It wasn’t enough that she was perfect in almost every way.
Marco read the first line of the mail he’d received from an old friend he’d gone to college with. “Son of a bitch,” he said aloud. “You finally did it.”
He called 911 and reported the confession.
This wasn’t the way Marco had planned on starting Sunday morning. It wasn’t the way anyone would plan any morning. Holy crap. The problem was that Marco had planned on killing the woman himself. She’d spent years glowing in her own perfection, taunting, teasing, and creating a world where no other woman existed.
On the sidelines was Marco’s wife Helena. Slightly overweight (more than slightly), forgetful, absent-minded, insecure and the object of scorn by her college roommate. She’d also become one of the top female CEO’s in the country. Yes, success is the best revenge. Well, almost the best revenge.
The last time Marco was at his friend’s house he was shown a packet of letters. Most started with the words she never loved you. Marco pocketed the letters. He still had them, locked away in the back of his gun safe.
Helena came into the room with their sleepy small daughter on her hip. “Morning dear husband,” she said.
“I have some bad news. Cassandra is dead. Dave killed her. He cut her face off.”
Helena called their son to come get his sister, then when the children were safely in the back bedroom she poured a cup of coffee and sat next to her husband. The talked about the murder and the horror of it all.
Marco put his hand on his wife’s. “I have the letters Helena. I took them when I recognized your handwriting.”
Helena pulled her hand away, then took a sip of coffee. “I wrote those letters 20 years ago. She didn’t love him. I did. But all the guys were wrapped around her little finger. She had all of you right in the palm of her hand. You know that. You all knew that. You were like a bunch of dogs. Why’d you keep the letters?”
“I don’t know.”
“I lost all respect for him. I moved on but the rest of you never did. Not even you.” She got up and went off to the find the children.
All those years… they all were in love with the wrong girl. Marco sat feeling numb. His wife wasn’t fat, she was curvy and sexy. She wasn’t stupid or shy, she was smart and thoughtful. He hadn’t taken second best. Marco tried to tell himself that but it was too soon to face reality. The fantasy had been too much fun. And in one moment his wife had killed it. A double murder of fantasy and reality. Huh. He’d have to write that thought down for his next book.
Later that day he put the letters through the paper shredder. Helena took the kids to the zoo without him. He wasn’t sure when she’d be back.
At the zoo Helena smiled at her two bundled up children as they marveled at the flamingos. She smiled thinking of the last letter she’d sent only last week.
Casandra is still banging my husband. All of the guys are. It never stopped.
She wouldn’t leave Marco, not any more than he’d leave Sheila. Some people said success was the best revenge but that wasn’t true. Funny how things worked that way.
OK that was the story I wrote over my own cup of coffee this morning. I’ll work on it some more later. If you’d like something lighter below is a story I first posted in 2013. It is one of my favorites. ~ Juliette
I just got done removing a stump from the back yard and I’m sitting down to a beer and the game when the doorbell rings,
My wife is out shopping and the kids are off with friends. I’m enjoying a little quiet time, just me and the TV.
I answer the door, and there is a guy about my age standing there. He looks like he just came out of GQ Magazine with a jacket, perfect jeans, a shirt that costs as much as my house payment. His features are like an Italian Model or a Movie star, that sort of pretty but manly look that women go nuts over. His hair is perfect, thick and silver. He’s wearing a Rolex Submariner. Nice.
He gave me a pretty serious look then said “I’m sleeping with your wife.”
Alright, I wasn’t expecting that one. He then looked me up and down like he was waiting for me to beat the shit out of him. I’m a big guy. Not big and fat, but 6″4′ with 50 inch shoulders and a lot of gym time. I used to play football. This guy wasn’t small but I had a good 5 inches on him and maybe 60 pounds. He looked like a runner or one of those freaking guys who rides a bike in neon colored spandex shorts.
Honestly I should have beat the shit out of him, but that isn’t my style. I just went numb. Heather and I had been together for 20 years, married 17 of those years. We have two kids and a house and friends and … we were one of those perfect couples. You know, we laugh a lot and say the same thing at the same time. That sort of perfect. We hold hands and … I thought things were fine.
Sure she’d put on some weight and had a hard time dealing with her body image. Sure she was over worked with her job and the kids and with me. Sure she was stressed, but who isn’t? But… this handsome, obviously wealthy guy was standing here telling me that MY WIFE was sleeping with him.
He started talking about passion… her passion. Sure we had passion. That morning I’d almost been late for work because of her passion, our passion. But he got into details of fetish stuff he’d do with her and how he made her scream the way I never could. I had no idea she ever wanted any of that stuff. I sure didn’t want it.
Then, as I stood stunned, he talked about her beauty and how smart she was and how I could never ever appreciate her. He said the kids didn’t need her as much anymore, he said she loved him.
I could feel my body start to shake. My world was imploding around me. My throat was tight. I thought I was going to vomit on his expensive shoes. Finally I said something. “Does she know you’re here?”
Mr. GQ glared at me and said “I’m taking her away to live the life she deserves.”
“Do you love Heather?” I asked. I had to know. I knew the answer but I wanted him to tell me.
His eyes opened as big as dinner plates. “Heather?”
“My wife,” I said.
“Your wife isn’t Allison?”
“Heather.” I grabbed the wedding photo off of the hutch in the front entry way and put it in his face. “Allison lives next door.”
“Uh, sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t go next door. He just got in his car and drove away.
About 20 minutes later the front door opened and I heard a familiar voice “Honey, I’m home. Did I miss anything.”
“No, just got the stump out and I’m watching the game. Hey, did I tell you that I think you’re beautiful?” Then I took her hand and took her upstairs. It would be another 3 hours before the kids came home.
Have a fun week everyone and don’t forget to enter the Vampire Maman Love Letter Contest (CLICK HERE for details and rules).
And if you’re missing your Vampire fix click here for a Vampire romance of a sorts: Perfection.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman