amamam

I know my wife, and I know she wants something special, something extraordinarily important to her.

Susan dressed in her most attractive attire—a red dress with a neckline and a short hem.

She adorned it with jewels meant to accentuate her incredible natural beauty and remind us of our shared past: the brooch I gave her on our fifteenth anniversary, the necklace on her third Mother's Day, and, finally, the earrings—my first gift to her, made on our honeymoon.

The high heels of her red shoes visually elongate and elegantly emphasize Susan's already long legs. She prepared my favorite dinner and was ready to fulfill any of my desires from the moment I stepped through the door.

All of this goes far beyond what she usually does when she wants something from me. Undoubtedly, I've always tried to be a generous husband, but, forgive me, I don't print money.

I spent most of my career as a private attorney for injury cases, and although it allowed our family to maintain a certain level of comfort, there are still some limits.

Such an extraordinary level of effort on her part can only mean that Susan intends to ask for something far beyond the usual boundaries. I know my wife, and I understand that what she wants is much more than we can afford.

For many years, Susan has been a wonderful homemaker and raised our two children, who have now left home and are attending college. She's a good wife and mother, cooks wonderfully, and strives to keep her body in shape; she's generous with love and affection, always the first to help the children with their schoolwork on a voluntary basis, and thanks to her, I feel loved and valued.

However, over the years, she has tried many hobbies and interests to alleviate the boredom of being a stay-at-home mom, such as bird watching, selling cosmetics, writing, and much more.

When she wanted to try a particularly expensive hobby, she went all out for it—by the way, very much like what's happening now.

When Susan wanted to return to work after the children left home, it was much easier: she knew she wouldn't have to persuade me for long, as for once, instead of spending, she would be bringing money home.

But it's been two years since she started working again. That's much longer than it usually takes for her to get bored with a new activity; she put it on the back burner and started looking for something new. For some reason, this latest hobby of hers dragged on too long.

I know my wife, and I know what she's like when she gets a new obsessive idea.

Let's get to the point.

Susan serves dinner, and over the meal, we casually discuss how my day went. This is always a mandatory part of the preliminary maneuvers. Attempts to directly get from her what she really wants will only spoil our pleasant and unhurried dinner, as she believes she knows this process inside out.

Once, during her self-improvement phase, Susan read a book on negotiations—it was her new obsession, fortunately short-lived.

So, from this book, she took the conviction that adhering to a clear schedule, proper sequence, and providing information only when she wants it is the sure key to achieving what she desires.

Perhaps it's not a bad strategy, but she used it so often that I see through all her games and maneuvers from a mile away.

After dinner, she clears the table and invites me to sit with her in the living room. I settle into my chair, and she, as usual, stands. Obviously, she's going to passionately defend whatever idea has popped into her head this time, so she needs the freedom to pace around the room.

Well, I know my wife, and with a high degree of probability, I can guess what this will be about.

She will eloquently present her arguments, telling me how "this" (I still don't know what exactly) will make her happy. I think she'll surely

offer something in return: new golf clubs, promises of improving our financial situation, opportunities to spend time and money on one of my favorite projects. In general, something that, in her opinion, holds equivalent value.

If I agree to her proposal, then she, happy, will leap onto my lap and ask to be taken to bed immediately.

If I say "NO," well, then I might face a very cold—almost arctic—atmosphere in the bedroom for several weeks, if not months... and still, she might try to act behind my back, and then just ask for forgiveness. Over the years, it's become easier for me to just say "yes," knowing that she'll get bored before she gets too deep into her latest temporary obsession.

I know my wife, and I understand that today she'll do her utmost to get a simple "yes" from me.

Susan begins by talking about her job. She enjoys working there, but, she says, there's a new young manager who has recently taken a special interest in her in her department.

At first, I nod, thinking Susan means he wants to be her mentor, or she hopes for a promotion. I know it would mean more hours at work for her, and I assume she probably wants to lessen her household duties.

Then I realize she's talking much more about this manager. He's from a wealthy family. He's handsome, well-dressed, travels a lot, and has an athlete's physique.

Using his famous last name and his own business savvy, this manager quickly climbed the corporate ladder in her company. Susan trained him shortly after he started working there, and now he's her boss. She keeps talking and talking about him, listing his numerous positive qualities.

I know my wife, and now I understand who has become her new obsession.

Then Susan tells me she's become close with her boss. She says she hadn't mentioned him before because she rarely talked about her job at all.

As she talks about him, I remember seeing him at a Christmas party once. He came over and greeted both of us. At first glance, he seemed very friendly toward Susan... though he quickly blended into the crowd, and I didn't think much of the moment.

So, Susan continues her story; he's been flirting with her. At first, she took it as just office banter or the young man making playful remarks to an older colleague. But it was more than that.

