Infertile Wife, Forty Years of Infidelity I Refuse to Divorce

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My four-year-old grandson, Danny, was messing around and accidentally opened a file on his grandma's computer.

An accidental click, and suddenly, a video started playing.

Two bodies tangled together, moving rhythmically.

I covered Danny's eyes immediately, but my own remained fixed on the screenon the flushed, gasping face of the old woman in the footage.

My frail wife, who claimed her heart condition made intimacy impossible.

For decades, she'd been recording gigabytes of videos with her "first love."

...

My wife, Eleanor Ashford, the poised, dignified professor everyone saw, was now on screen, moving wildly atop a man.

Those lips that never smiled at me were swollen from being bitten.

Her usually proud neck was bent low against the man's chest, docile as a kitten.

It was hard to believe she was seventy.

"Dad! What are you showing Danny?!"

My daughter-in-law, Sarah, home from work, rushed over in a panic to grab Danny.

I snapped back to reality, slamming the laptop like it was on fire.

Sarah shot me a look of pure disapproval, the accusation hanging heavy in the air.

"I thought you were old-fashioned, Dad. Didn't expect you to get... frisky at this age..."

"Professor Eleanor is such a refined person..."

Tsk tsk! She scooped up Danny and stormed off to their room.

But my mind was still reeling from the shock.

The place where Eleanor was sweating and moaning was her faculty apartment.

She always said that the house was too noisy with the kids, that she preferred to do her "research" there.

She also said the apartment belonged to the university, so she couldn't give me a key. I had to call her in advance whenever I went to clean, and she'd let me in.

The sheets they were rolling on were ones I'd changed just three days ago.

Sarah worried her professor mother-in-law was being pestered by me, little knowing Eleanor hadn't let me touch her once in all our married years.

The burning smell snapped me back C the soup!

Rushing to the kitchen, I fumbled with the lid. A blast of steam seared my hand, raising an immediate blister.

Eleanor was from Chicago but craved Southern comfort food. She never ate oatmeal, only soup.

And it had to be Good soup from a stoneware pot.

Stoneware on an open flame takes hours. I'd spent decades standing over that stove.

Now the lid lay shattered on the floor in pieces, broken like the wreckage of my life.

My son, Jason Ashford, kicked off his shoes at the door, already scowling.

"Dad! Can't you smell that? Burnt to hell!"

"You can't even handle this one thing?"

"Honestly, it's a miracle Mom put up with you this long!"

Back when we met, Eleanor said her heart condition meant no intimacy. She'd planned to stay single, adopted a son C Jason C gave him her name.

Then she met me, Arthur Miller, an orphaned farm boy from Nebraska.

Ten years her junior. A matchmaker set us up.

The matchmaker said,

"Eleanor's educated, smart, real pretty."

"It's not a big deal! You get an instant family and save on diapers!"

In those less open times, I blushed just hearing "intimacy".

Eleanor was elegant, educated. I felt she was way out of my league.

But the matchmaker pressed,

"Eleanor says if it's a go, just head to the courthouse this afternoon."

I was tongue-tied, face burning, just shoved all my precious milk candy into two-year-old Jason's hands.

Later, I learned Eleanor rushed into marriage because her father had a sudden stroke and needed full-time care.

For years, I took care of Eleanor, tended to her father's every need, treated Jason like my own.

Having known hardship all my life, I thought it was my duty to work hard for my family.

Jason might not be Eleanor's blood, but he inherited her disdain for me. They both treated me like an annoyance.

Jason frowned at my blistered hand.

"Can't you do anything without making a fuss?"

"Seriously, Dad, if you were half the man Uncle Walter is, Mom wouldn't have half the grey hairs!"

Hearing "Uncle Walter" felt like a punch to the gut.

Walter Bridges, elegant, cultured, never married at seventy, revered by students as the most refined professor on campus.

Eleanor's old classmate, dear friend, longtime colleague.

And a regular at our dinner table.

I figured he was lonely so I always invited him over when I cooked.

He and Eleanor had endless academic conversations. Sometimes I tried to follow along,

but Eleanor would just frown.

