That Damned Green Dot

"I'm ba-ack!"

I was in our bedroom just finishing packing my carry-on bag, when I heard my wife Valerie returning from the grocery store. She had the usual cheerful inflection she had when she was happy with her findings at the store.

A cheerful mood which I was just about to squash. And it would be ugly. Valerie is generally cheerful, yes, but her mood can change between two extremes in a fraction of a second.

After making sure I was not forgetting anything, I casually went down the stairs, with my bag on my shoulder. Valerie was rummaging in the kitchen trying to find room to store the truckload of stuff she had brought back.

"You bought way too much stuff, Honey, considering you're gonna be alone for the whole week," I said, with the flat tone of someone stating the obvious. She dropped a plastic bag full of apples and looked at me with a question mark stamped on her lovely face.

"What!? What did you just say?"

"That I'll be away for the week. I have a flight to catch in a few hours," was my exaggeratedly neutral response.

"Wait a sec... is this a joke? You never talked to me about going on a business trip this week? Where are you going? And what about your back?"

"Oh, my back is much better. And I never said it was a business trip. I'm not traveling for my job. I'm taking a week off. I'm going to Cancun."

"WHAT?? What's that crap?!" she almost yelled. "You're going to Cancun alone, on your own, without even telling me?"

"Well, I'm telling you now."

"Isn't that a trip you should take with your wife? Namely, me! Why didn't you tell me ahead?" She was clearly furious.

"What would it have changed? You keep repeating that you can't take any vacation before June 1st. We're still almost three months away from that and I'm going to Mexico now because I've had enough of freezing my butts here. Not my problem that you've already busted your vacation bank for this year. "

"I haven't busted my vacation bank, Chuck. I told you I can't take any time off until I'm done with this project I'm working on," she replied, trying hard to regain some sort of composure. I just shrugged.

"Why don't you ask for a travel credit and wait until we can go together. I'll be delighted to go to Mexico with my husband. You will certainly have a better time going there with me than going there alone," she pleaded.

"Oh, I never said I was going alone! I'm going there with a friend," I replied, still with that casual conversational tone, which was apparently starting to get on her nerves.

"And who are you going to Cancun with? Do I know him?"

"Nope. You don't know her," I replied.

"Wait, wait, wait... Are you telling me that you are going to spend a week in Cancun with another woman? AND YOU REALLY THINK I WILL ACCEPT THAT?"

"Why not? It's just a week. And you can't come anyway. Remember, your project?"

"Oh, no Mister, that's not wh..."

She was interrupted by the honk of my cab that had just arrived.

"Got to go!" I said. I took my main luggage that I had left in the front door closet, blew an air kiss to a stunned Valerie and got out of the house. Julie was already in the car. She got out, officially to help me with my luggage, but it was more to smile at Valerie and piss her off. I put my luggage in the trunk and Julie and I sat on the back seat. An infuriated Valerie was on the porch, looking daggers at us.

"See you in a week, Hon!" I said, with a sneer.

We just had time to wave a snide goodbye before the driver took off.

***

Now, you must all think I am a jerk, right? Well, maybe I am. But before you find me guilty of all charges, let me please explain how I ended up being so much of an asshole with my loving wife.

My name is Charles Coughlin, but everybody calls me Chuck. I married Valerie Ableson when we were both 26. Val was a marketing expert, working for a rising star marketing and communication firm in the Greater Toronto Area. She had been working for them for 3 years and was already on a fast-track to the top.

My job was a little less glamorous. I was the co-owner of an occupational HSE (Health Safety and Environment) consulting company that I had founded with two friends the year before I met Val. When I say my job is not glamorous, it is simply because talking about health and safety in the workplace is a sure way of being branded as a drag. But as I often repeat, getting to the end of the day with your limbs intact can be a nice addition to your paycheck, no?

Val and I have always loved not doing things like other people. Hence our two yellow cars, our iguana pet, and our wedding day on a glacial mid-January Sunday. This year was our fifth anniversary. I had planned a nice surprise getaway weekend at the renowned Château Montebello. I knew it was a place that Val had always wanted to try. I wanted to wait until a week before that weekend and ask Val to take the following Friday off, since this was the day of our anniversary. It would be a short flight from Toronto to Ottawa, then a one-hour drive to the resort, and we would be celebrating our anniversary at their upscale restaurant.

