Cold Feet

The FTDS fans may not like this story; I chose to end it where it ends, as I was more interested in the discovery section.

If anyone thinks it needs a part 2, you are more than welcome to have a go; just please link back to this story and message me so I can read it.

I choose not to be too descriptive with the appearance of my characters, other than that which is pertinent to the story. When I am reading, I prefer to relate the characters to people I know, which makes them more real to me. Please enjoy!

I write for fun and as a creative outlet. If you really don't like this story or any of my others, go read something else.

If you have positive feedback, GREAT, THANK YOU! If you have constructive criticism, BRING IT ON. I always welcome opportunities to learn and develop. If you want to be nasty, please FUCK RIGHT OFF! I don't need your negativity, and your comment WILL be deleted.

As a note, my stories are set in the UK; they may have a few activities I believe are much more common in the UK than in other countries.

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Cold Feet

"The butterfly effect is a principle in chaos theory stating that a tiny change in the initial conditions of a complex, deterministic system can cause massive, unpredictable variations later on."

In a relationship, it's always the little things that show how much they love you. How they kiss you goodbye, how they reach for you as they brush past you, how they smile at you. Any number of things can be seen as a love language.

These small things build into a warm, safe place where love flourishes. I lived in this place, safe in the knowledge that all the little things Jessica, my wife, did showed me every day that I, Michael, was loved.

That was until I encountered the butterfly effect...

Many men will say it is one of the worst things when their significant other places their cold feet on them in bed. I, on the other hand, thought of it as one of Jessica's little ways of showing her love for me.

Don't get me wrong, when you are just drifting off, it can be a bigger wake-up than a cold shower. However, for me, it showed that my wife was safe enough to seek me out to keep her warm. I suppose it soothed the caveman in me, allowing me to provide warmth and safety to my mate.

No matter the season or temperature, every night Jessica would be little spooned by me, then place her feet on mine. Until one night she didn't...

I know she may have had warm feet and didn't need the assistance; however, she has had warm feet on occasion before, but still nestled them into me.

This one little action, this tiny flap of a butterfly's wing, set in motion an unstoppable tsunami which would end my marriage.

It was such an insignificant thing and should not have taken up any room in my brain at all; however, that little action, or should I say, inaction? set off a tiny alarm somewhere in the dark recesses of my brain.

Sleep didn't come easy for me that night, lying there as my imagination sent me down a never-ending rabbit hole, analysing every little detail of every interaction we had had, as far back as my now overactive brain could conjure up.

In the still, cool air, watching the light of the night create patterns on the bedroom ceiling, I started to recollect every little difference. A time when she didn't smile as normal, when she didn't put her head back when I crept up behind her and kissed her neck.

There had been a few lately, in fact, over the last five or six months, that I could pinpoint. Just like the butterfly wings, these tiny, insignificant slights began to build into a more damning picture.

Something had changed over this period, which now made me understand that the wonderful life I had was changing and not for the better.

Exhausted but unable to wrangle any meaningful sleep, I rose earlier than normal, dressed and sat at the table with a strong coffee in hand. My brain was caught in a loop of over-analysing everything Jessica had said or done, looking for patterns, changes in inflexion, levels of intimacy or just simple out-of-the-ordinary actions.

I could feel a headache drawing in from the lack of sleep and a seriously overworked brain. I decided I needed to focus. I left for work before she woke, the benefit of being the company owner, I can make my own hours.

I left her a message telling her I needed to pick up a problem early and would see her that evening.

7 am ticked over on my office clock as I was searching the internet for inspiration. After looking at every conceivable angle from erotic literature to private investigators, I decided a couple of things.

One, although I did trust her, I needed to verify that trust. Every part of me that loved Jessica knew she was true to me; however, there was that tiny voice, that whisper: "What if?"

Two, I wasn't going to spend thousands on a private investigator to tell me it is all in my head.

I decided it was better for me to waste my time than pay someone for the privilege. The problem I had was there was no time I could see when Jessica was not doing what she normally did.

She was not coming home at a different time; she was not going out of an evening or weekends. I decided that instead of stalking her and risking being exposed, I would bug her.

