My husband picked the wrong woman

Source

(I had posted this story on Dream Steem a few months ago. I've deleted the original post before posting it here. I had also posted this story on Reddit and on my blog. So this isn't Steem Exclusive.)

I met Brandon a little over two years ago. I was taken with him almost immediately. His jawline and cheekbones looked as though they had been carved by a particularly gifted sculptor who wanted to show off. The fact that he was a good conversationalist, effortlessly charming with a confident stride and an arrogant glint in his eyes certainly didn't hurt.

I fell. I fell hard.

Brandon told me that he was crazy about me too. And less than a year later, we were married.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. It was far too early. And you're right. But I didn't realise it at the time. I was lost in the fun house of the "romance stage" of the relationship. I brushed aside my friends' advice that maybe I need to wait a little longer. That I shouldn't rush into marriage like this. I paid absolutely no heed to their advice. I was happy and in love. What could possibly go wrong?

I should have listened to them.

A year into our marriage, I began to notice things. Brandon suddenly got into the habit of dropping by at the gym for a quick workout just before coming home. Prior to this we always showered together when I got home from work. I missed our little ritual but decided not to dwell on it.

But then, he began taking "business trips" much more frequently than before.

He was also on the phone a lot. And always had these phone conversations in his study. He jumped on those few occasions when the door wasn't locked and I just walked in.

I couldn't ignore so many strange new changes.

I came to the same conclusion as you just did, and hired a private investigator.

Brandon exceeded my expectations. He wasn't having an affair with a woman. He was sleeping with six different women. I saved the pictures the detective sent me.

That night Brandon came home much later than usual. I was already in bed. He got in and told me something about his work schedule being brutal. He then fell asleep next to me. I lay in bed awake, having chosen not to confront him.

I decided to let things go on as usual for some time. Because underneath all my anger and disgust, I felt genuine morbid curiosity. I wanted to know just how far he would take this facade.

In the weeks that followed, Brandon's lies and excuses became more creative.

He would have scratch marks on his back and shoulders because "he slipped and fell at work just as his coworker was opening a drawer and it's edges scratched his skin". No explanation for why his shirt was undamaged.

He reeked of women's perfume because "Laura from marketing is a hugger!".

All of these cock and bull stories were told with a perfectly calm demeanour while looking me straight in the eye. His knack for mendacity was admirable.

We did keep having sex though. A cheater he was, but he also had a gorgeous body and phenomenal love making skills. And I have needs, so why the hell not?

I had the detective film his interactions with his "Lady friends". The ones that took place in public, of course.

All six of those women seemed quite charmed and taken with him, just as I had been once. But one of them, a young girl probably no older than twenty-five, looked downright obsessed with him.

The way she smiled at him, fawned over him, pulled her chair close to him and kissed him passionately even in a crowded restaurant. The way she just didn't want to let go of him when he was dropping her off at her place. All this told me her feelings for my husband were much deeper and more intense than those of the other women.

I'm willing to bet that the scratch marks came from her.

Her name was Pamela.

Soon, Brandon's devil-may-care demeanour began giving way to irritation and anxiety. He often sounded angry when talking on the phone. The person on the other end seemed to really be getting on his nerves.

At times, his phone would just ring non stop. We'd be at the dinner table and his phone would ring, Brandon would answer it, tell the person calling that they'd talk later. And the phone would ring again immediately after he hung up. This would continue until he turned it off.

My suspicions about who it could be were confirmed when one evening, I heard him say in an angry voice "it's over, Pam!".

Poor little Pamela! I did feel bad for her. But I couldn't blame Brandon for wanting to get away from her. She did seem like the obsessive kind who could make you claustrophobic.

I couldn't help but wonder....

A few days later, I just "ran into" Pamela at the local mall. I had learned the details of her schedule through the detective, before I dismissed him.

I introduce myself to her as Brandon's wife.

Two harmless little words that, when put together, made it look as though a bomb had gone off inside her head. I told her I felt for her. That neither her nor I deserved to be lied to this way.

I told her I would have been jealous of her, had she been the only other woman in my husband's life. But how could I possibly be jealous of so many women.

That last thing I said made her eyes go even wider and she stammered out a "wh..what?".

I proceeded to tell her all about Brandon's other affairs. I showed her the pictures I had on my phone, gave her names and told her she deserved to know the truth. I told her she should probably just move on than be with a man who was deceiving so many women.

Then I just walked away.

The following day, I called a marriage counsellor and told her my husband and I were struggling in our marriage due to his infidelity and needed help. I scheduled an appointment with her for a week later, as that is when I would return from my business trip. I didn’t tell Brandon about this. This appointment was merely for the purpose of appearances.

But I did tell him about this super important trip I had to take and that it would last a week. He put on the supportive husband act and wished me all the best.

The next morning I left town for the next seven days. I figured it was enough time for my plan to come to fruition. All I had to do now was wait.

The phone call came on Saturday afternoon. You see, Brandon hadn't shown up at work and his colleagues were worried. I told them that I too hadn't been able to reach him, even after calling his cell phone several times. In my best "worried loving wives" voice and said I was cutting my trip short and coming home.

As it turns out, Brandon's secretary also hadn't shown up for work.

The police officers told me to come down to the station. When I got there, I learned that my husband and his secretary were both found dead in her apartment. Their skulls had been brutally crushed with a sledgehammer.

I broke down and cried. I allowed the anger over Brandon's betrayal to finally surface and my screams and tears could make anyone think I was devastated. No acting was necessary.

As the investigation progressed, Brandon's indiscretions came to light. The cops asked is I knew about his extramarital affairs, and I admitted that I did. I also added that "my Brandon" was just a sex addict. He told me so. He loved me, and the other women were just objects to him. I told them about having arranged a meeting with a therapist, in an effort to save our marriage. They checked my call details and it proved that I was telling the truth.

Interestingly, one Pamela Watson, one of Brandon's other women, had suddenly gone missing. She had quit her job and vacated her apartment. Just the day before Brandon and the secretary were killed.

Now, I'm considering leaving town too. Pamela might come after me next, just for the crime of being married to Brandon.

Though I don't think I have much to worry about.

Because as crazy as Pamela is, I think I might be crazier.