2

I'm not laying blame on anyone, not even myself, though I probably started the events in motion. You see, I fucked up hard. Unfortunately, I can't turn back time. My constant going out left my wife lonely, and the fact that she had no car left her somewhat isolated. Sure, I took her here and there, got her registered for classes and helped her with schoolwork, tried to help her get a driver's license and gave her some practice driving, but I should have spent more time with her instead of going out drinking and feeling sorry for myself. Again, I fucked up. Now, back to the story....
I had finally gotten my shit together and was trying my damnedest to get things in order and enter a Master's program so we'd have a nice life together. But, I guess it was too little, too late. Turns out she had been hanging out with some fucking guy she had met at school. I had no idea. She had only mentioned that she was going out with her friends sometimes. She never told me with whom or where she was going. When she was moving in and out of the apartment, I found out that she was staying at a guy's house with his mother; A friend she'd met at school. This means she had been hanging out with this creep for about three years. One day she came home to move back in or get some things to move back out, I don't remember which. I saw she had fucking bruises on her arms. When I asked her about them, she said she'd fallen! Why no bruises on her elbows or knees? A blatant lie. Then, I saw she had a bruise the size of a grapefruit on her arm. I confronted the asshole. He said that she had grabbed the steering wheel and tried to crash the car they were in when he was driving on the highway. I told him, there's no excuse and I'd be seeing him with my ax if I saw one more bruise. I should have called the cops or beaten the shit out of him on the spot. So, now my wife is a frantic, nervous wreck. She has moved back in and she's pacing back and forth, picking her face, eyes fluttering. I thought she was on drugs. Nothing I've encountered in my many years of field testing. I told her to calm down, that no one was going to hurt her or come after her. She said she had to go back home. I said ok, I'd get her home safely. Keep in mind this is the Reader's Digest version of the events that took place. I haven't mentioned the fact that after she had moved out, I spent the utility money and drank by candlelight crying my ass off until 6am for a few weeks. I almost lost my job because I was a mess each time I went into work. I was worried sick about my wife. I told a friend of mine how she was acting. He said it sounds like she was dosed with Crystal Meth. My wife never took drugs, drank very little, and wasn't a smoker. She started chain smoking, pacing, drinking fucking sweet Marsala wine at 10 in the morning. She went so downhill, so fast. I knew I had to get her home for her safety and well-being. Away from this loser, away from all stress, and close to her family for the support I seemed unable to give her. In 24 hours I got almost all of our crap into storage, sold my vehicle, bought two plane tickets, and ran out on my landlord. I felt bad, but I had to get her home. That was the most important thing to me. I have no regrets. I'd do it all again if I had to. She comes before anything. I only wish I had shown her that before.