
The lover was one of my best friends, and the total opposite of her husband.
The married couple had two young kids, with a third (almost) on the way.
And, you know, one thing led to another — cheaters are never guilty, they are simply “led” by things — and so they started fooling around.
(“On the bed, on the floor, on a towel by the door, in the tub, in the car — up against the mini-bar.” 🎵)
The fact that she got pregnant wasn’t really good news. Because she did not have the faintest idea who the father was. What a stupid luxury.
When David (the husband) found out, he almost killed himself.
But he didn’t.
Instead he called me — because he suspected I knew all along (and he was right) — and invited me to their house. And she was there too. Pregnant cheater woman.
That was one of the most tense evenings of my life. They poured me strong Belgian beer because they knew I liked it, and after a while I felt I was sitting in a hallucination.
Which I was.
David threatened to kill himself on that very evening, and thought about killing her too.
(Luckily, he forgot about me.)
But he wasn’t like that at all — his life simply went down the drain, and his future (and that of his kids) had become bleak. And let’s not even start about the unborn baby.
In the end they divorced, and Pregnant cheating woman then blamed my friend for the consequences of their deeds.
And so they separated too.
All’s well that ends well, I guess.
(Not.)
SOURCES: painting by Francis Bacon.
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