She called me the miracle in her life, I called her my little treasure. Sounds corny, I know, but I really believed I was the luckiest bastard on earth. I had the loving and supportive wife, a nurturing mother to our two precious girls, a thriving business and the future looked rosy. I was a contented man.
But overnight everything changed. My wife withdrew from me, ignored our children, and made it clear she was no longer interested in playing the role of wife and mother.
We had two children under five, they needed her. I needed her.
When her dressing began to change and she disappeared for hours, I suspected I was not enough for her.
Thinking she was having an affair, I placed my wife of five years under surveillance.
What my surveillance revealed shook my world, broke my heart and exposed a web of lies and deceit.
My Wife’s lil Secret
Excerpt from My Wife’s Li’l Secret:
Since my wife was out partying again, bedtime routine for our girls was left to me. Again. I tucked Ally and Becky into bed and began to read a story to them. “Once upon a time…”
“Dadda?” Ally said placing her hand on the storybook and stopping me from continuing.
I paused and looked at my daughter. “Yes, Alleycat?”
“Dadda, what’s a hooka?”
“Whaaaat?” I peered at my daughter wondering if I had heard correctly.
“The teacher at preschool, she said, ‘Here comes the hooka,’ when she saw Mummy.”
Slowly, I lowered the book and stared at my daughter. “It’s …it’s …”
How do I explain what a hooker is to a four-year-old? I shouldn’t even be in a position where I had to.
“The lady shouldn’t have said that, Ally,” I muttered.
“But, Dadda …”
Two-year-old Becky spun around and clamped her hand over Ally’s mouth. “Shhh! Let Daddy read the story, Ally!”
Becky hated anyone interrupting a story, so to prevent her from getting mad with us, both Ally and I fell silent. I continued reading even though I was terribly distracted by Ally’s words.
“Talk about it tomorrow, Ally,” I muttered when the opportunity arose.
After the kids fell asleep, I sat in my lounge in the dark and pondered Ally’s teacher’s comment.
Liefie had great legs, a great figure and I had no problem with her wearing whatever she liked, but people were talking and clearly her dressing needed to be …addressed.
Of course I expected Liefie to become angry when I confronted her about it, accuse me of controlling her and after the number of arguments we had had, I was reluctant to talk to her about it.
But when I saw her the following evening, all dolled up and ready to party without her family again, hooker was the word, alright.
Her red skirt was the size of a large belt, her white top strained across her breasts and ended above her belly button, her fake tan looked like she’d dipped herself in food coloring and that garish, face paint with that dominating electric-blue eye shadow…reminded me of Braveheart.
She didn’t look pretty; she looked like an aging prostitute. Harsh words, I know, but they weren’t out of malice, they were simply an observation. (People were talking, remember?)
Tarty make-up aside, to my absolute surprise, she sported two piercings above her left eyebrows. My jaw fell.
When did that happen, I wondered? How could that happen? Why hadn’t she told me about it?
Of course it was her body and she was free to do what she liked to it, but facial piercings weren’t something I liked. She knew that.
She could have at least mentioned it to me before she pieced her face. We were husband and wife; it was reasonable to expect her to talk to me about something like that before she did it.
“What’s with the piercing?” I asked, both mesmerized and irritated by them.
She shrugged, flashed me a deal-with-it look and turned away.
With a weary sigh, I walked around to face her. “We need to talk.”
A guarded look flashed in her eyes before they hardened.
“Liefie, you need to dress more like a mother,” I said in a quiet voice. “You have two children and …”
“What?! You want to tell me how to dress now? You want to CONTROL ME?”
Just as I had expected.
“Hey, keep you voice down, will you? I’m talking to you, that’s all.”
“There is nothing wrong with my dressing, okay?! Nothing!”
“Yes, there is, Liefie. Your skirts are too short, your tops are way too tight and the people at Ally’s school are talking about it. You need to …”
“Ally’s school?” Her heavily-lined eyes slanted.
Her painted, pillar-box-red mouth twisted into a sneer. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not. I swear!”
She cocked her head and looked at me. “Who told you that?”
“Ally told me. She said one of the mothers or teachers, I can’t remember, after seeing you, used the word hooker.”
Her body stiffened. “Ally said ….THAT?!?”
“That bitch! Where is she?!” She turned and strode off in search of Ally. Even though she was in heels, she almost ran.
“Liefie stop!” I cried running after her, shocked she would call her little daughter a bitch. “Leave her alone!”
She found Ally playing with Becky in the TV room. “Did you call me a hooker?” she demanded, putting her flaming face in Ally’s.