Even just the thought of adding devices to her and her car and checking her phone made me feel ill. I had nothing really to base my suspicions on except for some random small changes in her.

I spent a small fortune on that large online shopping site, having various 'Spy' items delivered to my business the next day.

That night, whilst waiting for my purchases, I tried to keep all thoughts of infidelity out of my mind. Jessica and I interacted as normal; we ate dinner and sat together on the sofa watching some mindless soap opera Jessica was obsessed with.

My suspicions were piqued, however, when I noticed I couldn't see her phone screen while she was looking at it.

"Baby, have you got a new screen protector on your phone?"

"Hmm, sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked if you have a new screen protector, as I can't see your screen from this angle."

Instinctively, she further turned her screen away from me, only slightly, but enough for me to notice.

"Oh, erm, yes, erm, we, er, we were asked to erm, have one by work if we receive erm, work messages on them. I don't know, some new security thing!"

I let the conversation end then but watched her nervously end what she was doing and put her phone down.

Now I was concerned; I had seen her using her work phone just before dinner, and I could clearly see the screen from where I was standing. My decision to trust but verify was becoming more of a valid choice as time passed.

I lay awake long after we went to bed that night, trying to justify everything I now saw as bright red flags. The latest incident with the phone and her blatant lie regarding it was one that I was struggling to provide any form of justification which didn't challenge the fabric of reality.

I heard her telltale soft snore, which told me she was in a deep sleep and took the opportunity to get up and interrogate her phone. As usual, her phone was situated on the wireless charger in the living room.

I sat down quietly, listening for any sound which would alert me to her state of consciousness. Once I was confident, I tried to open her phone; we had always known each other's passcodes, until now.

She had changed her code but had forgotten that I was the one who had set her phone up for her and had added my fingerprint along with hers.

Within seconds, her screen opened to her normal wallpaper. I quickly scanned her messages and found a name I didn't recognise: "Jay," I thought I knew all of her friends, and she hadn't mentioned any new work colleagues.

I opened the message thread. Most of the messages were about work matters; they seemed professional; however, some of them mentioned "meetings" off-site during work hours.

One which caught my attention read: "I really enjoyed our 1-to-1 session on Tuesday, I would like to repeat if possible this week? Same time and place?"

In itself, this message could be seen as quite innocuous; however, the use of a winky face and eggplant emoji completely changed the tone and meaning of the words. What brought everything into fine clarity was her response, a simple kissy face emoji.

My whole world span, I could hear distant drums beating in my ears, beating out the rhythm of my breaking heart. I quickly sent the message thread to myself, then removed any trace of my action.

My brain seemed to change gear into practical, investigator mode. Jessica had been home at her normal time on Tuesday, so her "1-to-1" must have happened during work hours. Good, now I could reduce the amount of time I would need to spend on this.

I also checked the company's website for the name Jay or something similar. I found their organisation chart; there was only one person with a name which could fit: James Kilburn, the Finance Director. So now I also possibly had the who.

Getting through the weekend and Monday was torture; I felt my anger was going to boil over at any moment. I wanted to scream, throw things, rage at her, but I needed to be patient.

Gone was the certainty that Jessica was faithful to me; now, though, I needed to understand just how unfaithful. Were they lovers in the true sense, or were they just starting down the road?

Tuesday morning I left before Jessica as usual; instead of travelling to my office, I pulled up in a car park of a local shop where I could watch the end of our road. Exactly on time, Jessica left the house. I checked the app on my phone to make sure it had synced to the GPS tracker I had hidden in her car.

I sat back and watched the screen showing her travelling to her office. Once I was sure she wouldn't be able to see me, I followed. I wanted to catch any interaction she had when she got out of her car.

I wasn't disappointed either; I pulled up across the street and saw James, whom I instantly recognised from the website, wave at her as she got out of her car. He walked over to her and stopped a couple of feet away, grinning; they both looked around to check they weren't being watched.

They then embraced and kissed the way only lovers do, the way we used to do, the way we haven't in so long; now I know why.

After they had finally made their way inside the office, I found a coffee shop just around the corner. I was confident that they would not leave the office any time soon, but wanted to stay close enough so I could keep in touch with them if they did.

