Every so often, I came across something that brought back a memory. There was a dress she had worn to our 10th anniversary dinner and a small ceramic ornament we had bought during a weekend trip years earlier. I remembered how we had laughed when we discovered that the hotel had lost our reservation and how we had ended up finding a little restaurant down the street. I didnāt stop packing, but I didnāt feel the need to turn those memories into something ugly either. Our marriage had contained good years.
I wasnāt going to deny that simply because it had ended badly. By late afternoon, I had packed most of her personal belongings. I carried the boxes into the garage and arranged them along one wall, leaving a clear path through the space. I placed the more fragile items on a shelf and made a list of what I had packed. I also set aside a few things she might need immediately, including her work clothes and everyday toiletries.
I didnāt want her to have to open every box just to find something essential. Before finishing, I took photographs of the boxes and their contents for my own records. I wasnāt trying to make a dramatic statement. I simply wanted everything accounted for. Then I returned to my office and called Diane.
Iāve packed Veronicaās belongings, I told her. They're in the garage. I expect she'll need somewhere else to stay when she gets back. Diane reminded me not to assume I could legally force Veronica out of the marital home simply because I had owned it before we married. We discussed how to handle the conversation and what arrangements might be necessary while the divorce proceeded.
I told her I understood. I would not change the locks, interfere with Veronicaās access to essential belongings, or take any action that could complicate the legal process. But I was also not going to pretend we could continue living as though nothing had happened. That evening, I placed the photographs from Leonardās report on the kitchen table. Beside them, I put the documents Diane had prepared and a written list of the questions that still needed to be settled.
I didnāt know exactly when Veronica would return. She had told me she would be back the following day, and I expected her to keep that promise. I planned to be ready when she walked through the door. There would be no screaming match in which we forgot what we were arguing about. There would be no endless discussion about whether I had misunderstood what I had seen.
I intended to show her the evidence, tell her what I had decided, and let her respond. For 20 years, I had treated Veronica as my partner and trusted her to do the same. When she returned, she would discover that the life she had left behind was no longer waiting for her unchanged. Veronica returned shortly after 11 that night. I heard her car pull into the driveway, followed by the sound of the front door opening.
She walked into the hallway carrying her overnight bag and calling out to me as if she had been away for an ordinary evening out. Marvin, are you home? Iām in the kitchen. She appeared a moment later, still wearing the clothes sheād gone out in. Her hair was tied back and she looked tired.
She placed her bag beside the counter and glanced at the photographs on the table. What's all this? Sit down, Veronica. Something in my voice made her pause. She looked at me more carefully.
What's wrong? I pulled out the chair opposite mine. Sit down and I'll explain. She sat, although she looked impatient. I pushed the first photograph toward her.
For a second, she stared at it without moving. Then her face changed. "Where did you get this?" I placed the next photograph beside it, showing her kissing the same man outside the bar. "Who is he?" I asked. She looked away.
"Marvin, I can explain." "That's good, because I'd like to hear it." She picked up the photograph, examined it again, and put it down. It wasnāt what you think. I almost laughed at the predictability of the answer. Then tell me what it was. Because from where Iām sitting, you went out with your friends, kissed another man, and went to a hotel with him.
I was drunk. That doesnāt explain why you kissed him. We'd all been drinking. Things got out of hand. And the hotel?
She rubbed her forehead. I donāt remember everything clearly. I was upset and he was there. I made a stupid mistake. You remember enough to tell me it meant nothing, but not enough to explain what happened.
Her expression hardened. You're twisting everything. It was one night, Marvin. One terrible mistake. It doesnāt mean I donāt love you.
I leaned back in my chair. Did you think about me at any point that night? Did you think about the 20 years weāve been married before you kissed him? She didnāt answer immediately. Of course, I thought about you.
Then why did you do it? I donāt know. She snapped. I was drinking. Everyone was having fun and I wasnāt thinking straight.
Do you honestly believe Iāve planned to destroy our marriage? I donāt know what you planned. I know what you did. She pushed the photographs away as if she could make them disappear. You're acting as though Iāve been having an affair for years.
It was one night. One night is enough when you choose to cross that line. Her eyes filled with tears, but I had spent too many hours looking at those photographs to let her reaction distract me from what they showed. I reached for the paperwork beside me. I met with a divorce attorney this morning.
Iāve instructed her to begin the process. Veronica stared at me. You did what? Iāve started the divorce process. She stood so quickly that her chair scraped across the floor.
You cannot be serious. We've been married for 20 years. Marvin, youāre going to throw all of that away because I made one mistake. No, you made the choice to betray me. Iām making the choice about what I can accept in my marriage.
You haven't even given me a chance to explain. Iāve listened to your explanation. You were drunk. You werenāt thinking. And you regret getting caught.
Is there anything else? That's not fair. I stood and gathered the photographs into a neat stack. Fair would have been coming home to your husband instead of going to a hotel with another man. She looked at me as if she no longer recognized the person standing in front of her.
I pointed toward the garage. Your belongings are packed and stored there. You can arrange to collect them. We can discuss the practical details through the proper channels, but Iām not going to pretend our marriage is fine. Veronica looked toward the hallway, then back at me.
For the first time since she had walked through the door, she seemed to understand that I wasnāt bluffing, and that was when the real argument began. Veronica stood beside the kitchen table, staring at me with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "You hired someone to follow me," she demanded. "Yes." "Do you have any idea how disgusting that is? You had a stranger follow your own wife and take pictures of her.