Unfortunately, things did not happen the way I had envisioned.

Two days before the day I had planned to ask her to take her Friday off, Val announced to me that she had to go on a business trip to Atlanta the following week.

"Are you going to be back before Friday?" I asked

"No. We're leaving on Tuesday and returning Tuesday or Wednesday of the following week."

"Hon, next Friday is our wedding anniversary! Do you absolutely have to go next week? Can't it wait a few days? We haven't taken a single day of vacation together for over a year and a half!"

I knew Val was working hard to make a name for herself both in her company and in the trade in general, and I respected that and supported her. I was kind of doing the same thing with my company. We were both putting in the necessary hours to make this happen. It was not uncommon for either of us to be traveling for our jobs, but the timing for her trip was crappy, to say the least.

"Chuck, there is nothing I can do about the date. The client insists that we meet with their Atlanta team Wednesday to Friday, and we will take advantage of being in that area to drive to Charlotte over the weekend and meet with A2B2C corporation, to try to resuscitate a project that has been on hold for almost a year, before the budget is cut. So it's very important that we go there."

"Ok, who is 'we'?" I asked.

"Greg will be there, along with Claire and Vivianne."

I looked at her for a few seconds, before deciding that the whole story made some sense.

"I had planned something for our anniversary, you know..."

"I'm so sorry, Chuck. Can we reschedule? Maybe in a few weeks, when I am a bit less swamped at work? I promise I will make up for this." She sounded sincere.

I hurried to the phone and canceled everything. Since it was a full week before, I was able to get a full refund for everything, including the airplane tickets.

I did my best the rest of the evening not to show how unhappy I was, and I think it worked, because Val was back to her usual cheerfulness in no time.

The rest of the week and the weekend were uneventful. We did what everybody does on weekends, namely take care of house chores and run errands. Dinner at her parents' on Sunday evening was also as usual, with her mother getting moodier and moodier after each glass of wine, and her father insisting that things were so much better in the good old times.

On our way back home, she made some light conversation.

"How does your week look like, Hon?" she asked.

"I have an audit with a client on Monday, and I have to go to the office for meetings on Thursday and Friday. Tuesday and Wednesday I'll be working from home. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, just to know. I'm always interested in what's happening to you, you know?"

Val's demeanor was a bit offsetting on Monday evening. She had always suffered from performance anxiety, and this would generally make her a bit subdued and within her own head the day before she had to leave. This time, she was her usual bubbly self. It seemed she had her stress under control, and since I did not want to cause a surge in her anxiety, I chose to keep my observations for myself.

On Tuesday morning, Val had already had breakfast when I got into the kitchen after showering.

"What time do you leave?" I asked.

"A cab will pick me up at 9:00," she replied.

That was odd, because Val was a last-minute packer. Typically, half an hour before leaving, tornado-Val would be all over the place, running against time to finish packing and zipping up her luggage on her way down the stairs.

But that morning, it was already past 8:30 and there she was, taking her time to finish her coffee.

"You look very relaxed this morning, sweetie. I take it you're expecting an easy trip?"

"Yeah, kind of. I am going because Mrs. Robertson, their VP Marketing, specifically requested that I be there as her main contact person, but it's really Greg and Claire who will be leading the show."

We exchanged some trivia for a few more minutes before her taxi arrived. She hugged me and gave me one of her signature kisses.

"Have a nice week, Love. And I promise I'll make it up to you. We'll celebrate our special anniversary as we should!" she said, still hugging me.

"Have a safe trip. Call me when you get there," I replied.

And she was gone.

After I finished breakfast, I sat in front of my computer and started answering my emails. I stopped for a coffee break at 10:30, and it hit me that Val hadn't texted me that she had made it to the airport. That was very unusual.

Now, make no mistake, I have never asked her to keep me informed of all the details of her whereabouts. But one thing you must know is that Valerie is a big, no, not big, more like COMPULSIVE Messenger user, and she has the somewhat annoying habit of sending text messages by the dozen explaining what she is doing, attaching pictures of what she had just seen, and so on. Hence my expectation to have received a text message from her by that time, since we live in Richmond Hill and the drive to Pearson Airport outside rush hour is no more than 45 minutes.

