A Driver in His Late Thirties

1
My best friend, Ben, finally stopped laughing long enough to send me the picture of the man my wife was leaving me for.
The reason for his half-hour-long laughing fit wasn't just the affair itself. It was because her new man wasn't some decorated four-star general, nor was he a billionaire CEO with a summer home in the Hamptons.
He was a motor pool driver, nearly forty, who was my inferior in every conceivable wayeducation, background, and appearance.
At first, I thought it had to be a sick April Fool's joke.
But when I confronted Eleanor with the photo, she calmly produced a set of divorce papers.
"I failed you in the first half of my life, Ethan," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "I can't fail Liam in the second."
Her next words were a clean, brutal slice: "You can have the assets. I'm choosing him."
My own expression remained flat. I pulled out my phone, opened the calculator app, and did a quick tally of our properties, stock portfolio, and luxury cars.
Then, I signed the papers with a steady hand. "I wish you both a lifetime of happiness."

Exactly twenty-eight minutes had passed from the moment Eleanor confessed her affair to the moment I handed her the signed divorce agreement.
According to our terms, the military base housing assigned to us and my related base privileges would remain under my control. She would pay me a one-time settlement of three million dollars in compensation and child support.
From that day forward, our son and I would have no further contact with her.
When I handed her the papers, Eleanor was in the middle of a video conference, a strategic briefing of some kind. The two silver stars on each of her shoulders gleamed under the lamplight as she glanced up, her eyes catching the words "Divorce Agreement."
She held up a hand, pausing the meeting. "One moment," she told the screen, before turning her gaze to me. She gave a curt nod, a silent acknowledgment, and I left her study.
To speed things along, I packed all of her personal belongings myself. Five large suitcases in total. I was meticulous, not wanting to miss a thing. I even cleared out the storage room, carefully packing away the medals and commendations from her years at West Point.
The last thing I saw was the wedding photo hanging on the wall.
In it, Eleanor stood tall and proud in her dress uniform, while I, in a crisp white suit, held her tightly in a sun-dappled birch forest. Back then, her arms were always wrapped around me, her voice a warm whisper in my ear. "I'll love you forever, Ethan." "Marrying you was the luckiest day of my life."
We met at West Point. She was a freshly commissioned officer, and I, despite having my own share of admirers, fell for her instantly. She was independent, honorable, and beautifuleverything I wasn't, everything I admired. We married right after graduation, and I watched as she climbed the ranks, from a junior officer all the way to Major General. To support her meteoric rise, I put my own ambitions on hold, becoming the perfect military spouse. I managed our home, our life, and took care of her with unwavering devotion.
As her rank increased, so did the frequency of her field exercises and deployments. I filled my days with grocery runs and gym sessions, maintaining my physique while she was away. But she never neglected us. No matter how exhausted she was, she'd come home and help our son with his homework, take walks with me, and use her influence to smooth over the petty politics of base housing.
To everyone else, we were the model military couple.
I don't know when it started, but her "weekend exercises" began to stretch, sometimes bleeding into entire weeks where she was completely off the grid. Ben had even joked about it. "Man, you better keep an eye on her. Things can change." Id brushed it off, but a seed of doubt had been planted.
Id dropped off documents for her at the base a few times. Everything seemed normal. Her staff officers were always buried in work, and that manLiam Carterwas always there in the background, driving his truck between departments, delivering supplies, occasionally lending a hand.
He was a man approaching forty, not handsome by any means. He wore his uniform well, his hair cut in a sharp military buzz, and he spoke with a friendly, Midwestern sort of charm. Hed even poured me a cup of tea once, polite and unassuming.
Over the years, I had braced myself for this possibility. I'd pictured her leaving me for a general's son, a handsome young captain, or even a dashing war correspondent.
The one person I never considered was the truck driver from the motor pool.
I'd heard he had been married once before, to another soldier. This was his first job after the divorce, and he was known for his work ethic. He volunteered for extra shifts, was friendly to everyone, and his colleagues liked him. Some of them even asked him to pick up groceries for them on his runs.