Turns out, her young and bold boss has had his eye on her for a while and recently told her about his intentions. Every year he goes on a weekend getaway to a tropical island, and this time he wants to take Susan. Not "us." Specifically her. And my wife wants to go with him, so she needs a pass. From me.

I know my wife, and I realize I'm witnessing the slow-motion end of my marriage.

Susan sees my face harden, and immediately switches tactics: she starts insisting.

I was the only man she had when we got married, and she wants to know what it's like to be with another man. He's a real gentleman, it'll be our little secret, and no one else will ever know.

It'll only be once. She loves me, and nothing will change that. It'll be a new, exciting adventure for both of us. She'll come home completely renewed and drown me in her affections. It's not my fault, and it's not about me at all. If I love her, I'll let her have this.

All these arguments Susan throws out one after the other bounce off me like peas off a wall, and at some point, she realizes it's not working.

So, she moves on to bargaining. I can get my own "pass" on the side; no, two passes... no, one with no restrictions. She'll let me buy that boat I've always wanted. No? Then "he" will buy it for me. He'll provide and pay for a lavish vacation for me with a very friendly companion. He can significantly help my career and Susan's career.

I tell her: the main thing I want is to have a faithful wife. But... I know my wife, and I see she's unwavering in her persistence.

Susan starts telling me she's treating me honestly and decently because she's openly telling me what she wants. She's asking for my permission, not just cheating on me behind my back.

She wants to get her pass because by using it, she'll keep her fidelity to me. She wants to give me the pass so each of us can gain new experiences while remaining faithful. She's asking to do this so she doesn't have to cheat secretly.

I say she doesn't have to cheat at all, she just wants to, like a little girl.

Now Susan starts getting angry. She calls me a hypocrite because before her, I slept with others, as if the vows we made at the altar meant nothing.

She calls me selfish, as she spent decades of her life and her best years on me and our family, while I pursued my career, as if I were lucky to work long hours at a job I didn't particularly enjoy.

She calls me a relic, a man out of touch with modern life, because I refuse to "open up" our marriage, as if fidelity were some fickle trend that goes in and out of fashion.

I sit, impassively watching her pace the room, waving her arms and unleashing her anger on me.

I know my wife, and I understand she won't just let this go.

Finally, Susan exhales and surrenders. I tell her I can't stop her. I know she'll eventually decide to act behind my back, as she's done before when a new obsessive idea consumed her thoughts entirely.

I tell her that asking for permission, regardless of whether it's granted, is still deceit and betrayal, and that I won't grant my wife such permission.

I tell her that if she leaves with him, she shouldn't come back. She won't be welcome here. Susan glares at me angrily but says nothing.

Failing to get what she wants, she snorts irritably, sharply turns on her heels, stomps up the stairs, and, slamming the door, locks herself in our bedroom. My shoulders slump in resignation. Grief settles in my heart, and right now, I have nothing to do but dwell on my mournful thoughts. There's no outlet for my anger and sorrow yet.

I shuffle into the spare bedroom, undress, and crawl under the covers, then toss and turn throughout this long, bleak, and lonely night.

I know my wife, and I understand I'll have trouble sleeping tonight.

When I wake up, Susan is already gone.

Her suitcase is gone. Her warm clothes, too. And she didn't take her phone; it lies on the bedside table with its charger. So alas, I couldn't contact her even if I wanted to. And I don't want to.

Underneath the phone lies a note Susan left for me. In it, she expresses her hope — if not certainty — that I'll change my mind when I have time to seriously reconsider.

She explains she'll return on Monday evening. She also writes that she loves me and hopes that while she's away, I'll make use of the "affair pass" she issued, which, as I've repeatedly told her, I neither accept nor want to receive.

She assures me she'll come back just as loving as she left — if not more; for some reason, she mistakenly believes she'll still be a valuable treasure to me, one I'd be eager to reclaim, not trash I'd prefer to discard.

Well, her misconception is quite understandable. She has been my greatest treasure so far. But not anymore.

Right now, Susan is on a plane, and I'm here.

It's Friday morning. I called the office and left a message saying I won't be there because there's more important work I need to do. Last night, I couldn't express my emotions, but now all I have is anger in my heart and the time I need.

Next, I call my old friend, setting the wheels and gears of the legal machine in motion. He starts drafting divorce documents.

I send him a copy of our marriage contract, which includes a clause about marital infidelity, as well as information about our shared property.

I ask him to be fair, considering that Susan is the mother of my children, but by no means to show her excessive generosity. Given the structure of our assets and the details of the marriage contract, the division should be straightforward.

I know my wife and remember she never paid much attention to legal details.

Susan strictly enforced order in the house; it was the one thing she truly excelled at. Over the weekend, it'll be easy for me to find all her belongings, pack them into bags and boxes, and send it all to storage. I want her to realize the moment she opens the door that this is no longer her home.

