A Park Affair: part 1; A failing marriage, a caring man, and a new life. by  r a wallace. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Chapter 1: Intervention - Wendy Meets Robb. Wendy I sat sullen, depressed, on the park bench in the early evening watching a man playing catch with a boy, probably his son. I was fingering the pistol inside my shoulder bag, my finger on the trigger. I closed my eyes to start the silent count one…two… Wham! I was startled, my fingers closed reflexively in response, including the finger on the trigger. I heard a loud bang inside my shoulder bag. I looked down and saw the bullet hole just above the brown leather bottom. I pulled my hand out of the bag and found it was trembling, my heart pounding in my ears. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I hope you weren’t hit?” I looked up to see the man standing in front of me, his image hazy as tears formed in my eyes again. I couldn’t even end my life without screwing it up. I heard his voice again, but not his words. I sat my bag on the bench next to me and looked up when he spoke again, his face showing concern. “No, it didn’t hit me,” I replied dumbly. “You don’t look so good, your eyes are red as if you’ve been crying. Is there anything I can do to help, do you want to talk?” “Uncle Robb, Dad’s here to pick me up. Thanks for playing catch with me for a while,” came a voice from behind me. I watched as he tossed the baseball in the general direction of the voice. “Any time Ted, tell your father I’ll talk with him later.” I watched as the boy ran past us, got into a car, waved, and was gone. Numbed by it all, nothing in my mind made sense, it seemed I wasn’t worth anything to anyone. “Mind if I sit with you?” “Look, I appreciate your kindness, but I’m not likely to be good company. I just found my husband with another woman. Not that I haven’t suspected it for a while, but I thought our trial separation was working out. I just need to be alone.” “You weren’t thinking of doing something stupid were you?” I looked at him, then my eyes went to the round hole in my bag. Stupid? It was a way out. My own husband hadn’t slept with me in six months and he was getting off on another woman. Stupid? There was a reason I wasn’t wearing my wedding ring. I didn’t want to be found dead wearing something the bastard had given me. Robb I’d tried to catch the ball, jumping up to snag it when it sailed above my head. I had hit it just enough to send it toward the attractive woman sitting on the bench not far away. I thought I heard it hit the bench, not her, but a muffled sound seemed to have made her jump, and I felt an apology was in order. When I stopped in front of her I saw the teary eyes, at first thinking it had hit her. Then I noticed her eyes were puffy red, she’d been crying for a while. Her dark curly hair hung below her shoulders, her brown eyes placed below nicely trimmed eyebrows. She was dressed in a skirt and blouse, her exposed legs shapely, like the rest of her. She was obviously distressed, then I saw a small hole in her cloth shoulder bag as her eyes shifted to look at it. The slightly ragged hole seemed entirely out of place at that location. It was then I knew, the sound I’d heard wasn’t the baseball hitting the bench–this woman needed help now. Wendy He sat down next to me even though I hadn’t replied. Shit, did it matter? Another few minutes in my miserable life wasn’t going to change anything. I hadn’t even been able to kill myself and I realized I was pointing the pistol at the wrong person if I did. I knew I could never kill anyone, apparently not even myself. Then it popped into my head. If I were to do something now to get back at my husband I’d do what he had done to me. I would throw it in his face, telling him it was better than anything he had ever given me in all the years we’d been together. He hadn’t been physically abusive to me, the fact he wouldn’t touch me was painful enough; far worse in a way. What better way to get back at him by than by making him