I sat down with my first of many coffees and scanned the images of them I had been able to snap, showing them kissing, embracing, the familiarity, the certainty which only comes from repeated intimacy.

Tears rolling down my cheeks, my vision blurred as the images permanently imprinted themselves onto my brain.

Pulling myself together, I changed to the app for the voice recorder I had secreted in her handbag. I was rather proud of this; I had linked it to her phone so it would use it as a hotspot, allowing it to upload to the cloud after every file was completed.

I wasn't expecting much when I placed my earbuds in and pressed play on the first file.

The first file made me spill my coffee; it was her voice singing along, very badly, to the Madonna song, 'Like a Virgin'. Not only was I laughing at her tone deaf voice, but also at the now ironic choice of song.

I quickly moved to the second file; this was what I imagined was the conversation they had as they walked into the building. I could hear them kissing, then the little sound she makes when a kiss ends, the sound I thought was, until now, only for me. He then asked her in a seductive tone if she was ready for their 1-to-1 at lunchtime.

My heart broke further at her response; in her aroused voice, which I knew so well, she growled, "Oh, god, yes! I have been waiting for this since last week."

There was a third file which sounded like it was created whilst they were in the lift. There was lots of kissing and grunting. I quickly turned that off, took my earbuds out and cried softly to myself.

I wandered around the area for the morning, stopping in different coffee shops and cafes, researching divorce, the process, which was simple enough, but also the effects.

I understood that financially, our divorce would be relatively simple; we both made similar amounts. Although I owned my own business, I had chosen to minimise my income to reinvest to help grow the business quicker, so on paper, for the last few years, I made a similar amount to Jessica.

We rented our house, financed both cars, and kept a moderate savings account while saving for the deposit to purchase our own house.

I glanced at my watch and saw it was almost lunchtime, so I made my way back; I wanted to capture every piece of evidence I could.

I had just settled back into my car across the road when I saw them leave together. They were more blatant now, holding hands and kissing as they got into the car. I documented everything; I knew some of the images and video would be somewhat blurred as my heart raced so fast that my hands were shaking.

After I arrived back home, I sat at my desk in the home office and cried, looking through the images of them arriving at the Premier Inn, walking hand in hand, acting like a true couple. And then they came out almost two hours later with a happy, satiated look.

I selected the images I wanted to print and spent some time using AI to transcribe some of the more juicy conversations from the recorder. Afterwards, I downloaded and completed the Divorce Petition paperwork; now all that was left was to wait for her to arrive home.

At 6.02 pm, her usual arrival time, Jessica dropped her bag in the hall, kicked off her shoes, and made her way to the kitchen. She stopped dead in the doorway. "Jesus, Michael, you scared me. What are you doing sitting there?"

I tried desperately not to show any emotion as I directed Jessica to sit opposite him. Nervously, she slid into the seat; her eyes were scanning me rapidly, trying to figure out what was happening.

I slowly slid across a white envelope; her eyes followed it, her nervousness now palpable.

I sighed, "Jessica, how do you want to play this?"

Her brow furrowed. "Play what, Michael? Baby, you're scaring me."

"The divorce!"

My words hung in the air like a bad smell. Jessica's face went ashen; she started shaking her head "Michael, what do you mean divorce? Wh-why, why would you want a divorce? Don't be stupid; we are not getting a fucking divorce"

I smiled at her tear-glistening eyes, reached down onto the seat next to me and brought up the images I had printed earlier. I slowly and methodically spread them in front of her.

I looked up into the horror-stricken features of the women I once loved more than life itself. In a more determined voice now. "As I said, how do you want to play this?"

She was shaking her head furiously. "No, no, no, baby, no, I am so sorry, I didn't... please, honey, let me fix this, I love you and only you, he meant nothing.... Baby, please!"

I shook my head and got up from the table, heading for the door. "Just sign the papers, Jessica and let's get this over with."

As I reached the door, Jessica screamed for me to wait. I stopped but didn't turn back; she was sobbing as she spoke her last words to me in this house. "Michael, wait, please. I was so careful; I did everything to make sure you never found out. I worked so hard to make sure you wouldn't get hurt. Please... how did you find out?"

I laughed once and turned my head to face her "Cold feet!" and left the house and my marriage behind.