We had never installed tracking applications on our phones, I had no way of locating her phone to see if she was at the airport. I did not want to look like I was stalking her, and certainly did not want to embarrass her in front of her colleagues by calling her not even two hours after she had left.

Out of curiosity, I went to my favorite flight tracking website. I had not asked Val what her flight number was, but this should be easily figured out. She probably arrived at the airport around 9:25. For flights to the USA, they ask you to be there about two hours ahead. Knowing Val's general anxiety, she must have made sure she was a bit more than two hours ahead. This meant her flight to Atlanta would be no earlier than 11:30 and no later than 12:30.

You have maybe heard the old saying, that curiosity killed the cat? Well, I should not have been that curious...

A quick search told me that the most recent flight to Atlanta was at 9:45. There was no way she was on that flight. The next one was at 2:00 pm. What? What was the hurry to leave at 8:45 for a flight that was over 5 hours later?

It then occurred to me that if she was still at the airport, she would appear online on Messenger. I checked and indeed, there was a green dot on her profile picture. Knowing her FOMO, I figured she would stay online until the flight attendants would ask the passenger to turn off their phone when they left the gate.

I went to the kitchen to finally get my coffee, while keeping an eye on my wife's Messenger status. I tried hard to concentrate on my tasks for the next hour and was surprisingly able to do a few useful things.

And then, at 11:44, I saw that the green dot had disappeared, and Messenger indicating that my wife was last active 2 minutes before. I went back to my favorite website of the day and noted the flights that were scheduled to leave momentarily.

Montreal -- Could be. It was a 50-minute flight. I would know pretty soon.

Iqaluit -- Impossible. She could not be going to the Arctic. What would she do there? I discarded that one.

Tokyo -- Much longer than the others. I would not know before late in the evening...

Detroit -- Another 50-minute flight. Another one to keep an eye on.

Cayo Largo -- 3 hours and 30 minutes. A vacation? No... she wouldn't... unless... Well, definitely worth checking.

San Francisco -- That's a 5-hour flight. Another distinct possibility.

Ok, if she went back online in an hour or so, I would know that she was either in Detroit or Montreal. Then it would be a matter of figuring out where to go from there, figuratively speaking. But no matter what other flight she might be on, it would be easy to know because their arrival times were far enough apart to guess right.

I tried to go back to working, but my mind was just not there. I fixed myself a sandwich and was back in front of my computer in less than 10 minutes. I could see on the website that the flight to Montreal would be the first to land. I could not help noticing that the site was very well designed. There was a map showing all airborne planes in real time. I was able to track the flight approaching Montreal airport, then landing. The Detroit-bound was still 10 minutes away from landing. I checked Messenger on my phone, and 4 minutes after the Montreal flight had landed, my wife's status was still offline. She was not in Montreal.

Same thing with the Detroit flight a few minutes later. My wife was still offline a few minutes after the plane had landed. I was left empty-handed, again. My next window of opportunity was the Cayo Largo that was scheduled to land at 3:28 pm.

For the life of me, I was unable to concentrate or do anything useful for the next two hours. I browsed YouTube and Facebook, watched mind-numbing Reels and Short videos, or liked idiotic jokes that even my uncles would have considered outdated.

I tracked the last minutes of the Cayo Largo flight. 3 minutes until landing. Was I becoming paranoid? I had always made fun of stalkers, and there I was, counting minutes for maybe unrelated planes to reach their unrelated destinations.

2 minutes until landing. My phone rang. It was one of my associates. Not the time to be distracted. I would call him later. Where was I...?

1 minute to landing. Maybe I was totally mistaken. No, not maybe, make it probably. Or surely. It felt like in college, when I had to solve a problem in a test, and I came to realize after 3 pages of tedious calculations that the answer could not be that far-fetched, that the solution was necessarily simpler than that.

The Cayo Largo plane finally landed.

And almost at the same time, as in a scripted scenario, the damn green dot reappeared.

***

I looked at my computer screen for a few minutes without really seeing what was displayed. When I reconnected with reality, my brain was kind of paralyzed, desperately in need of answers to all the questions that materialized at the same time. What was she doing in Cuba? Who was she there with? Why did she lie to me?

