I didn’t find Gail there, in the room where our marriage had ended. Oh, it limped along for a little while after that–her desperate pleas to reconcile and the various legal nonsense kept it on life support for months–but there was no marriage there anymore. For a time, we lived as two roommates, albeit roommates who occasionally shared a bed for a quick hatefuck, but that’s not a marriage, is it? I took a quick peek insid...

I used to love our old house. Of course, that was back when it was “our” old house, when there was still an “us” to have a house together. Back before Gail had cheated, back before I’d divorced her, back before our lawyers wrangled over who got what. Months after the divorce, “our” house remained the sole shared marital asset, but not for too much longer. If she hadn’t slept with her co-worker, I’d have called the settlem...

There are three things you need to know about Ariel, my wife. First, she’s gorgeous. I mean, she might not be to everyone’s taste, but she is to mine. Ari is an absolute shortstack of a woman. She’s short even for a Filipina at a smidge under five feet (I’m sure she’ll yell, “Four-eleven-and-a-half, Kyle! Round up!” when she reads this), with the missing height apparently deposited in some truly magnificent curves. Add to...