“Liefie stop this shit!” I warned.
Ally’s eyes flitted between Liefie’s and mine, a terrified look on her face.
“Lief…ie! ” I hissed. “Stop this …”
Liefie suddenly backhanded Ally across the face, sending her crashing into a doll’s house.
Ally lay on the floor so stunned, she didn’t even cry. The only thing that showed her distress was puddle appearing around her waist.
For a moment, I too was stunned. Liefie had never ever hit our kids before.
Then fury overtook me – I grabbed my wife by the hair and slammed her against the wall.
Putting my face in hers, I snarled, “You ever touch my child like that and I will fuck the shit out of you, understand? UNDERSTAND?”
Her attempt to look defiant failed and I saw fear flicker in her eyes.
I had never hit Liefie before, never even called her names, so this wasn’t something she was used to.
“Don’t ever lay a finger on any of my daughters. Understand?” I pushed my face further into hers, resisting the urge to head-butt her.
“Daddy, stop! Daddy!” Ally cried, while Becky started to whimper. I looked over at my two children clinging to each other, terror on their little faces.
What am I doing?!
Quickly, I released Liefie and took a giant step back.
I walked over to Ally and Becky, scooped up both of them and hugged them to me. “It’s okay, it’s okay!”
They looked at their mother who stood holding her head with both hands, but did not try to go to her.
After a few moments, Liefie ran out of the room, shouting, “Your father is an abusive man! He just abused me in front of our children. That’s the kind of man I married!”
I looked at Ally. “Sorry, hon.”
“Why did you tell her, Daddy?” Ally whispered, holding her tear-stained cheek.
“I’m sorry, Al, I was trying to get her to do the right thing. I’m sorry.”
“You knew she’d hit me, Daddy. You shouldn’t have told her.”
I peered at Ally. “What are you talking about? She doesn’t hit you, Ally. Usually. Right?”
“I need to change my pants,” Ally muttered, ignoring my questions.
My head jerked to look at little Becky.
Becky’s head bobbed, her eyes opening wide.
You can’t be serious?!
My eyes shifted back to Ally. “This is the first time she hit you, right? Or does she hit you? Tell me, Ally.” I shook her. “Tell me!”
Becky’s head continued to bob.
“All the time, Daddy,” Ally finally muttered. “Yesterday she hit me because I took too long to get Uncle Viggo’s beer. From the fridge.”
“WHAAAT?” She had my four-year-old daughter fetching alcohol for her brother?
“Mummy hit Ally here,” Becky said, slapping the top of her head.
I was mortified at what I was hearing.
If Liefie could hit my daughter that way in front of me, backhand her, what would she be doing behind my back? Aghast, I looked at my firstborn who I idolized. “Ally, honey, why didn’t you tell me this?”
“You weren’t here, Dadda. And Mummy said if I carry tales she’ll make me sorry.” Fat tears coursed down little Ally cheeks.
I drew my girls closer, feeling absolutely gutted to know they were being silently abused by their own mother. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Daddy will make it stop. I’m so sorry. This is not going to happen again. I promise.”
End of Excerpt
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“a cracking good read, has elements of a thriller, although it does contain some sweet romance.”
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Excerpt from The Cheat – A Tale of Infidelity and Lies
When our guests left early, I breathed a sigh of relief. Now she and I could talk. Well, maybe not talk –some serious begging on my part was more like it.
But Angel, without a word, grabbed her jacket (her leather jacket which she hadn’t worn in about 8 years) and car keys and stormed out of the house, leaving me with the sleeping kids.
“Where you’re going Angel?” I asked, tottering after her. When I saw that she had taken my car keys, my Porsche, I nearly had a stroke.
Again, I braced myself to remind her that she had a late model silver BMW and that the Porsche belonged to me and that if she really felt she just had to use my precious vehicle, my pride and joy, she could have at least have had the decency to ask first.
But when she glared at me, lips pursed, nostrils flaring, eyes like flying saucers, I became the pussy I am and literally backed away.
She slipped the key into the engine and started my baby – eh, car.
Then she revved it. And revved it.
“Honey, it’s not necessary to rev it so …”
She locked the doors and revved the engine so much, I thought I was going to die from a stroke.
Timidly, I knocked on the window. “Honey?” I motioned for her to wind down the window. “Honey, baby, sweetheart, you’ve been drinking – maybe you shouldn’t …”
Her response was to snarl and rev it again.
“Okay, okay!” I quickly stepped away from the car.
Fuck the revving and shit, I was worried about her. She had been hitting the bottle all night. What if she had an accident?