And why the fuck is this trip more important than our fucking fifth fucking wedding fucking anniversary?!?

My phone buzzed, it was a new message on Messenger from my beloved and honest wife:

"Just landed in Atlanta. We were delayed. Everything ok now. I'll call you later. Love you!"

For peace of mind (or lack of it...), I checked the recent arrivals at Atlanta airport. The last flight from Toronto had landed there at 12:10, and the next was not due for another 40 minutes.

Ok, I could admit that my conclusions were largely based on coincidence. I had no way of knowing if she was really in Cayo Largo, and with whom. I would have to grill her when she returned and make her spit it out. That is if I hadn't gone mad until then.

Unless...

***

I did a bit of research on Cayo Largo. It is a small island, south of the main island of Cuba. It is not very crowded, with only 10-12 resorts. Not very hard to find someone there...

In no time, I was on the site of my favorite on-line travel agency to search for tickets to Cayo Largo. As luck would have it, there were daily flights in January between Toronto and Cayo Largo. I was able to book a flight for the next day, at a surprisingly reasonable fare.

My plan was to wander the island anonymously and see if I could find Valerie there. I know, going to Cuba on a hunch, just from a coincidence seen on a flight tracking app and a messaging app is probably the epitome of ludicrous. I suspect I was not thinking very clearly at the time.

Now, the critical element was that I had to see, without being seen. The ultimately ridiculous thing would be to have my wife walking in on me while I was having breakfast. Booking at a different hotel was clearly a must. Valerie and I are not loaded, but we are well off for people our age. Cuba is considered a cheaper destination, but you can improve your experience if you select a more expensive hotel. Which means she was probably at one of the higher-end hotels on the island. I made sure I booked a hotel at the lower end of the price range.

I called my associates and told them I had to take the rest of the week off for personal reasons. It was getting late in the afternoon, but I still had almost an hour to run a few errands, including a visit to a nearby joke and prank shop where I got some useful material. I packed a light luggage that evening and popped a zopiclone to slow down my brain that had been on overdrive all afternoon, and get some sleep.

I was on my way to Cayo Largo the next day, trying to concentrate on the details of my plan while doing my best not to choke on the nasty munchies that the airline pompously calls an in-flight meal. But the attendants were very cool and friendly, so I forgave the airline.

It took an obscenely long time to clear customs and immigration, and it was already dark when I finally made it to my hotel. There was still a remote chance that Valerie was at that hotel, so I tried to be as low-profile as possible in the check-in line and in the restaurant later.

***

My hotel was very much on the el-cheapo side, and the Internet signal was anemic, at best. When I woke up in the morning, it did not really come as a surprise that I had not received any messages from Valerie since her confirmation that she had landed "in Atlanta".

It took me over half an hour to get ready for the day. Fake beards that look natural are not that easy to fix, especially when you are not used to wearing that. I had bought two new swimsuits and a few new T-shirts the day before, as well as new sunglasses. Everything it took to make sure Valerie would not recognize me. I had also packed in my binoculars. I was prepared to tell the custom agents that I was into bird watching if I got interrogated about that, but they never bit on it. After a solid breakfast and a generous layer of sunscreen, out I was to explore the miles of white sands of the island.

My hotel was located almost in the middle of the string of hotels along the beach. I decided that I would do the East side on the first day, and the West side on the second day.

Good thing I was a runner and a hiker, because walking on a beach all day has nothing to do with walking on a street or on a hiking trail. Walking on sand that subsides under your step requires much more endurance than walking on a hard surface. Even if I was in good shape, I was totally worn out after the first day. I had gone through five resorts, both within the resort properties and on the beach, back and forth a few times for fear of missing her, but no sign of Valerie.

I was starting to really think that my trip to Cuba to play PI was more absurd than anything else. But hey, I was there: too late to reconsider.

I met a nice couple from Calgary at the bar that evening. They explained that there was a beach called Playa Paraiso at the west end of the island. The beach was open to all tourists on the island and could be reached by bus. Wonderful: now my wife and her parafuck were moving targets...