Surprisingly, the work of packing and carrying her things provides some moral relief. It allows me to focus on something I can control.

Most of my weekends are consumed by these affairs, leaving my body so drained every evening that all I can manage is to collapse into bed and pass out. But at least at night, my brain isn't tormented by endless and, frankly, pointless thoughts about how everything has come to this.

Monday mornings, I prepare myself for the impending confrontation.

I call our children and inform them of what's to come. I don't delve into details, but now they know that their mother has decided to betray me—after attempting to coerce me into making our marriage "open."

They're smart kids. They know me, and they understand that I won't be swayed on this matter. I cry with them, assuring them that I love them with all my heart; at least she didn't try to poison their relationship with me.

Then I call our closest friends, sharing the news with them, and they're all simply shocked. I call my parents, and they, of course, stand by me. Finally, I call Susan's parents and tell them everything, and they are horrified by what their daughter has done.

I know my wife, and I know nobody will rally behind her.

Susan's plane will land soon. My friend hasn't slept all night, tirelessly helping me and meticulously working throughout the weekend. He handed me all the necessary document copies in a plain yet unmistakably recognizable envelope made of sturdy Manila paper.

I've decided not to hand these papers to Susan at the airport. It's not out of any loyalty; I genuinely hope she'll feel ashamed of her actions.

After all, it was I who ensured that a storm of phone calls erupted within our usual circle of contacts. Her phone, which she conveniently "forgot" and now lies on the hall table, is inundated with texts and voicemails from our relatives, friends, and acquaintances, all expressing various degrees of condemnation toward her.

I'm not handing Susan the papers at the airport because I want to see her face when she realizes the high price of her weekend escapade.

In ordinary life, I'm not a cruel person. Perhaps my soon-to-be-ex-wife mistook my kindness for weakness. Perhaps she interpreted my generosity as a lack of will. But even a kind person can be driven to cruelty. Even a generous person can slam their fist on the table and declare, "Enough is enough!"

I know my wife, and I foresee that her life will soon become much less comfortable than what she's accustomed to.

Susan swings the door open and steps into the house with a broad, serene smile on her radiant face. She truly looks fresh and beautiful, and I feel a brief pang of regret for what's about to happen. But almost immediately, I remember that "it" shouldn't happen; it already has.

She betrayed our vows. It was her own choice. She chose her young and attractive boss over me, her husband. She decided to shatter our history and our life together—even after I warned Susan of the inevitable consequences of her actions.

The smile fades, and her face stiffens and elongates as she takes in our living room. It takes her a moment to realize what has changed in the house.

Her still-beautiful eyes dart around, scanning the room and noting the absence. Yes, she sees the absence of certain things: the crystal vase where she loved to arrange flowers for birthdays and anniversaries, our wedding portrait, cherished mementos from our travels together, and much more.

But much, MUCH more painful is the absence of love. Even when we argued, even when I used to get angry with her, there was always love as a strong backbone between us. But not now.

I don't rush to greet her. There's no tenderness in my manners now. I don't even say "hello" to her. But I hold in my hands that very envelope made of thick paper, unmistakable, which will bitterly show her how little she will have left when our paths diverge.

I know my wife, and I see clearly how the tentacles of fear creep inside her and spread, clutching her heart with cold.

Susan's eyes widen in panic. She starts to protest, to plead, to cry.

I remain impassive.

She repeats the same arguments she made before leaving: that it was just an insignificant moment, about her undying love for me, and that she's willing to do anything — for me.

I am indifferent.

She tries to remind me of our marriage, our children, our life together.

I am furious.

I rise to my feet, barely restraining my anger. I hiss through my teeth that I was the one who remembered these things, not her. I was the one who cherished these things and everything she's talking about now.

She — does not.

I begged her not to throw it all away, not to leave for him, but she callously, selfishly refused. These were the best moments of my life, and now she's trying to use the memory of them as currency. I tell her that right now she only invokes disgust in me.

I know my wife, and I feel that only now she finally understands that with her actions, she has put an end to "us."

Susan is engulfed in a wave of anger, and she begins to rage. She shouts that I can't treat her like this. That I can't take away her whole life. That this is not only mine, but also her home. That I have no right to kick her out, that she has always supported me, that she raised our children, that... that...

I start to disconnect from her accusations, sobs, and cries.

In the end, she exhales, falls onto the couch, and, curling up and shaking, bursts into loud sobs. I am not a cruel person, and it's time to show her mercy, delivering Susan the final blow to put an end to her futile hysteria.

"I didn't take anything from you. You threw away everything good we had yourself. There's nothing left here for you anymore. Now leave."

I know my wife. Now I think she has finally, truly come to know me for the first time.