I remember telling Eleanor about it once, saying he seemed like a hardworking guy and that she should look out for him.
Her response was always cool, detached. "The military doesn't run on favors, Ethan. I've already told my staff to stop asking him for personal errands."
At the time, I thought she was just being a stern, by-the-book General. Looking back, I realize she was probably just upset that Liam had to run errands for others after a long day of work.
The reason she chose today to confess was simple. I had made her a bowl of warm soup, a ritual for whenever she returned late from an exercise. She stared at the bowl, her brow furrowed slightly, then gently pushed it away. After a long silence, she looked up at me, her eyes clouded with weariness, and asked if we could get a divorce.
She admitted it had been going on for three months. She'd been using the breaks between her field exercises to meet him.
My heart felt like it had been pierced by a thousand tiny needles, but I forced myself to maintain my composure.
I asked who it was.
When she said the name "Liam Carter," I was sure I was hearing things. A wave of numbness washed over me, a strange, aching paralysis that spread through my limbs.

2
By the time Eleanor finished her meeting and came out of the study, I had finished my workout, ironed my uniform for the next day, and was sitting on the balcony, reading a book.
As if nothing had happened.
She went to the bedroom to change and, out of habit, called out from the walk-in closet when she found it empty. "Ethan, where are my Class A's?"
I didn't turn around. "Packed. Wear yesterday's uniform if you don't mind. You'll be throwing it out soon enough anyway."
A long, heavy silence was her only reply.
When she emerged, she finally saw the five suitcases stacked neatly by the front door. She came and sat beside me, her finger tapping the divorce agreement on the table. "The settlement I'll transfer two million now. The rest will be in installments"
I cut her off. "No. I want it all at once."
I paused, then added, "I'm sure he wouldn't want you to have any lingering ties to me."
A flicker of confusion crossed her face. "He's my son too, Ethan. I have a right to be part of his life."
"I know I'm in the wrong," she continued, her voice gaining a defensive edge. "I'm willing to compensate you, but don't you dare use our son as a bargaining chip."
I set down my book and looked her straight in the eye.
"You're the one who had the affair. The settlement and child support are what I'm owed. Considering your income, keeping the house is hardly greedy of me. As for our son, I'm the one who's been there for him his entire life. He's a sensitive boy who needs attention. How much of yourself can you honestly give him while you're in the throes of a new romance? Being a parent is about more than just money. It takes time and patience."
She was speechless, cornered by the truth. Finally, she managed, "Regardless, I won't let three million dollars sever my relationship with my son."
I picked up the agreement. "The three million is for the settlement and his upbringing. If you want to provide anything extra, you can transfer it directly to his trust fund. I'll have a separate account set up for him."
A cold, bitter laugh escaped her lips. "I never knew you were so obsessed with money, Ethan. It's all you talk about."
"And what about love?" I shot back, my voice dangerously quiet. "What good did that do me?"
She had nothing left to say. Her face was a grim mask as she snatched a pen and signed the papers. She then informed me we had an appointment at the base's Legal Assistance Office tomorrow to file the official application. With that, she called for her aide to come collect her things.
I finished arranging a vase of flowers and went to bed.
When I woke the next morning, she was already gone.
Our son, Leo, came running out of his room and jumped into my arms, chattering excitedly about a dream he'd had about visiting the Air and Space Museum. As I listened, I gently tested the waters. "Mommy has a really important training exercise coming up. She might be away for a little while."
Usually, this news would be met with tears and protests. But this time, he just grabbed his tablet to video call her. "Mommy, when are you coming home?" he asked.
"I'm going to be busy for a while, sweetie," her voice came through the speaker.
He just nodded, his little lips pressed into a thin line. "It's okay. As long as I have Dad, it's enough."
My composure shattered. My throat closed up, and I couldn't speak. Making an excuse about breakfast, I fled to the kitchen, fighting back tears. Agreeing to the divorce was painful, but the guilt of not being able to give my son a complete family was what truly gutted me.