But I could do nothing to stop her. She sped away. Minutes later, I tried her cell phone, only to find that she had left it behind. My anxiety escalated – I didn’t want anything to happen to her.
Anxious and worried, I sat up all night, waiting for her, wondering where she could be and resisting the temptation to call her friends and start looking for her. Although I felt like a drink, I didn’t, just in case she called me to pick her up.
Alone in the dark, I paced as questions ran like freight train through my
mind – what was she going to do now? Leave? Ask me to leave? Stay, but file for a divorce? Shit, had I lost everything because of my fucking around?
I couldn’t sleep, so I crawled into bed with my girls who were sleeping in our bed. I hugged their soft bodies to mine, saddened to think what would become of them if I was gone. Who would take care of them when I was gone? Would they be embarrassed to know that their father died of AIDS? Would they be forever ashamed of me? How would Angel cope without me? Would she marry again?
The thought of that really jarred me and almost made me sit up. ANGEL IN BED WITH ANOTHER MAN? FUCKING HELL!
Guess I was that kind of guy – full of shit and totally unrealistic. It’s how I was wired.
But around 5 AM, I finally dozed off next to my girls.
At around eleven the next morning, Angel rocked up, looking like…well, last night and reeking of cigarettes, which she had given up eight years ago.
“Angel, where were you?” I asked in a timid voice as I followed her around.
She spun around to bark at me. “What does it matter to you WHERE I was?”
“Okay, okay, honey.”
Of course, I didn’t want to fight with her. Clearly she was troubled and in pain, so I was going to be very patient today.
“Where’s my daughters?” she demanded as she flung her bag on the glass table.
My daughters. The division was starting already.
“They’re with Debbie, honey.”
“Because…eh… I think we need to talk, Angel.”
She whirled around and glared at me. “Talk? Talk? I need answers and you, you need to talk,” she snapped, and once again I nodded agreeably. “But I want the truth,” she threatened. “Don’t ever lie to me again, Gabriel. From now on, have the balls to tell me the truth, okay? She was calling me Gabriel, not Gabe or honey. It meant she was pissed.
I hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”
She walked over to the bar and to my absolute horror, picked up my Johnny Walker, limited edition, $3500 a bottle, individually bottled, individually numbered, in a hand-blown Baccarat crystal decanter, given to me by a retired, murdering mafia boss whose name I threw around like crazy whenever I was in a jam, and poured herself half a glass of it. Half a glass.
Then she took a huge gulp, made a face and, guess what? She spat it back into the glass and threw the contents into the sink. Down the fucking sink!
Too stunned to speak, I could only watch as she poured herself a triple vodka and drank it neat. But I was scared shitless to say anything to her.
Instead, I glanced pointedly at the clock. Eleven fifteen – too early for anyone, other than me, to be drinking alcohol.
She downed another vodka and slammed the glass on the table.
For a while, she stared at the carpet and that hurt look I’d seen last night in her eyes returned. Shaking her head as if she was having a conversation with herself, she grabbed the bottle of vodka and poured herself another. Raising the glass to her lips, she paused and looked at me. “Why?”
I sighed loudly, apologetically, remorsefully. “I was dumb…I got carried away…I was drunk…stupid…”
After taking a gulp of her vodka, she fired the next question. “Was does she look like? Is she attractive?”
A loaded question. I scratched my face, planning to say no.
“I want the truth Gabriel! Don’t you FUCKING make up…”
“Yes! Yes! Yes …”
Her jaw trembled slightly. “How old was she?”
I scratched my brain. “Probably…I dunno…around thirty , I think…”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. Angel was thirty-two, so that shouldn’t affect her that much. “H …how many times?”
“Uh…just that S…Saturday,” I stammered. “Only that day.”
“How many times that DAY?”
“Night, honey,” I corrected. “Um…three …yeah, three times. Honey.”
She raised her eyebrows dramatically. “You were drunk and you got it up three times? How the FUCK did you manage that?” she spat nastily. These days we can only do it once a night, cos you’re so fucking old!”
That made me mad. I wanted to shout out that she was the problem here. She usually was too tired for sex anyway, let alone trying to do it more than once a night. I had to always beg for it! But I held my tongue. Actually, I too was baffled by the fact that I could go and go that night. I have no idea how I did it, considering I was shit-faced. But I did, and I was somewhat secretly proud of it.
I know, I know; I was an asshole for thinking that, but hey, we all know that I’m a prick.
