The Guilty Husband

by Stephanie DeCarolis

  I was handed a thin gray blanket and a sliver of a pillow and locked in a cell the size of a closet. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was woefully unprepared for the sound of the bars closing on my freedom. I suppose I’d never really given much thought to what it might feel like to be caged like a dangerous animal, a predator. I never saw this coming.

  I laid on the flimsy mattress pad and stared at the chipping cement ceiling and tried not to think about who lived in this cell before me, where they may have ended up.

  My cellmate’s name is Larz. A large spiderweb is tattooed over half of his face and the only thing he cared to say to me was ‘stay out of my way’, which I imagine will be quite difficult given the close living quarters. I nodded in response and pretended to fall asleep.

  But I didn’t sleep. The sound of a prison at night is reminiscent of a dog pound. Men releasing desperate howls, groans, cries. The clicking of bars, the flushing of toilets, feet pacing the floor. I laid awake most of the night while Larz snored loudly, his bed creaking underneath his weight.

  I’ve only been here for one night and I can already understand how prison permanently changes a person; how urinating in front of guards, constantly looking over your shoulder, and wondering when you may see the other side of those barbed-wire gates again can quickly break a man down and make sure he will never see the world in the same way. Wherever I go from here, even if I somehow find a way to get out of this mess, I know I will never be the same man I was before I stepped foot inside this place.

  But Nicole is coming today. She’ll arrange my bail, and at least I’ll be able to await my trial from home. My trial. This is what my life has come to.

  ‘Taylor. Visitor,’ a guard barks.

  He leads me down a long corridor and into the visitation room. He directs me to sit at a small, metal table that’s been fastened to the floor.

  Nicole walks into the room looking small and frightened. I wish she never had to see the inside of this place, I wish she never had to see me in this place. The impact of my indiscretions wash over me anew. I may not have killed Layla, but my choices led us down this path.

  Nicole sits down across from me and puts her hands in her lap. She’s picking at her nails nervously.

  ‘Are you ok?’ I ask.

  ‘This place it’s just …’ She looks around the room, a look of horror on her face.

  ‘Yes, it’s awful.’ I instinctively reach across the table to comfort her.

  ‘Hey!’ a guard shouts, cracking his baton against the wall. ‘No touching.’

  I bring my hands back to my lap.

  ‘I’m arranging for Jeff to post your bail today,’ Nicole says.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Are you alright? You look … awful. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, you just don’t look like yourself.’

  ‘I know. I couldn’t sleep.’ She’s right. I do look awful. I saw my reflection in the warped metal mirror this morning. My chin is shadowed with stubble, my skin looks gaunt and pale, and dark circles are spreading under my eyes, purple crescents that look like fresh bruises.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Vince.’

  ‘No, Nic, I’m sorry. I may not have been responsible for Layla’s death, but I brought this into our lives.’

  ‘Visiting hours are almost over,’ the surly guard announces.

  ‘I’ll make sure Jeff posts your bail,’ Nicole says as she stands to leave. ‘You’ll be home before you know it.’

  ‘What are you going to do today?’ I ask. ‘Are you going to be okay?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be alright. I’m going to meet Marta for lunch.’

  ‘Marta? The housekeeper?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I didn’t realize you two were friendly.’

  ‘There’s a lot you didn’t realize, Vince.’

  Nicole turns her back to me, a cascade of frosty blonde hair, and I watch her, my mouth agape, as she walks away to freedom, the heavy security door slamming shut behind her.

  Chapter 49

  Nicole

  DAY 13

  Did Vince really think I didn’t know about his affair with Layla?

  It will be a long drive back to Loch Harbor, and I have nothing but time stretching out ahead of me. My mind wanders back to where it all began. To when I first learned that Vince had ruined everything.

  I think I knew before he did that he was venturing down a dark and dangerous road. My husband, who would usually return from work exhausted and stressed, came home to me starry-eyed and blissful. He was like a love-sick teenager over that girl. I didn’t know who she was, not then, but I knew I’d lost a piece of him that could never again be mine.