"You barely finished middle school, Arthur. Don't interrupt."

Walter would pat her arm, smooth it over.

"Everyone deserves an education, Eleanor."

He'd say it with a smile, but his eyes held pity.

Then he'd toss out some fancy word, ask if I knew what it meant, chuckle at my blank stare.

"Don't worry, Arthur. Effort can make up for lack of talent."

He was like a noble gentleman from a story, looking down with compassion on a peasant like me.

After a few times, I learned to stay out of their way.

Besides, Eleanor hated me "interrupting" their conversation.

Once, I passed by her apartment and thought I'd tidy up without calling first.

I caught her and Walter deep in some literary discussion. My interruption made her furious.

"Don't you understand privacy?!"

"When will you learn boundaries?!"

"Honestly, Arthur, are you just stupid?"

Back then, I was just embarrassed to be scolded in front of Walter.

Now I realize he should be the one ashamed.

Eleanor Ashford and Walter Bridges, the stars of that little home movie.

The soup was ruined and dinner wasn't ready.

Sarah didn't say much, but her face was thunderous as she ordered takeout.

"Danny's so young. He shouldn't be eating this junk."

Jason jumped in to soothe her.

"Just this once, babe. It's not the end of the world."

Sarah exploded.

"Jason Ashford! What is wrong with you?!"

"Is Danny not your son?! Do you even care?!"

"I work all day, and I can't even get a proper meal at home?!"

"When you visit my parents, does my mom feed you takeout?!"

A clear shot at me. Jason, blamed because of me, turned even angrier.

"Dad, seriously. Look at Mom and Walter. They are seventy and still kicking ass."

"You're only sixty! How are you already useless?! Are you getting early dementia?!"

"I don't have time to babysit you!"

Jason's words always cut deep. He explained it as,

"Mom and I just call it like we see it."

Yet around Walter, his voice dripped honey.

"Uncle Walter isn't tough like Dad. He's from Savannah and he is gentle. Loud voices bother him."

For the first time in my life, my voice went cold.

"You've often ordered takeout even when I have cooked."

"Jason, you call me useless? What useless man gets up at five every day to make your mother breakfast, lay out her clothes, then come here to make your breakfast, set the table?

Who aits for you lazybones to eat and leave for work? Then dresses Danny, washes his face, brushes his teeth? Oh, right, Danny needs 'freshly made' meals, so I cook breakfast three times before nine."

"Drop Danny at preschool, go clean your house, then back to clean your mother's."

"Prep lunch, dinner, pick Danny up. You two waltz in, eat, wipe your mouths, and vanish. I clean the dishes, mop the floors."

"Not for a day or two. For years, rain or shine!"

"And to you, that's useless?"

Jason was already annoyed. His rebuttal came easily.

"Well, yeah! That's your job!"

"You don't work! Don't bring in money! Least you can do is pull your weight! How else do you earn us calling you 'Dad,' Danny calling you 'Grandpa'?"

Sarah's face was stone. She scooped up Danny, ready to leave.

"Sort your family drama behind closed doors. Don't poison my son!"

"I'm going to my mom's!"

Usually, when they fought, I'd mediate, apologizing to Sarah, smoothing things over.

This time, I stayed silent. Jason, furious I wasn't playing peacemaker, grabbed Sarah's arm.

"One takeout meal poisons him?!"

"You order plenty of junk at your mom's too!"

Sarah yanked her arm free, glaring straight at me.

"At least my family has shame! They don't show Danny... filth!"

Jason looked confused. Sarah spat the words at me.

"If you're too lazy to watch him, just say so! You could've put on cartoons!"

"Was that really necessary?!"

"He's four! Do you have any idea the damage you've done?!"

She thought I'd deliberately shown Danny pornography.

Since Sarah married in, I'd bent over backwards, treated her like gold. This was my reward.

Jason finally caught on, eyes narrowing.

"You watched that stuff?! With Danny?!"

"What kind of grandfather are you?!"

He actually shoved mehard enough that I stumbled back several steps.

Right into Eleanor, who had just walked in.

She recoiled, pushing me away with a sound of disgust.

"Arthur! For heaven's sake! What now?!"