After a couple of glasses of Legendario rum, I left the bar and went to the reception desk and the nice lady there told me that there were shuttle buses departing for Playa Paraiso every 30 minutes every morning. I would explore the west resort the next day and take a ride to Paraiso the day after.

No message from Valerie that evening. I was not surprised. They had so much work to go through in Atlanta...

I put on a different model of fake beard for the following day, to minimize the chances of being spotted by Valerie. That one made me look like a gangster, or at least someone you don't mess around with.

At the end of the morning, a bit before lunch time, I was starting to think that I was wasting my time, and to consider going back home. As I was walking on the beach without much conviction passing through the 4th resort west of my hotel, I hit... pay dirt.

There was my loving wife, with what must have been a quarter of an inch of sunscreen on her face. I wondered if the purpose was to avoid a sunburn, or to make sure a suntan would not betray her when she returned home... She was milking a mojito, or a margarita, or whatever. And, as expected, her beloved colleague Greg was milking his own potion, playing lovey-dovey with my wife.

"What a fucking liar..." I seethed, low enough so that nobody heard me.

I stayed a reasonable distance from them, found myself a chaise longue and discretely moved it a few meters behind them, at such an angle that she would not easily see me but I would not miss a thing. The canoodling continued for another half hour. I was disgusted. The only satisfying thing I could think of was throwing a bucket of sand at their faces and beating them to pulp. But rest assured, I did nothing of the sort. I am much more of the cerebral type than of the biceps type. And I did not really fancy spending the following months in a Cuban prison.

What I did instead was document my trip, using the very sharp camera on my new cell phone. A few pictures here and there would certainly put some meat around the bones of the unavoidable confrontation that would follow.

They decided that after a few hours of munching at each other, they still had room for a real lunch. They started packing up and headed back to the resort, passing right next to me as if I was a complete stranger. Was it because my "costume" was just perfect and did not give me away, or was it because they were so much into each other that the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist? I quickly chased those thoughts away: at that precise moment, they were only a useless defocus.

I was getting ready to follow them to the restaurant and find myself another spot from where I could see them, but it seems that this was my lucky day: they headed straight to their bungalow. I followed them from a distance and saw them enter their apartment. Door 903. Bingo. I had what I needed. Luck was on my side again, because their apartment was located on the side of the building facing the beach, and not on the side where everyone walking by could have made it more difficult for me to spy on them in peace.

Satisfied, I went back to my hotel, had lunch, and enjoyed my afternoon at the pool. I went to the bar for a drink early in the evening. It was my 5th wedding anniversary after all... What best than celebrating alone while my wife was fucking some dickface a few hundred meters from me?!

Around 9:00 pm that evening, after a quick dinner, I walked to their resort. I had once again changed fake beard and outfit, to minimize the risk of drawing their attention. Since it would have looked silly to wear sunglasses at night (no offense to the guy who made the concept popular in the 80s), I had put on a thicker fake beard, fake glasses and a cap to expose as little of my features as possible.

Their apartment was pitch dark. I figured they were still at the restaurant or at the bar or whatever. I spotted a bench from where I could see their apartment. Around 10:30 pm, I saw them return, again stupidly clinging to each other like teenagers on their first date. I waited a few minutes after they had entered their apartment and discretely walked over to the window. As expected, there was nobody around to see me.

There was only a very small opening between two pieces of drapes, but at least it was enough to see inside the room.

Was it a good thing or a bad? Well, seeing my wife naked sucking the cock of an asshole sitting on the bed could not have been that good. But then again, purpose dictates perspective. Considering I wasn't there to get aroused from a peep show, but rather to take pictures to strengthen my case, I must say that this small opening was totally welcome.

I did not want to stay there too long, for fear that someone might see me and call the resort management. I went to take a walk through the resort, sat for a moment and enjoyed the place. It was indeed a much better resort than the one I was staying at. Around 11:00, I decided it was time for a last visit to my wife's love nest. Anyone still up watching the watcher half an hour before must have gone to bed by then.

When I kneeled at their window again, what I saw hurt me even deeper than the view of my wife's sexual prowess earlier: they were watching something on television. They were both sitting naked on the bed, my wife sitting between his legs and they were cuddling. The whole scene was screaming INTIMACY in fire letters.