  I figured it had to be someone he worked with. All those late nights, the long lunches where I’d call his office and Eric would advise me, embarrassment in his voice, that Mr Taylor was unavailable. I checked the company website to see who this mystery woman might be, and the moment I saw Layla I knew. She was stunning with her chocolate brown hair shining in the afternoon sun, her sweet smile, her youthful innocence that would have called out to Vince like a beacon in the night. He loves to be needed, my husband. And a girl like Layla, all doe-eyed naiveté, would have been almost irresistible to him. The way I once had been.

  I watched as Vince transformed before my eyes. He was reawakened in her. Vince had been living as a hallowed version of the man I once knew. He’d never say the words aloud, but I knew it was due to my inability to provide him with the child he so desperately wanted. I wanted to be there for him, to support him through the loss I knew he must have been feeling, but I was so exhausted from wading through my own grief, that I hardly had the strength to rescue our marriage. We were drowning in quicksand, and it was every man for himself. But at least I knew he was there, in the thick of it alongside of me. He was fighting the same battle in his own way, and there was comfort in that. Someone understood what I was going through.

  But all of that changed over the course of a few months. Layla put Vince back together in a way I couldn’t. He was no longer broken, a ghost who silently passed through the halls of our house, he was revitalized. His young mistress made a younger man of him. And that left me alone, to drown in the depth of my sadness.

  Although I had my suspicions about Vince and his affair, I didn’t know for sure. Not until Marta accidentally walked in on them together in the apartment. Marta and I have become friendly over the years. I once gave her some passes to attend one of my yoga classes, and what began as a kind gesture, developed into a friendship. It was something of an awkward relationship given that she was in my husband’s employ, but every time I’d teach a class in Manhattan I’d be sure to save her a spot in the studio, and we’d occasionally go out for a cup of coffee afterwards.

  A few weeks ago, I called Marta to ask if she’d like to attend an open-air yoga session I was planning to lead in Central Park. She thanked me profusely for including her, but explained that she found herself in an uncomfortable position.

  ‘I consider you a friend, but I know that Mr Taylor is also my employer. There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about but I’ve been so torn about what I am supposed to do.’ She sounded upset, on the verge of tears.

  ‘I consider you a friend as well, Marta, and whatever it is, I’m sure we can work it out.’ I thought perhaps she’d broken something in the apartment. Some material, menial, thing that Vince would never miss in the sea of material, menial things he owns. But I could understand why she might be afraid to admit her mistake.

  ‘I went to clean your apartment last week. It was a Tuesday and I always clean on Tuesdays. But when I walked in, I saw Mr Taylor there. He was not at work.’

  ‘Oh, is that all? Vince probably had a late night at the office the night before and overslept.’

  ‘No, no, there is more. Mr Taylor was already dressed for work, but I heard the shower running. And there was a woman’s clothes on the floor.’ I hear Marta swallow nervously and she rushed to fill the
silence that had fallen between us. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. It’s not my business what my employers do in their own apartments, and I shouldn’t meddle. I could lose my job and—’

  ‘It’s okay, Marta,’ I reassured her, ‘you did the right thing by telling me. I won’t tell Vince a word you said. I’m sure it was all just a big misunderstanding anyway.’

  Marta sounded relieved, but that was a lie. I was certain that she hadn’t misunderstood the situation at all. My suspicions had been confirmed.

  I couldn’t believe Vince would betray me that way. For ten years, he’d worshiped at my feet. When we first met, he all but begged for me to take a chance on him, the nobody computer nerd who could hardly afford his rent. But I saw something in him: a quiet ambition that I knew would take him far. He was brilliant, yet humble and unassuming, and under those glasses and fringed haircut, he could even be quite handsome. He just needed a push in the right direction. Vincent, as I knew him then, was on the rise and I made sure I was going with him.

  I invested everything in Vince Taylor and the brand he was building. I helped to build him up, to carefully craft the public persona that garnered him all the recognition he needed to skyrocket to the top, while I let my own career fall to the wayside. I enjoy practicing yoga, but sometimes I feel like I haven’t lived up to my full potential, like I’m wasting away teaching downward dog to the ‘ladies who lunch’ when I could have been so much more.

  I have a master’s in art history, and I once dreamed of owning my own gallery. I planned to travel the world curating an exquisite and interesting collection. I wanted to discover art that had something to say, that would make people see the world though a new lens. But being Vince’s wife and supporting his career was so all-consuming that I never made time for my own dreams. Even when we built our house in Loch Harbor, I told myself there was still time. After I started a family, I could start the gallery. I could have it all. But I was kidding myself. Even if I’d managed to have the children I dreamed of, how was I going to run a successful art gallery in Manhattan and raise a family? We both knew Vince was never going to take a step back from his career. One of us was going to have to recede into the shadows to let the other shine, and it came as no surprise that the responsibility landed on me. I gave up my career ambitions, and let our lives revolve around Vince and his success.

  Becoming a mother was going to be my reward for all I’d given up. I may not have had my gallery, but I knew that someday I’d have a little hand in mine. I’d have first words, first steps, first days of school. But in a cruel twist of fate, the family I’d sacrificed so much for wasn’t meant to be.

  And then, after everything I’d given up for Vince, after all the lonely nights I spent in our big, empty house while Vince followed his dreams and built his empire, he decided to take a mistress. It wasn’t fair. Why should he have had it all, and get to have her too?

  It seems that Vince forgot who he was when I met him, the boy in the makeshift office in Brooklyn. He’s forgotten the way he once looked at me as if there was no one else in the world who would ever matter to him, as if he couldn’t live without me. I was young and beautiful to him once too. But it seems that now that Vince has made it big, he feels entitled more: to someone younger, to someone who’s beauty hasn’t yet been dulled by marriage and infertility.

  I wonder what he told her about me. Was I the nagging wife, the frigid shrew who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, keep him happy? Did he tell her about my failure to provide him with precious children who would carry on his legacy?

  I was irate. I wasn’t going to be the cliché of the first wife who got traded in for a newer model. Not after all the time and energy I’d put into Vince. I knew I had to do something to put an end to their affair, but I didn’t know where to start.

  I didn’t want to confront Vince with my suspicions without solid evidence of what was going on. Especially since I couldn’t tell him what I’d learned from Marta. I know my husband – he’d offer me his charming smile, the one he’s perfected for the cameras, and tell me it wasn’t true, that he loved me and he’d never hurt me. He’d sweep his infidelity under the rug, and I, wanting to believe him, would be left questioning whether I had imagined all the little changes I knew I saw in him.

  I tried checking Vince’s phone for evidence of his indiscretions. The passcode is our anniversary date, and it wasn’t lost on me that he’d have to type it in every time he wanted to talk to his lover. But I never found any incriminating texts or emails. I’m certain that Vince was using that childish Secret Messenger app to talk to her so that their messages would disappear after they were read. He wouldn’t want to leave a trail.

  For weeks, Vince and I grew distant from one another. He guarding his secret and I guarding mine. If he noticed the change, the cooling of our marriage, he gave me no indication. I was losing him to her and I didn’t know how to stop it. But then, to my surprise, something changed all on its own. The late nights in the office slowed to a halt and Vince would come home edgy and anxious. I thought maybe there was trouble in paradise.

  One night, only two weeks ago now, though it feels like another lifetime, Vince finally slipped up. He came home like a whirlwind, typing furiously on his phone with a scowl on his face. I watched from the kitchen as he threw his phone down on the sofa in what appeared to be frustration, and stormed off to his office. I knew I had to be quick. It would only be a matter of moments before Vince realized he’d left his precious phone behind.

