wedge into our marriage. After a few heated discussions and arguments, I let the matter drop, but the passion in bed was no longer the same. It felt as though we were both constantly thinking about the consequences of sex. Even though she was on the pill, she seemed worried about getting pregnant, and I was always on edge, wondering whether it was fine to cum inside her or if I needed to pull out in time. So, we quietly drifted from almost daily sex to a twice-a-week rhythm, mostly during the weekend, three times if it was a good week.

That shift also came from our work schedules. As I mentioned earlier, my life is tied to the hours of the land’s work: in bed early at night, up early in the morning. Her job as a lawyer required completely different hours. Many nights, she had to read and draft documents for the next day’s court cases, or prepare for upcoming client meetings, so she would come to bed late, long after I was sound asleep. So when I woke up in the morning, she was still fast asleep.

In our early years, she had always wanted to join me in bed, to enjoy our sex or cuddles before sleeping, and to wake up early alongside me so we could have breakfast together. She used to say that by waking up early, she had plenty of time to study for her traineeship and exam.

It turned out that Marzia was good at her job, a hell of a lawyer. Her stepfather had been right about that. Her professional career took off, and day by day she took on more clients and started making serious money.

She began buying and wearing expensive suits and accessories, and started complaining about my “casual” wardrobe compared to the tailored suits her male colleagues wore in court and in everyday life. When I went to parties or social events with her colleagues, I felt she was embarrassed by how I dressed, even though I had started buying a few designer shirts and trousers for those events that probably cost more than the suits the other men wore.

She complained about my car because her colleagues drove expensive SUVs or sports cars. She bought herself a sporty BMW Z4 Roadster and barely agreed to be seen riding around with me in my old Toyota.

Then she started coming home late, sometimes long after dinner. She claimed she was working flat out, that the volume of cases was driving her crazy, and that her stepfather was slowly stepping back toward retirement, leaving her to handle most of their clients.

Week after week, month after month, the dynamic at home shifted. Our intimacy and the deep connection we used to share faded into a routine of a few superficial words exchanged over dinner; we rarely had time for lunch together anymore, and she constantly complained about almost everything.

I picked up plenty of red flags that something was deeply wrong, but I clung to the promise we made when we first got together: if anything changed in her heart, she would talk to me before doing anything stupid.

Then, after three years, came the big bang.

It was a Monday morning. The previous Sunday, Marzia had worked all day and well into the night, studying and preparing for an important court trial over the coming days.

As usual, I woke up early at six, while she was still fast asleep. Three hours later, I was driving my tractor toward the main shed, having already completed my morning rounds and assigned the day’s tasks to the lads.

My phone rang; it was Marzia. It was unusual, as she rarely phoned me during the workday. When I answered, she said, “Hello, honey, sorry to bother you. I woke up late this morning and left in a rush; I’ve forgotten my work laptop at home. I need it in two hours for court, but I’m stuck at the office preparing for a meeting with a new client. Could you bring it over to me, or send one of your employees?”

“Don’t worry, Marzia,” I replied. “I’ve got some free time right now. I’ll head home and bring it to you as soon as I can. See you in a bit.”

The laptop was sitting on the side table next to the recliner where she had spent Sunday working, its lid still propped open. As soon as I touched the top, the screen woke up, and I saw that she had forgotten to lock it.

Curiosity? Intuition? A sixth sense? I don’t know, but I couldn’t resist looking. I opened her email client, and in an instant, my world shattered.

On Sunday, while supposedly working on her case, she had exchanged some very explicit emails with Angelo Menti.

Thinking back to that Sunday, I remembered catching Marzia smiling and giggling at her laptop screen a few times while she worked. I had wondered what could possibly be so funny about a complex legal case, but I’d let it pass. Right then, I realised she’d been using email to chat with this guy, probably thinking it would look far less suspicious than tapping away on her phone.

I knew exactly who the man was; her stepfather had introduced them a couple of years earlier, and I’d met him at a few social events. Ten years my senior, Angelo Menti was the town’s most prominent lawyer, president of the local bar association, and owner of a major law firm employing ten solicitors and secretaries. Divorced twice, with a child from each marriage, he was a well-known pussy hunter, especially the married ones. He had been the cause of the collapse of several marriages and engagements over the years, and both of his own divorces were the direct result of his infidelity.

Well, the emails exchanged on Sunday left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Angelo had initiated the exchange that afternoon, writing: “Marzia, I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t get enough of your body. Thursday at my place completely wore me out. You’re the best woman I’ve ever met; sex with you is unbelievable, and your ass is absolute perfection.”

Marzia’s reply: “Oh, Angelo, I still get wet just thinking about it. I couldn’t even count how many orgasms I had while riding your massive cock. I wish I had it right now; I’d blow you and ride you until you filled me with your cum over and over again. I can’t wait for next Thursday; your bed is waiting for us, and I want to wreck it.”