I was kicked back like a ball.

All these years married, she used her "heart condition" as an excuse never to let me touch her.

Even a hug or holding hands was "vulgar" to her.

Jason tattled immediately.

"Dad's lost it! Showing Danny porn!"

Eleanor's brow furrowed instantly. Her disapproving stare felt like rocks falling on me.

"I know you're coarse, Arthur, but this is beyond the pale!"

Seeing her prim expression, remembering her lust-drunk face on screen, a wave of nausea hit me.

My whole life felt like it had been lived in a sewerfilthy and disgusting!

I trembled with rage, my voice shaking.

"Yeah. Yeah, I watched."

"Starring Professor Eleanor Ashford herself!"

Sarah stormed out with Danny, slamming the door, muttering about us all being crazy.

Jason blamed me for ruining his marriage with "insane lies," threatened to cut ties.

After they left, only Eleanor and I remained.

We stared at each other. For a second, I thought she might be furious or regretful.

Instead, she just clicked her tongue.

"Arthur, will you ever learn about privacy?"

"What gives you the right to touch my computer?"

"Snooping is despicable!"

Her tone was the same as it had been for decades.

Then she calmly set down her bag, hung up her coat, changed her slippers, and sat at the table.

"Arthur, I hope this is the last time you cross this line!"

"Don't let it happen again!"

"Now, serve the soup."

She rubbed her temples, looking weary.

"We're too old for this nonsense. Spare me the drama."

"Call Jason later and apologize."

"Look at you. You just like a madman. You'll frighten Danny."

Right then, I heard something snap inside my head.

I was breathing too fast, lips numb, limbs tingling.

I walked overand stood across from her, disbelief warping my voice.

"Eleanor... you..."

"You... you shameless... cheating with Walter..."

Before I could finish, Eleanor stood and slapped me hard across the face.

Through the buzzing in my ears, I saw her lips moving.

"Arthur! Must you be so vulgar?!"

"Disgusting!"

She'd put her whole weight into it. Half my face went numb and swelled instantly. I tasted blood. I tasted blood. My voice choked.

"Eleanor, you lied to me for years!"

"You're the one who lied! You owe me!"

My reddened face seemed to disgust her even more. he swept everything off the table onto the floor.

"Lied? I told you from the start about my condition. You accepted it."

"All these years, Arthur, a farm boy like you went from nothing to this comfortable life. Who got you here? Me!"

"Without me, would you be in the city? Live in a house like this? Be treated with any respect?!"

"You accepted I couldn't satisfy you that way. So whether I can, or with whomwhat does it matter to you?!"

"Arthur, I truly don't understand this tantrum!"

"Did I forget your allowance this month?!"

My whole body trembled, like I'd been thrown into an ice bath.

The family I'd poured my life into meant nothing. To Eleanor, I was merely a servant on a monthly salary.

Eleanor hated mess. The chaos on the floor was unbearable.

She packed her laptop, voice icy.

"I'm staying at the apartment tonight."

"Clean this up. Now."

I stopped her.

"Eleanor. I want a divorce."

Her face twisted like she'd swallowed a bug.

"Arthur, don't be ridiculous. Stop watching those trashy soap operas."

"Divorce me and you'd be on the street tomorrow."

"Think of your age! Think of Jason! Have some dignity!"

Her was resolute as she walked out.

Decades of my obedience had convinced her I'd be nothing without her.

But she forgot: I was an orphan before I knew her.

I started with nothing. What did I have to lose?

Old folks back home used to say: Don't push a quiet man too far. Karma's a bitch.

Eleanor Ashford. Your karma's coming.

...

That very night, I packed a bag, hired a car, and returned to my Nebraska farmhouse.

Eleanor had never once visited my hometown in all these years. She had no idea how spacious and solid my old place was.

No matter how busy, I'd come back twice a month to clean, repair what was worn, replace what was broken.

Neighbors helped look after it, so while old, it was perfectly livable.

Orphans trust people easily, but they always keep an escape route.

All my life, I'd felt I was the lucky one, fearing they might cast me aside any day. I never thought I'd be the one to leave them.