That was not a fling. Not an infatuation. It was a full-blown affair. A romance. A parallel life.

Definitely not something I would put up with.

I took a few more pictures and walked back to my hotel. I dropped by the reception desk and used the Internet station to reserve a flight back home. Nothing was available before 8:40 pm the next day. I went back to my room, dropped on my bed, and for the first time in years, cried myself to exhaustion.

***

The next day was spent mentally preparing the next steps. I would go to the office all week, even if only to avoid being in the same room as Valerie when she returned. Then I would schedule an appointment with a lawyer and have her served at her workplace. I know, this is humiliating, but since the affair ostensibly started at her office, there was a certain logic to exposing her in the middle of the place.

I was at the Cayo Largo airport on Saturday evening, when I received a message from Valerie.

"Hi Honey, sorry I did not text before. I was sooo busy, it's much more intense than what I expected."

Yeah... right...

"I am now in Charlotte to meet with our local team tomorrow. Things are going well. Looking forward to celebrating our anniversary baby."

Yeah... right... squared.

I decided to play with her a bit.

"Hope you can find some fun in what you're doing, babe. Even if you're exhausted."

She answered right away: "Well, not really. You know how business trips are. All work, no personal time. But I think of you all the time. I have to go now. Love you! Xxx"

I was flabbergasted. 'I think of you all the time'!!

Yeah... right... cubed.

***

Back home and back at the office on Monday, I had so much backlog that I never found the time to search for a good family lawyer and start divorce procedures.

On my way to getting lunch, I crossed path with Julie McCalla, the dentist who owns the clinic in my building. I had known Julie for about three years. There had always been some sort of connection between the two of us. But it had never come close to anything that would not pass the spouse test. Julie was a recent divorcee. Her stupid husband left her when she got pregnant the year following their wedding. The guy claimed he did not want a kid. Julie lost the baby. Dickhead tried to make a comeback, sending flowers and writing love notes but Julie would not have any of it. The guy had proven once too many that he was an immature prick.

Julie noticed my gloomy mood that day and twisted my arm to go to a café a little farther than our usual places so that I could spill the beans. And it worked. By the time I was done, beans were all over the place. She listened with total attention and made a deep exhale when I was done.

"That's terrible," Julie said. "And the day of your wedding anniversary, no less. What are you going to do?"

"Oh, divorce is a foregone conclusion! I just can't live with that kind of disrespect, humiliation and lack of consideration. The only thing I'm not sure about is the timing. I have to go to Halifax next week for a seminar. Should I have her served before I leave, or while I am there or after I return? I feel like having her served while I'm away would make me look like a coward. I have a lot to do before my trip and I won't have the time to deal with the fallout before I go. I guess I'll wait until I return."

Julie looked at me with an expression I had never seen on her face before. It was halfway between sexy and devilish.

"Why don't you mess up with her mind a bit, as some sort of revenge?" she suggested.

"Hum... interesting. What do you have in mind?"

***

Valerie had sent me a few messages over the week, and I replied to most of them rather succinctly, pretending to be extremely busy with two big contracts we were negotiating. She had been vague about her return flight schedule. I guess the last thing she wanted was for me to show up at the airport to pick her up and see her licking the back of Greg Weber's tonsils while they were waiting for their checked bag to land on the carousel.

sBut I knew the flight back from Cayo Largo was due to land at 10:45 on Tuesday evening.

I faked being asleep when I heard her entering the house around midnight. She took a quick shower and quietly came to bed. I was on my left side, with my back to her. She did try to cuddle up in my back, but I did not move or give any sign that I was aware of her presence.

I was up and out of the house before she woke up the next day. The last thing I wanted was to interact with her. She texted a few times during the day, and my replies were minimal. I did my best not to show my anger and to lead her to think that I was just swamped at work.

When I got back home that evening, I probably did my most convincing acting performance ever, by faking a lumbago. I slept in the guest room, explaining that I would sleep better alone for fear that her movements in bed could give me spasms. I was able to keep my act until she left to run her errands on Sunday morning.

And that brings us back to the beginning of this story.

***

Julie and I were both laughing like kids at Valerie's aggravated expression as soon as we were a few meters away from my house. The taxi driver swung by Julie's house because she had to be back home early, and I continued to the airport to catch my flight to Halifax.

