Wife Of 18 Years Is Hospitalized After Getting Caught In The Hotel 

But they got shot in town and it’s a small town, so I’m assuming they have her at the police station. Okay, you stay put, Sheila instructed. I’ll call an associate and see if he can get down there. If nothing else, he can babysit her until she gets her own lawyer. I need to go to the hospital at some point, I noted. Okay, you can go to the hospital, but don’t be alone with her, Sheila warned. If anything happens, I want 10 ft between you and her with at least two witnesses.

Got it, I acknowledged.

And George, Sheila added, “Yes, I responded. I know you. You’re conflicted. I’m sorry for what is happening, but you’re not responsible, and it’s going to be okay. you hear me?” Her voice softened slightly. “Yes, ma’am. I hear you,” I assured her.

“Okay, go do what you need to do, but behave yourself,” she concluded. I hung up thinking, did I just say, “Yes, ma’am.” Why does she make me feel like a little kid? And why does it work so well? No matter. She’s looking after me at a time when I feel lost, and she gives me direction. Now I needed to make her proud of me. I took a shower and changed. A few weeks ago, I would have rushed to be at her side, but Jean killed that love. Now I just had obligations to fulfill, and that included making sure she got proper medical care, and the hospital got our insurance information. The divorce could wait. I wasn’t going to rent my clothes, whatever the outcome, but I would finish my husbandly duties by ensuring that strangers did their jobs.

As it turned out, I could have taken more time. She was in recovery when I arrived and sedated through the night. I gave them our insurance information, spoke with a surgeon who said that Jean was expected to live, and returned home.

They would call me if there was any change or when she was awake. It was long after midnight when I got home. I was exhausted but unable to sleep. So, I ran through a mental checklist.

Everything could wait until tomorrow except for one very difficult task. I needed to call Jean’s parents. I considered waiting until morning, but if she took a turn for the worse and they couldn’t say goodbye, they would never forgive me. Whatever I thought of Jean, her parents were always good to me. So, I picked up the phone and called. Hello.

Do you know what time it is? Joe’s groggy voice came through the phone.

Yeah, Joe, I know. I had to call, I explained. Jean has been injured and they’ve taken her to Memorial Hospital.

There was a moment’s delay as her father absorbed the information.

Injured? What do you mean injured? He asked anxiously. “Joe, she was shot tonight by her lover’s wife,” I said bluntly. “Shot?” Joe exclaimed. “What the heck are you talking about? Are you drunk? How did she get shot?” No, Joe. I’m sober. I assured him. The police were here earlier and I’ve been to the hospital. She’s out of surgery and the doctor says she is going to be okay. They have her sedated, so there’s no point in going there tonight. I just wanted you to know. Are you with her now? Joe asked. No, I’m home, I replied.

Shouldn’t you be with her? His tone was accusatory. I was too tired to get angry. Joe, did you hear me? She was shot by her lover’s wife, I repeated.

You’re insane. Jean doesn’t have a lover. Joe protested. Yeah, Joe, she does. Or she did, I corrected him. He’s dead, but she’s going to live.

There was silence on the other end of the call, or silence of a sort, as I could hear Joe telling Marie what I’d told him. Eventually, Joe came back to the call. George, is there any chance you could be mistaken? he asked hopefully.

About the cheating or the shooting? I clarified. Well, both, Joe exclaimed.

No, Joe. I got suspicious and hired someone to watch her about 2 weeks ago, I explained. I was looking at photographs and transcripts when the police got here. I’ve been to the hospital and talked with her doctor.

It’s all true. There was silence again.

What are you going to do? Joe finally asked. I’m sorry, Joe. I’ve already been to a lawyer. I’m divorcing her, I stated.

George, can’t you find it in your heart?

Joe pleaded. I mean, she’s been shot and she’s going to need you. I needed her, too, Joe. But she was out sleeping with her lover, I reminded him. So, that’s it? Joe asked dejectedly.

Basically, I confirmed. I’ll make sure she is insured through all this and I’m sure the lawyers will have more to say about finances and such, but I’ve been lied to too many times. In some ways, that’s worse than the intimacy. She has lied right to my face, and she did it so well that I never knew. I never suspected.

It took a moment for Joe to absorb that.

“So, what tipped you off?” he inquired.

“It was just her being away all the time,” I explained. We used to do things together, but these past few months, she’s always making plans that don’t include me. I figured that I needed to see for myself, so I hired a guy, and he showed me what Jean was hiding from me.

After that, my mind was made up. You know, her mom and I were looking forward to having grandkids, Joe said softly. He sounded like a beaten man, and it cut me to the core. I knew they wanted grandchildren and I wanted us to give them grandkids.

I’m sorry, Joe. I really am, I said sincerely.

Will you do us one favor? Joe asked. I thought, here it comes. They want me to delay any decision until Jean is better and we can talk. To my surprise, that wasn’t it. Don’t be a stranger, Joe requested. Marie and I think of you as the son we never had. I don’t want to lose you even if you divorce our daughter.

I couldn’t believe my ears. Through all that had happened, the betrayal, the evidence, the lawyer, the shooting, all of it. This is what made me cry for the first time.

I love you guys too, Joe. I really do. I promise I’m not going any place, I assured him. With that, we hung up. If I was bone tired before, I was exhausted now. I lay down in my bed with my clothes still on and fell fast asleep.

The morning sun woke me, but I wasn’t ready to rise. I got up just long enough to pull the shade, strip, and climb back into bed for another 2 hours of much needed but restless sleep. When I could sleep no more, I showered, dressed, and headed out for a bite before going to the hospital. It was about 11 when I got to Jean’s room. Her parents were already there. She was awake and surprisingly alert. I expected her to be still sedated or drugged or something. But what did I know? I’ve never seen a gunshot victim before. I walked into her room expecting remorse. Boy, was I surprised. She took one look at me and exploded. “You jerk. You son of a gun.

You killed him, didn’t you? You killed David.” Jean screamed. So much for it was just intimacy. It didn’t mean anything.

Suddenly, there were two nurses in the room walking quickly past me and two orderlys standing next to me. I guess they viewed me as a threat. I looked at her without an ounce of compassion in my heart. No, his wife killed him, I replied coldly.

I guess you two got sloppy. Or maybe she’s just smarter than I am. That took the wind out of her sails. She lay back in her bed and she began to weep. I was soon told to leave and happy to oblige.

Walking down the hall, I wondered if I ever knew this woman. She clearly never knew me. As I approached the elevator, I was met by two security guards. “Sir, may we speak with you?” one of them asked. I looked at them and said, “No, you may not. I have already spoken with the police and they have cleared me. I am not going to let the screams of a lying, cheating woman give you permission to pretend you have any importance at all. You can call the police if you want and I’ll speak with them, but you’ll just look like fools.

It’s your call, but if you touch me, I’ll sue.

By this point, I’d had enough. Tweedled D and Tweedled Dumb looked at each other, not knowing what to do as I stepped into the elevator to leave. The police never bothered me again. Jean tried to get the police to charge me, but when the shooter is caught standing over the body and confesses repeatedly on the way to the station, there wasn’t much more for them to do. The lawyer I hired for Helen Smith managed to get her into a psych ward instead of a prison cell, but I sometimes wonder if there is much difference. I visit her from time to time and I find her as lucid as anyone I know. She once asked me, “Any chance you could smuggle in a hacksaw hidden in a box of chocolates?” That’s when I knew she was as sane as you or I.