A “masterpiece” in red and black was written across both doors of my Audi, which had only been in my possession for a little over a month. The marking is permanent. Lines that are thick.
Chaos that is abstract. Simply looking at him and asking, “Where did you get the markers?” was all I could do since I was unable to even talk. His body became numb.
They refused to look at me. Later on that evening, when I was searching for the vehicle keys belonging to my wife, I discovered the cap of one of the markers in the envelope. I challenged her, expecting her to either deny it or apologize for it, but all she did was say, as calm as she always is:
It was my intention to find a method to cause you pain.
After then, she left, despite the fact that she was aware of the affair. In the kitchen, I stood there, clutching the cap of the marker, and my gut was twisting like a towel that had been wrung out. I was really taken aback by what I had just heard.
It wasn’t because I didn’t deserve it; rather, it was because everything about it was so cold and planned. It wasn’t as if we hadn’t encountered any difficulties. It was us.
Still, I was under the impression that we were coasting. Marriage was not glamorous, but I believed we were coping despite the fact that we had two jobs, a mortgage, and a kid who still soiled the bed regularly. We were not, as it turned out.
I remained seated with the hat in my hand as I followed her into the living room. “What exactly does that imply?” I inquired about it. “Did you intend to cause me pain?
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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