Yeah... I lied to Valerie. The idea of the trip to Cancun was Julie's idea. A simple setup that would cost only a few bucks of cab fare and that would piss Valerie off for the whole week. I loved it!

***

I sent a message to Valerie at the end of the afternoon to let her know that I had arrived safely in Cancun. I could see that she had read the message, but she did not reply.

I sent her a few messages during the week, with pictures of me at the beach, with palm trees and flowers in the background. No, there are no palm trees in Halifax, and no flowers in January. Come on folks, this is Canada! Don't worry, I'll explain later... Suffice it to say for now that Valerie gave me the silent treatment for the whole week.

I texted her that I would be home around 1:00 pm on Sunday. I was not expecting any greetings or welcoming party on my return. But I was curious to see what she would do with that piece of information.

***

She indeed used the information. I could not open the door to my house when I arrived on Sunday. I could not even enter through the side door. Valerie had clearly had the locks changed on the house. I tried to ring, then text her. No reply. I had not been there for more than 3 minutes when I saw a grey car stop by the curve. A guy the same color as the car emerged from it, walked up to me and asked if I was Charles Coughlin. I showed him my ID, and he gave me the famous manilla envelope, with the audio caption that goes with it:

"You have been served. Have a nice day."

But there was more!

"Oh, you cannot stay here sir. There's a restraining order in the envelope. It says that you may not communicate with Mrs. Ableson in any way, and you have to remain at least 100 meters from the house at all times."

Now I was stunned. I knew she could be very impulsive, but considering her cheating of the preceding week, I had assumed she would take a somewhat more conciliatory approach. Mr. Grey left, and I loaded my luggage into my car and left. I found a motel for the night, not far from the office.

First order of business on Monday was to find a lawyer. Fortunately, my company lawyer knew a few of them, and I was able to get an appointment with Mr. John Petzel for the next day. On Monday night, I examined the divorce papers. Valerie had launched a full-scale attack to completely incinerate me. She was of course filing on grounds of adultery. She had invoked our prenuptial which stated that if one of us ever cheated, the wronged party could leave with 80% of the assets. She was going for 80% of everything: the house, my company, the value of our cars and furniture, our investments, and our bank accounts.

The meeting with the lawyer on Tuesday was very productive. I was able to lift the part of the restraining order preventing me from approaching the house because the house had been in my name only since the day my parents left if to me, the year before I met Valerie. My lawyer prepared a letter asking her to vacate the place within 7 days. He also prepared another letter saying that I would sign the papers, with the sole condition that she accept a meeting between her and me and our respective lawyers.

She accepted the request for a meeting, provided it took place at her lawyer's office. The meeting was scheduled for the week after.

The following days were the usual work, eat and sleep. I paid a quick visit to Julie at her clinic, and we chatted for a few minutes, but I did not have lunch or a drink with her, for fear that Valerie was spying on me and trying to gather some evidence.

***

"Mr. Coughlin, Mr. Petzel, please take a seat," was the greeting from Michael Miller, Valerie's lawyer when we entered the meeting room. Valerie was sitting quietly, with a would-be neutral expression, probably practiced with her lawyer.

"Gentlemen, you requested that meeting, so the floor is yours," said Mr. Miller. John looked at me with a slight smile.

"Ok, Mrs. Ableson, you are suing my client for divorce on grounds of adultery, so that you can invoke the prenuptial. What is your evidence for stating adultery?"

"Well, he deliberately told me he was going on a vacation with that skank who was in the car with him. He sent me pictures all week and came back one week after. My evidence is a blatant admission."

I took my phone and scrolled down to the pictures Valerie had mentioned.

"Are you talking about those pictures, Valerie?" I asked. She looked at me like a bad teacher would look at a kid who does not understand 2+2=4.

"Well, first those pictures prove nothing, since the skank you were referring to appears in none of those pictures. Second, you must have really lost it if you did not realize that those are pictures of me you took yourself 3 years ago in Punta Cana!"

Valerie's neutral expression was not so neutral anymore. John pushed a bunch of papers toward Valerie's lawyer.