Moving on …
She walked over to the window and stared forlornly outside. “I cook, I clean, I take care of your kids… I get exhausted, I get bored, I get lonely.” She turned and looked at me, then downed the rest of her vodka, before continuing. “There are days when I feel like giving up on being a mother and a wife, because of the repetitiveness and mon…mon…otony of c…hings. But do I do that? Noooo! But you get to. How the FUCK is that fair, huh?” She was drunk alright.
I looked away, then at her again. “I’m sorry Angel,” I said, meaning it. “I did a crappy thing and I deserve everything, okay? So let me have it.”
“Don’t call me Angel! It’s AngeLINA to you, FUCKHEAD! You’ve lost your Angel now.”
I looked away, unused to having my wife curse like a sailor or talk to me like that.
“Did you ever think about me at all while you were FUCKING her?”
Truth was; I never did, but I wanted to spare her that pain.
“Did you Gabriel?”
Her eyes opened wide.
“N…no,” I quickly added. “I dunno – I was out of it Angel.”
““Out of it”? You had a hard-on three times in one night, you FUCKING MORON! You couldn’t have been “out of it”” you DUMB FUCK!”
I kept my eyes averted while she disrespected me.
“Was she the woman in the cab?”
I hung my head, not realizing we had been spotted. “Yes.”
Her jaw trembles before tears cascaded down her flushed cheeks. “So you were kissing her goodbye, Gabriel?”
“No!” I protested, distraught to see her so broken.
“You didn’t…you didn’t kiss me on the lips that day and ever since, because you gave me some crap about some tummy bug or some shit. All that was a lie, right?” She sounded so hurt, I felt like the dog I was.
But the tummy bug really was a lie so what could I say?
“Right?” she persisted.
“All this while, you were fighting…and being so moody with me and I was thinking…” she looked up at me, “It wasn’t pressure at work all along, was it? You were stressed about this, right?”
I looked away, resisting the urge to say, “But wait, there’s more!”
“You haven’t slept with me since you got back and you haven’t kissed me since. God I feel so rejected.” Her shoulders fell.
“Angel, I didn’t…”
She slumped into a chair and covered her face with her hands. Then she rested her face on her lap and wept.
For a few moments, I let her. She needed this.
Suddenly, she sat up straight.
“Angel, baby, I am so sor …”
“Save it Gabriel!” she snarled and walked over to pour herself yet another drink, her …I lost count. Suddenly, she threw the heavy crystal glass and its contents across the room and into my big screen plasma TV. My big screen precious plasma television set! I watched in horror as glass from the television rained everywhere.
“What the hell, Angelina?” I cried. “Look what you did!”
“Look…what…you… did, Gabriel Sloan!” she deadpanned, before stumbling away.
I stared for a few minutes, unsure whether I should run after her or take care of the mess. Finally, I let her go and cleaned up the mess and when next I saw her, she was passed out on her bed, fully clothed and snoring like Trixie.
Trixie was my Rottweiler who passed on (God bless her canine soul) years ago.
Read more about Gabriel and Angelina’s story by clicking on the link below:
The Cheat – A Tale of Lies and Infidelity
By Eve Rabi
“I believe the author is very talented. After reading oodles of books, it is hard to come across a story that you haven’t read before. Her creativity shows in all the books. I love her sense of humor, and how she keeps you guessing throughout the plot. My favorite thing this author does so well is how she develops the romance and relationship in the characters. It feels so real. I always find it hard when writers give you a romance that goes from 0 to 60 in 3 seconds. It just does not seem believable. She builds the relationship right every time.”
“In this book, I laughed out loud, and found myself changing my mind about some of the characters as the book progressed. I also enjoyed how flawed these characters were. Gabrial was very self-centered and had the maturity level of a 14-year old. Again, very believable.”
“I loved reading this book. I laughed from the first page and at the turn of almost every page. That is unless I was clearing the frog in my throat or wiping away my tears. This story is about Gabriel (Gabe) who cheats on his wife and suffers the consequences. As the tale unfolded I realised that although Gabe is a cheating ass I wanted him to succeed in his quest for “redemption”.The relationship between the characters are so touching and so real that at times I found myself wanting to reach out and hug them. This is a great read. I loved it!I highly recommend.”
“An authentic, completely believable first-person narrative about a man dealing with the consequences of a one-night stand in Las Vegas. Honest, gritty, and coarse, but far from trashy; this first novella-sized installment is actually a love story that focuses on the protagonist’s marriage, rather than the affair itself. In fact, the lover –Sinead– only appears briefly in the story. I will definitely be reading Book 2.”
Read more about Gabriel and Angelina’s story by clicking on the link below: