Confession of an Abandoned Wife - Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Hartstein, Michal

  "You have children?"

  "Yes."

  "How many?"

  "Three, including twins; my eldest is in the army already and the twins are in high school."

  "Great."

  "Yes."

  "So you have more time for yourself."

  "There is time, but we no longer spend it together."

  "Why?"

  "Everyone’s interested in other things."

  "She has her soaps and you have your one-night stands," I typed back.

  "LOL."

  "It’s funny?"

  "A little."

  "So I understand you’re not faithful to your wife."

  "Is anyone loyal these days?"

  "I am."

  "I'm pretty sure you won’t stay faithful," he predicted.

  "Your wife’s faithful?"

  "Yes."

  "So why wouldn’t I be faithful?"

  "I have experience. I feel I know you better than you do."

  He’d started to annoy me, and I decided to prove my loyalty to him.

  "My husband’s home," I lied. "I have to go."

  "Bye."

  "Bye."

  I logged out and went to the kitchen to prepare lunch for Itay and the girls. While I fried the schnitzels, I couldn’t stop thinking about the chat I’d just had, especially Uri’s bold prophecy. Was I really adulterous wife material? I had to admit to myself that the fact that my sexual experience was limited only to Itay may sound magical and romantic, but the truth was that the curiosity was killing me. I felt I had not experienced enough. I was angry with my mother for encouraging me to save myself for my wedding night, and now, at thirty-two, I didn’t feel I had enough sexual experience

  Sex with Itay was no longer what it once was. There were no butterflies, no innovations. The truth was, there was very little sex at all and it certainly wasn’t like old times, when we’d first met.

  Itay usually came home late.

  I was usually busy with work and the girls.

  When we had a minute to ourselves, we weren’t always in the mood.

  A few nights after that chat with Uri, I was in bed and couldn’t sleep. I lay next to Itay and looked at him. He breathed heavily. I was wondering if it was just a lack of time and lack of sex. I wondered if I still loved him.

  I had no clear answer.

  CHAPTER 4

  My chats in The Marker Café became more intimate and longer. Almost always, the man I chatted with would beg to meet me or at least to talk on the telephone. The conversation always came to sex and relationships. I admit I was curious, but suspicious as well. Besides, I thought that no matter how Itay and I drifted apart, he was still my husband and the father of my children. I felt it was not worth risking my marriage for a clandestine meeting with another man.

  After two months of chatting online, I could say I was addicted. These chat rooms were, for me, the thrill that was missing from my life. At first, I chatted all week, but I soon discovered that it interrupted my work and made me impatient with my girls, so I decided to reduce the dosage. I opened the Marker Café homepage at work almost every day, but I made sure to check that I was not available to chat. When I got home in the evening, I made sure not to open the computer while the girls were awake, and after they were asleep, I was usually tired myself.

  I had the weekends, however. The hottest time was Friday night. Between about ten and the wee hours of the night, the Café was stormy. But they weren’t always interesting chats. The most miserable chats I had were with men who were anxious for a one-on-one, real meeting. To this day, I cannot understand those men to whom I explained that such a meeting was out of the question, but begged for a meeting every other sentence. I usually cut those off pretty quickly because they bothered me. And so another ‘interesting’ chat ended.

  By August 2007, I was a chat master. There had been a few guys I’d had several conversations with. For these men, apparently, meeting was not their top priority, because they realized they would never meet me. I refused to even talk on the phone. It was too big a leap for me, and I was afraid of the fact that they could track me.

  Toward the end of summer, when my girls were without extracurricular activities, I had to take time off work. Itay was on reserves duty, and I was climbing the walls. My mother finally took pity on me and took the girls for a weekend. I did some shopping, and I met with a friend from work at a coffee shop and went home in the late afternoon, exhausted and happy. I hadn’t felt how it was to be single in years.

  I woke up in the evening and watched a romantic, sexy movie. I came to the computer to chat in an optimal mood: relaxed, lively and mostly horny.

  In my mailbox, quite a few messages were waiting for me. While I opened them, a chat application popped up.

  I confirmed it.

  "Shabbat Shalom." A guy named Julius Caesar greeted me with the customary Jewish greeting during the weekend.

  "Shabbat Shalom to you too," I replied.

  "I read your profile."

  "What’s your conclusion?"

  "An intelligent girl with a good sense of humor."

  "Thank you."

  "You look pretty good."

  "You understand that I picked this picture carefully from among the hundreds of pictures of me looking like a troll."

  "I don’t believe you look like a troll."

  "Well, maybe not a troll, but this is a picture from an event that I dressed up for and made an effort with my hair and put on makeup."

  "It’s beyond hair and makeup."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, intrigued.

  "You have something in your eye."

  "I usually have glasses on. Maybe it's because the lenses."

  "LOL... no... I'm talking about something more spiritual."

  "What?"

  "You have a fire in your eyes."

  That intrigued me so much, I opened his profile. There was no picture.

  "It's not fair."

  "What?"

  "You know how I look and I have no idea what you look like."

  "You want me to send you a picture message?"

  I considered the proposal for a few seconds and decided it was better to live the fantasy. I also didn't want him to think I was looking for a meeting.

  "No need."

  "Really… aren't you curious?"

  "Sometimes it's better to be curious."

  "Then I’m telling you that I look fine. Not like a troll."

  "LOL"

  "Your name is really Sharon?" he asked.

  "Yes, and I don’t suppose you are Julius Caesar?"

  "Yes - my name is Hanoch."

  "Wow, what a beautiful name," I marveled.

  "How old are you?"

  "As it says in my profile - thirty-three."

  "I didn’t notice."

  I jumped back to his profile and discovered he was thirty-nine.

  "And you’re really 39?"

  "True."

  "Married? Children?"

  "Married with no children."

  "Why don't you have kids?" Sometimes I share my father’s lack of tact.

  "No success..."

  "You try a lot of the time?"

  "Since we got married, six years ago."

  "Unpleasant."

  "To say the least."

  "You know what’s causing it?"

  "No."

  "If you’re uncomfortable about it you don’t have to answer."

  "It's OK."

  "My brother and his wife also had problems." I share the same family secret.

  Oded, my older brother and his wife, Orit, had three children. They were married for five years before they had Tali. My brother is five years older than me, and when Tali was born, I’d been married for a year. It also took me five years until my first daughter was born, not because of problems conceiving, but because I needed peace of mind to complete my law studies. Only after I graduated and started working as an intern did we start trying to create an heiress.


  By Tali's second birthday, Orit was already seven months pregnant. They celebrated Tali's birthday in the National Park in Ramat Gan. I was busy with exams and looked very tired. Orit somehow concluded that I envied her and her swollen belly. She came up to me, stroking her belly.

  "Sharon," she said in a motherly way, "you know, if you’re having infertility problems, I can recommend a great doctor." I tried to insert a statement about being concerned about exams and not fertility issues, but she continued, "In general, you can contact me with any questions. I have a lot of experience.” She looked thoughtful for a second, as if trying to decide if she could tell me or not, and then continued her monologue. "Oded and I were under fertility treatments for three years until we found this doctor, and within two months, I got pregnant. He’s a magician." This was the first and only time I can recall Orit speaking to me about the subject. It's not that I hadn’t guessed - my father, with his lack of tact, let slip occasional ‘clues,’ - but Orit, who’s far from reticent, chose not to talk about her fertility problems.

  "Really? How many years did it take them?" Hanoch was interested.

  "I don’t know. My sister-in-law doesn’t like to talk about it."

  "I can understand.”

  "I guess it took them about four years. Their daughter was born about five years after they got married."

  "We’re going to try for a few more years."

  "I hope you won't have to wait much longer."

  "We’re already at the stage where we’ve almost lost hope."

  "That's sad."

  "It’s reality."

  "What do you mean?"

  "We had fifteen rounds of IVF already… we’re exhausted."

  "You’re also exhausted?"

  "Obviously…" he commented.

  "The treatment’s just for the woman, isn't it?"

  "What about emotional support?"

  "I’ve no idea." I really didn’t.

  "After every negative answer, my wife falls apart and someone has to pick up the pieces."

  I couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

  "It’s not simple for me either," he continued.

  "How so?"

  "I also have expectations, and I'm also disappointed."

  "Of course." I began to understand.

  "For years, almost all of our lives have revolved around this issue."

  "You stopped working?"

  "No, but my wife had to go part-time because she can’t keep up a full-time job due to all the treatments."

  "What, is it so intense?"

  "Not always, but the hormones she injects make her very weak."

  "It probably isn't very healthy," I type back, trying to contribute to our dialogue.

  "Not really. It also caused her to gain weight and go bald."

  "Now I understand why it’s difficult for you," I tried to joke.

  "That's not funny."

  "Sorry."

  "My wife was an amazingly beautiful girl and is still very nice, just a little less lovely."

  "It can’t add to her level of happiness."

  "It’s completely undermined her confidence."

  "So you at least make her feel that, for you, she’s the most amazing woman?"

  "That’s not so."

  "Too bad."

  "Too bad, but I don’t remember the last time she let me just touch her."

  "Why are you waiting for her to let you? Be active."

  "I admit that I have no desire to."

  "Because she’s no longer hot?"

  "Not only that."

  "So what?"

  "After years of fucking your wife to the doctor’s schedule, then masturbating into a cup, the magic eventually disappears."

  "Magic passes for everyone," I tried to encourage him.

  "But for couples who go through cycles of treatment, it completely kills the magic."

  "What do you mean?"

  "It means that the last time we had sex was a year ago, and even then, it was on doctor's orders."

  "Oh."

  "You bet. OH."

  "I don't understand."

  "What?"

  "You’re not allowed to have sex?"

  "Just some days."

  "So why don't you have sex on other days?" I asked as if I were copulating on any of the twenty-four days in the month when I'm not having my period.

  "No desire."

  "Never?"

  "Never."

  "Wow." Even for me, that was amazing. "So she isn't willing to make love without desire?”

  "You make love even without desire?"

  "Yes," I admitted, "Sometimes you do it to keep the relationship going."

  "I don't enjoy doing it with a corpse."

  "Really?"

  "Really," he said.

  "It's amazing."

  ”What?”

  "It's amazing… you don't have children, but you don't have sex."

  "What's the connection?"

  "The connection is that the main reason that most people don't have sex is their children."

  "How many children do you have?"

  "Two girls."

  "How old?"

  "Shira will be six in December, and Yarden is three and a half."

  "Big girls."

  "Right. When the children are babies, you don't have time because you’re busy all the time taking care of them, and when they grow up a little, you wait till they fall asleep, but while that happens, you fall asleep yourself." I tried to go back to the main topic of conversation.

  "So at least you have a reason not to have sex."

  "I never said we don't have sex."

  "May I ask how often?"

  "You know how many times I’ve been asked that question?"

  "How many?"

  "Almost every time I start a chat with a guy."

  "It seems to be an interesting topic."

  "It sounds to me more like a competition."

  "So, you already know in my case, I missed the competition."

  "LOL! You’re right."

  "Well... can you tell me? It just intrigues me."

  "There are periods…"

  "What do you mean?"

  "There are times when it’s once a week and others…once a month.”

  "So you could say the average is once every two weeks."

  "You're stronger at figures."

  "I wish..."

  "So you're looking here for someone to compensate for your unfulfilled needs?"

  "Don't know."

  "What do you mean you ‘don't know’? It’s either yes or no."

  "I'm still debating. How about you? Looking for someone to compensate for your needs?"

  "No."

  "So what are you doing on Friday night, chatting with a man you do not know?"

  "I just like to chat and meet new people."

  "Just?"

  "Yeah, just..."

  "Did you ever meet someone you chat with? "

  "No. Did you?"

  "No."

  "Really."

  "Yes, really. I just signed up last month."

  "I've been here for three months."

  "And men ask you to meet them?"

  "All the time."

  "So why do you stay on the site if you don't wish to meet someone?"

  "Cos from time to time, I get to meet interesting people and have fascinating conversations."

  "Like now, for instance?"

  "For example."

  "Where’s your husband?"

  "Reserves duty."

  "And the girls?"

  "My mom."

  "Excellent arrangement. All alone."

  "Don't get any ideas."

  "But I can fantasize."

  "Where’s your wife?"

  "Been asleep for hours. She’s taking hormones now, and they makes her tired."

  "And you’re chatting with strange women?"

  "You’re not a stranger anymore."

  "What would you think if your wife had s
uch a conversation with a stranger in the night?"

  "I wouldn't like it."

  "So you're basically telling me I'm a bad woman."

  "No."

  "So what?"

  "I think that you are another woman."

  The other woman...

  CHAPTER 5

  The chat with Hanoch continued for two hours.

  We talked about parenting and about work, he had a Ph.D. in chemistry and worked at the university, about relationships and, of course, sex. He was stunned to find out that Itay was the only man I had been with. He’d been with his wife only nine years, from the age of thirty, but it turned out that before that, he’d had a lot of experience.

  I envied his rich past and felt sorry for his gloomy present.

  He didn't ask to meet, didn't even ask for my phone number.

  I loved it. I felt he was genuinely interested in me, not just as some fling.

  The next day, on Saturday, I spent most of the day with the girls, and when I returned to work on Sunday, I found that he’d sent me a message. We began to correspond and occasionally talk through the chat feature.

  After two very intense weeks, two things happened: Itay came back from reserves duty and Hanoch asked for my phone number. I wouldn't let him have it.

  If he’d asked for it during our first chat, we probably wouldn't have continued chatting, but now that I knew him, I was tempted to give him my number, but I was still afraid, and the fact that Itay was back home didn't help the issue.

  I know it's stupid to write about someone I haven't met or even seen a picture of, but I felt I was falling in love with him in the manner of a goofy infatuation of a sixteen-year-old high school girl. It was terrifying and wonderful at the same time, and I was afraid that giving him my number would make me lose control.

  Almost a month after I met Hanoch, we knew each other better than many of our acquaintances knew us. Hanoch continued to ask for my phone number, and I continued to refuse.

  In the end, I gave up.

  It happened on the second day of Rosh-Hashana, the Jewish new year, in 2007. Itay and I hadn’t spoken to each other for almost a week. Itay was busy working and had arrived home late every day. He had a project at work and they were preparing an exhibition, so, as usual, I had to bear all the burdens of our household. The climax was the night before, the first day of Rosh Hashana. I’d invited his parents, his brother and his family. It wasn’t enough that I was hosting the entire Moskowitz Family. Lord Itay Moskovitz arrived half an hour before all the guests arrived, as if he was the honored guest. I was already exhausted and nervous because I had to prepare everything myself. Well, not exactly prepare, but deal with caterers, cut salads and arrange the table. It’s a lot of effort in and of itself, especially when also looking after the girls. Where the hell can you get a babysitter at New Years?. At the end of the meal, after everyone had gone and I had just passed out on the couch, he approached me, gave me a kiss on the forehead and told me that he was tired and would wash the dishes tomorrow. It really broke me because I just hated dirty dishes in the sink all night, and he knew that, so I drank a cup of coffee and I went to the kitchen.