"Those are receipts from hotels and restaurants in Halifax for the week Mr. Coughlin was supposedly in Cancun. There is also a copy of the agenda of the conference where he was one of the speakers. As you can see, Mr. Coughlin never went to Cancun that week. The woman you were referring to, one Mrs. Julie McCalla, is a dentist at the clinic located in the same building as Mr. Coughlin' office. Here are records showing that she was in her clinic here in Toronto all week. So she was not travelling with Mr. Coughlin."

Valerie's neutral expression was now clearly oscillating between acidic and basic.

"Now, Mrs. Ableson. What more evidence do you have that Mr. Coughlin cheated on you?"

"If you did not cheat on me, why did you pretend you were planning on doing it? Why did you lie to me?" Valerie asked.

"Well, I wanted to know how you would react to a life-changing situation," I said, glaring at her. She looked at me with a cryptic expression.

"Gentlemen, I will need a few minutes to talk privately with my client, if you will allow us." Mr. Miller motioned Valerie out of the room. John and I did not say a word, not knowing if microphones had been conveniently left in the room.

They returned a few minutes later. This time, Valerie did not even try to hide her rage.

"We are changing the grounds for divorce," announced Mr. Miller. "You will receive a modified petition on grounds of mental cruelty for having tortured my client with pretenses of cheating on her."

"You are of course aware that you cannot invoke the prenuptial agreement with this?" asked John.

"We are aware of that. We will go for the normal 50-50 split on everything. Since the house is yours, it will be 50% of the company, the cars, the furniture, the investments and the bank accounts."

John then produced another document.

"Mr. Miller, this is the legal corporate documents clearly showing that the way Mr. Coughlin's company is structured, it is completely protected in case of a divorce of one of its shareholders. Mrs. Ableson can have no legal claim on it."

Valerie's attorney took the document, examined it for a few minutes, then looked at Valerie and shook his head. Valerie was fuming.

"Now, if you will allow me, I would like to show you some very nice pictures of my beloved wife's business trip to Atlanta!" I said, with a smirk.

John gave them a series of pictures.

"If I'm not mistaken, those pictures show different scenes of a very unusual business trip, featuring Valerie Ableson and Greg Weber, from her office. As you can see, the level of intimacy between colleagues is very high in that marketing agency. And the climate is surprisingly warm for Atlanta in mid-January."

Valerie and her attorney were speechless for a moment.

"Mr. Coughlin, who took those pictures, where were they taken and how do we know they were not doctored?" asked Mr. Miller.

"Oh, that's very simple. I took them myself, in Cayo Largo, Cuba. Look, they are still in the camera app on my phone. You can see that they were not doctored. And the dates match the timing of Valerie's very important business trip that she could absolutely not postpone, which means the very day of our fifth wedding anniversary."

Mr. Miller examined the pictures and my telephone. Valerie was totally stunned. She made motions with her mouth that she was about to say something, but no sound would come out.

"Hum... can I have another private chat with Mrs. Ableson?" asked her lawyer. We both nodded.

"I think we scored good points. Much better than the Maple Leafs last night," said John.

They returned after a few minutes. This time, Valerie's eyes were puffy, and she had clearly been crying the whole time they were away from the room.

"Mrs. Ableson wishes to withdraw the petition for divorce and asks for some counseling to try and save the marriage," stated Mr. Miller, with the most unconvincing tone ever.

John presented them with a final document.

"Mrs. Ableson, consider yourself served. Mr. Coughlin has filed this petition for divorce on grounds of adultery AND mental cruelty. Oh, and as per the order sent to you last week, you have until 5:00 pm today to vacate Mr. Coughlin's house".

We left the room on a discouraged Mr. Miller, and a knocked-out Valerie.

***

I did not see Valerie again until the hearing for the divorce. She had signed everything, and the divorce was granted as I had requested.

On my way out of the courthouse after the hearing, Valerie ran after me.

"Chuck, I only have one question, please."

"Ok, go."

"I guess you figured I was not in Atlanta because the flight schedules did not jive. This is something I overlooked. But how did you figure I was in Cayo Largo, of all places?"

I laughed.

"Nope! I am not going to answer this question. The last thing I want is to give you an edge over the poor next husband you will be lying to. Have a good life Valerie."

Fin