Even though I knew I wasn't the one who broke it.
After dropping Leo off at school, I met Eleanor at the legal office. We filed the paperwork. Thirty days. In thirty days, we'd have the final decree, and it would all be over.

3
I had just gotten back to the house when a message popped up from a young clerk in Eleanor's unit named Sam. He was a cheerful, outgoing kid, the kind everyone liked.
He asked if I was busy. When I said I wasn't, he launched right in. Are you and the General getting a divorce?
I didn't deny it.
Is it because of Liam Carter?
I didn't answer. I figured Eleanor must have told people.
Seeing my silence, Sam sent a string of crying emojis.
Dude, I knew it! It's because of that guy! No wonder you haven't been bringing us your famous brownies lately!
I miss them so much!
Back when Eleanor and I were happy, I used to bake for her unit almost weekly as a thank you for their hard work. Some of the younger soldiers would joke they'd never leave the army just so they could keep eating my pastries.
It's okay, I typed back. I'm thinking of opening a flower shop. When I do, you can come by and I'll give you a free bouquet.
Sam cheered up instantly, demanding the address. I told him I'd send it later.
He was fine with that, but then the complaints started again.
You have no idea what a jerk Liam has become. Right after you stopped coming around, he got promoted from driver to head of the motor pool. His whole attitude changed. He used to smile at everyone. Now he just nitpicks and finds fault with everything. He's not even trying to hide how smug he is.
And get thishe bought the same brand of watch and jacket as you. It's so obvious. What does the General even see in him?
He finished by saying if he didn't love the uniform so much, he'd request a transfer just to get away from the guy.
I was at my front door by then. I sent him a few comforting words, and he finally, reluctantly, ended the conversation.
At this point, I found I didn't have the energy to dissect Liam's motives anymore. It was a stark contrast to the moment Eleanor confessed, when a frantic, desperate need to understand his appeal had consumed me.
I pushed open the door and was surprised to see Eleanor's boots in the entryway. She was on the floor with Leo, helping him build a complex model airplane.
"Dad!" Leo shouted, his face lighting up. "Come on, let's race and see who can finish their side first!"
In the past, Eleanor would have scooped him up, spun him around until he giggled, and then pulled me into a hug. The house would have been filled with laughter.
Now, she just cleared her throat and patted Leo's head. "Daddy's had a long day, sweetie. He's tired. Maybe next time, okay?"
"Okay," Leo mumbled. "Mommy, when will you be done with your exercises?"
Eleanor paused, then said softly, "As soon as I can," before shooing him off to get ready for bed.
After a long day working on plans for the flower shop, I had no energy to play games with her. "Lock up on your way out," I said, heading for my room.
"I promised Leo I'd stay and sleep here tonight," she said quietly.
I didn't argue.
I had just closed my bedroom door when I heard her phone ring in the living room. Her voice was low as she answered, repeating a few reassurances. Then, her tone sharpened with barely concealed irritation.
"I told you, I'm just staying with Leo! What are you so worried about? We've already signed the agreement! How many times do I have to explain that we're sleeping in separate rooms?"
A moment later, I heard the sharp click of the call ending.
Then, a soft knock on my door.
"Ethan," she said from the other side. "Something urgent came up at the base. I have to go back. I'll I'll try to come see Leo again tomorrow."
I didn't open the door. "Okay," I said, just loud enough for her to hear.
She wasn't even out of the driveway when my phone buzzed with a notification: an eighty-thousand-dollar deposit into Leo's trust fund. The memo simply read: Buy Leo some new clothes.
I didn't reply. I turned back to my laptop, pulling up the business plan for the shop. But just as I did, a new message notification appeared on my screen.
It was from a number I didn't recognize.

4
There were no words. Just a single, smiling emoji.
I couldn't even remember adding this person. I scrolled through the chat history and saw that our only previous interaction was two years ago, when they'd added me as a contact.
As I was trying to place them, another message came through.
You must be feeling pretty smug, huh?
It hit me like a physical blow. This had to be Liam Carter.