Sarah noticed first.

She came out of the bedroom and was surprised to find no steaming breakfast on the table.

Jason's shoes, kicked off haphazardly by the door, silently testified to my "absence."

I was sitting in my yard, sipping hot cornmeal mush, when Jason's call came.

"What time do you call this?! Where are you?! We're going to be late for work!"

"Danny needs his diaper changed!"

I clicked my tongue, mimicking their favorite sound.

"Ever heard of manners? Talking about butts while people eat!"

"Your mother's a professor, for God's sake!"

Jason paused, then exploded.

"You're eating?! We're starving here!"

For years, I served everyone else first, ate whatever scraps were left. Making breakfast just for myself felt strange.

Suddenly, solitude seemed... simple. Liberating.

"I'm divorcing your mother. You stick with her."

I took a bite of egg. Free-range, golden yolk, perfect texture.

The cornmeal, eggs, pickles C all brought over by the neighbors last night.

"Divorce?! You have lost it!"

Jason's voice cracked.

"You can't contribute financially, fine! But stop causing drama!"

"We're swamped! No time for your games!"

I heard Sarah yell in the background, voice tight.

"Jason! Get in here and wipe your son!"

I chuckled.

"Sounds busy."

"I'm busy too. Don't call again."

I hung up.

I didn't earn much, true. But I hardly spent anything either.

Happiness, to me, was always simple: food, shelter, clothes.

Looking back on decades of hustle, I realized I hadn't felt happy.

Leaving the Ashfords, time stretched out. By noon, I'd cleaned the house, dug a vegetable patch, sown seeds, all while listening to my neighbor, Maggie, rip into those ingrates.

"All those years wasted on them! Coulda harvested a mountain of corn!"

"Good riddance to bad rubbish!"

I looked at the freshly turned earth, breathed in the loamy scent. My chest finally felt clear.

The Ashfords looked down on the land. But land is loyal. Work it right, it rewards you.

Not like some people. Decades of devotion, flushed away.

Maggie said,

"Arthur, listen to me. Stay put. This is home."

"No need for fancy riches. Just peace."

"Besides, city folks are flocking out here now! Say the air's cleaner!"

Maggie was right. That afternoon, while weaving baskets by the roadside, a group of young folks approached. Four or five, taking pictures, asking to learn.

College kids on a trip. Hearing "college" made my blood boil, thinking of Eleanor.

I wanted the divorce, but she clearly didn't take it seriously.

And honestly, I needed to figure out how to get one.

A sudden downpour hit at dusk. As I went to bolt the door, I saw the students, soaked to the skin.

I let them in, brewed a huge pot of ginger tea with honey.

They thanked me profusely. Made me think of all those years serving the Ashfords. Not one "thank you."

Lost in thought, my phone buzzed.

Eleanor.

"Iron that blue striped shirt-dress in my closet. Bring it to the apartment tomorrow. I need it."

Faint thunder echoed down the line. Rain in the city too.

"Why not get it yourself?" I asked.

Her impatience radiated through the phone.

"Don't be obtuse! It's pouring! How would I get it?!"

"Don't disturb Jason and Sarah this late. Take the bus. It's only an hour."

She started to hang up, but a man's voice cut in.

"Tell him to bring the grey scarf too. Saves her picking some garish red thing."

Walter.

My fist clenched. For the first time, I wanted my words to be crude, cutting.

"Eleanor, scared of a little rain?"

"You and Walter... you hold him over you, he covers you... just roll yourselves home!"

"Bring the grey scarf, wear red undies... whatever floats your boat!"

Silence. Then, disbelief.

"Arthur! You... you foul-mouthed...!"

I chuckled.

"You spit ivory? You don't just spit it, you stick onions up your nose pretending to be an elephant!"

"Or spit together! I'll buy tickets! See who spits farthest!"

Her shriek hurt my ear.

"Arthur! Enough!"

"Keep pushing, you'll regret it!"

"Know your place! Push me too far, I will leave you! Don't come crawling back then!"

I gripped the phone, wishing I could spit down the line.

"Let Walter the old leech crawl on you! Shut up! Divorce!"