  I quietly sprinted over to the sofa and picked up his forgotten phone. I keyed in the security code and opened Secret Messenger. I’d hoped that Vince and his mistress had been in the middle of an argument, it certainly seemed heated enough, and that maybe she’d sent a new message that I could read before Vince returned – something incriminating that would give me the ammunition I needed to confront Vince about his affair. But what I found was even better.

  Chapter 50

  Nicole

  DAY 13

  ‘Don’t forget our little meeting tomorrow night. 8.30 p.m. Heatherly Hotel. I’ll be expecting our usual suite. It’s in your best interest to show up, Vince. Let’s just say, I have something that’s going to be worth bringing your checkbook for.’

  I read Layla’s message again and again before it disappeared from the screen. Was she blackmailing him? Was that why Vince was so upset? I’d bet anything that husband of mine would pay her whatever she asked just to keep his dirty little secret under wraps. I wasn’t letting that happen. She wasn’t entitled to a single dime. Not from us.

  We built this life, Vince and I. Vince may have started KitzTech, but I helped him make it what it is today. I was the one that insisted he change his image, that he bring his skills to social media. I was the one that made him an icon. And I never complained when I had to hang on his arm making all the right public appearances as the silent and dutiful wife. I was just a bit of sparkle, like an accessory, to complete his look.

  I’ve earned the life we have just as much as Vince did. I gave up everything I ever wanted so that Vince could shine. And now Layla thought she could take what was ours? It wasn’t enough that she’d taken my husband, now she wanted our money too? I couldn’t let that come to pass.

  I heard Vince stirring in the office, drawers opening and closing, and I knew I had to move fast. I quickly typed out a reply to Layla:

  ‘Change of plans. Meet me at Central Park instead. By the fountain.’

  I waited with butterflies in my stomach as the message faded away moments before Vince emerged from his office. I tossed the phone back down onto the sofa and picked up a book, quickly opening it to a random page. By the time Vince reached the living room, I looked as though I was deeply engrossed in a paperback.

  ‘Have you seen my phone?’ he asked.

  ‘No I haven’t, sorry,’ I replied, not daring to look up from the page.

  ‘Oh, here it is.’ Vince picked up his phone and brought it back with him into his office, none
the wiser that his plans were about to change.

  The next day I obsessed all day over whether I was making the right decision meeting Layla. I taught a few classes, but my students could tell I was distracted. I messed up the order of the poses in our usual sun salutation and the women in my studio looked at me quizzically as if I’d lost the plot. I couldn’t focus on my practice when Layla’s words were ringing in my head: it’s in your best interest to show up. She had to be holding something over Vince but I didn’t know what it could be. I just wanted to talk to her, to try to make her see reason. And, to be honest, to show her that I was a real person whose life she was ruining along with Vince’s. I’m not nearly as much of a pushover as my husband is, and I thought that of the two of us, I was more likely to show her that we won’t be taken of advantage of. I never meant for her to die.

  That evening I dressed in a pair of tight black pants, and a low-cut, black, sleeveless top. I completed the outfit with a pair of spiked, open-toed booties in a deep black suede. It was embarrassingly difficult to decide what to wear to confront the woman my husband was sleeping with. Even though we’d be meeting in the park, and my outfit wasn’t the most practical, I wanted her to see what Vince had at home. I wanted Layla to know that I wasn’t some frumpy old housewife who’d let herself go. No, I wanted her seething with jealously. I applied my makeup, rimming my eyes with black eyeliner to make them stand out as much as possible, and I brushed my hair into a sexy high ponytail. I looked in the mirror assessing the finished product. Thanks to all of my yoga sessions, I looked lithe and fit, and I thought the outfit made me seem edgy and dangerous, not the type of woman whose husband and money would easily be stolen. It would do.

  I grabbed my purse, adding some extra cash to cover the tolls into the city. Our EZPass is linked to Vince’s credit card, and I didn’t want him to ever suspect that I’d gone into Manhattan to meet his mistress. And with that, I was on my way.