But Liam had only been transferred to this base six months ago. How could he have had my number for two years? Had this account been silently watching me, observing my life, for nearly two years?
A cold dread washed over me.
I replied with a single question mark.
The response was immediate, typed with furious speed.
I don't care what tricks you're using to keep her. I can make her come back to me in a second.
It was him. There was no doubt. So Eleanor had known him two years ago? Maybe even longer.
Then, he sent a picture. I clicked on it, and my world tilted on its axis. It was Eleanor, asleep in a bed that wasn't ours, a man's arm draped possessively over her waist.
In the bottom right corner of the photo was a date stamp: May 20, 2023.
I stared at the image, my stomach churning. A wave of bitter nausea rose in my throat, and I lurched toward the trash can, dry heaving.
May 20, 2023.
That was the day my mother was in the hospital for a biopsy. Eleanor had been on a grueling field exercise for the entire month. She had compressed her schedule, pushed her unit to the limit, just so she could get back in time to be with me. She'd spent hours on the phone, her voice a soothing balm against my anxiety, telling me not to be scared. I couldn't sleep, so she stayed on a voice call with me all night, a constant presence in the darkness. She arrived back at dawn on the 20th, exhausted but resolute, and sat with me outside the operating room, holding my hand.
And on that same day, in the midst of all that, she had found time to be with him.
How could she have come home and looked me in the eye?
When I didn't respond, Liam grew bolder. He sent a flurry of photos, each one meticulously dated. Our wedding anniversary. Leo's birthday. Each time, she had been with him first, before rushing back to play the part of the loving wife and mother.
The disgust was so profound it eclipsed the pain.
I had thought this was a recent thing, that she had simply grown tired of our quiet, stable life in the last few months, a mid-life crisis pushing her toward a new "true love."
But it wasn't new. It was rotten to the core, and had been for years.
I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Returning to my desk, I saved every single photo, creating a file for the evidence. I knew why he was sending them now. He was getting impatient. The full three-million-dollar settlement hadn't been paid yet. Over the past two weeks, Eleanor had transferred 1.2 million, but the remaining 1.8 was, in her words, "going to take some time." The house was already in my name, a detail clearly stipulated in our agreement. There was no dispute there. If I were to blow this up now, it would jeopardize her career, and an enraged Eleanor would be far less likely to pay me the rest. I could lose everything. Leo could lose his father.
Eleanor had probably expected me to break down, to beg, to fight. But my pride, my need for dignity, wouldn't allow me to cause a scene at her command. Liam, however, hadn't counted on my quiet compliance. My refusal to engage, to even confront her, had thrown him off. He knew that in this game, the first one to lose their cool, loses.
But something didn't add up.
If Liam had been able to stay hidden in the shadows for so long, playing the part of the harmless, hardworking driver, why the sudden desperation? In just a few more weeks, our divorce would be final. Why would he risk everything now, just because she came home to spend one night with her son?
I checked the time. It wasn't too late.
I called Sam. He was out having a late dinner with some colleagues, and he told me, with a conspiratorial whisper, that they were all gossiping about Eleanor and Liam. By pooling their information, they'd pieced together a few new details.
Apparently, at a joint-forces mixer last week, Eleanor had had too much to drink and was personally escorted home by a handsome Colonel from a neighboring unit. That same Colonel had since asked her out a few times. Combined with the fact that I hadn't been around for weeks, the rumor mill was churning: Major General Vance was about to be single again.
Suddenly, a host of ambitious young officers were making their interest known.
And that's when Liam Carter started to lose his nerve.
"Ethan, you're such a good guy, I can't stand keeping this from you," Sam said, his voice earnest. "Don't be sad. I mean, yeah, the General is amazing, but she's also a cheater. You'll find someone so much better! No, wait, screw women! You're going to have an amazing career, your flower shop is going to be a huge success, and then you'll find someone better, haha."
His clumsy attempt to cheer me up actually worked. A small smile touched my lips.
"Thanks, Sam. I'll do my best."

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