My Wife had a Baby

I went to my office. My CO chatted with me for some time and told me to take whatever reasonable time I needed to 'get straightened out' and keep him informed of my progress or lack thereof.

My life went on for another couple of weeks. I went to work, did my job, mowed my lawn, and washed and waxed my car.

Then one morning the call came. "Hello," I answered.

"Is this Major Fred Sadler?"

"It is."

"Major Sadler, this is Margie from the DNA testing center. Several weeks ago you dropped off some samples for us to test for you."

"Yes, I did."

"Well, the results are back and you are welcome to come in and see them."

"Can't you just tell me now?"

"No sir, I can't. We can either mail them to the address you gave us or show them to you in person. We have no way of verifying over the phone that you are who you say you are. We have to see positive identification. We can mail the results because, as you recall, we asked for identification when you were here and we were able to verify your address."

"I'll be there in as soon as I can."

I walked in their door, introduced myself and asked for Margie. She came out and we shook hands. She asked to see my ID.

"Come with me please," she said.

I followed her to a little room. She asked me to wait. She left and returned just a couple of minutes later. She handed me the pacifier, then spoke.

"Sample 'A' is yours. Sample 'B' is from the hair you gave us. And sample 'C' is from the pacifier. We were able to determine that samples B and C are positively related. Sample A is not related to either B or C."

"Thank you," I said as I took the pacifier, put it in my pocket, picked up the paperwork and left. I sat in my car. At least I didn't have a daughter calling some other man Daddy; but someone else did.

JAG was not permitted to recommend specific law firms or attorneys, but the JAG Officer I had talked with was able to provide me with a list of 'approved' attorney's and firms.

The next day I started calling them. I made six appointments. At my third appointment, I found my man. He was a retired JAG Officer and hated cheating spouses, either the wife or the husband. I spent over an hour telling him my story.

"Forty-five years of practicing law and this is absolutely the most diabolically wanton case of selfishness I have ever seen. She must have ice-water in her veins where blood should be. It's too bad that the courts here side with the wife virtually all the time regardless of the circumstances surrounding the divorce. I can almost guarantee they will side with your wife in this case as well. It's like they feel compelled to screw the husband, regardless of how innocent he is."

It was late in the day when I got home. There was a letter in the mailbox. It was from Lydia:

Fred,

The three weeks are up.

Lydia

Short and to the point. The return address was the address of her parents in Mechanicsburg, PA. I called her.

"Hello, Fred," she said.

"I'm not talking about this over the phone, and I'm certainly not flying to Pennsylvania, so it looks like you have to come here."

"If you mean Seattle, I'm already here. I mailed the letter last week when I was back there."

"I will be at the house at 6:30. Come then," I told her.

She hung up.

I made no special arrangements; no drinks, cheese, crackers, nothing. This was to be a business meeting. I did put the DNA Documents and my copies of the Birth Certificate and Adoption papers on the Government issued coffee table.

She pulled into the driveway at 6:20, but waited until exactly 6:30 to ring the bell. I took my time answering. I opened the door and motioned her in, then indicated where she should sit. I would be sitting on the sofa. She would be sitting in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair opposite me.

I reached in my pocket, took out the pacifier, and handed it to her. She grabbed for it and clutched it to her chest.

"Thank you," she said, as if I had given her a million dollars.

Then I pushed a copy of the DNA results over to her. "You already know that I am not the father, but this will confirm it."

She reached for the results and picked them up with her left hand. The pacifier stayed clutched in her right. "I take it you are "Sample A"?" she asked.

"I am."

Then I pushed the other papers over to her saying nothing. She leaned forward, read the heading on the top sheet and tears formed in her eyes. She put the DNA results down and picked up the Application for Dissolution of Marriage. She started to read it, but the tears were flowing freely now and falling on the form, so she put it down. She searched her pockets for a tissue but found none. "May I have a tissue?" she asked.

"I don't have any." Which was a lie because there was a box on the end table by the sofa where I was sitting. She saw them and just glared at me. I didn't move.

"You aren't making it easy for me, are you?" She asked.

"You cheated," I said.

She nodded.

"How many times?" I asked.

"Does it matter?"

"No. I just want to know."

"One weekend."

"Different men?"

"Just one."

"Who is he?"

"Again, does it matter?"

"Again, I just want to know. I think I deserve that."

"I'm not going to tell you."

"Do I know him?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

"So you'd rather protect him than try to save your marriage?"

She picked up the divorce application. "Our marriage is over anyway. Why destroy his?"

"Okay, but you are going to tell me why you lied about your daughter being stillborn." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes. I owe you that." She stood and reached for the tissue box and put it in front of her. She took one and dried her still wet eyes. She still clutched the pacifier. "When I found out I was pregnant, I wasn't sure if it was yours or his. I thought about aborting it, but couldn't. As time went on, I was able to rationalize in my mind that you wouldn't know for sure whether it was yours or not. When we found out it was going to be a girl, I was even more convinced that you wouldn't know, because daddy's and daughters have a special connection and I was sure that you and she would be like that.

"As it got closer to her being born, I began to get nervous. Maybe you would know if she wasn't yours. Then you went on that TDY trip and my nerves settled down a bit. I was happy that you might not be there when she was born. Then you told me you were on your way to fly home and I got nervous again.

"My emotions were on a roller coaster. Maybe you would know, maybe you wouldn't. Maybe you would be there when she was born, maybe you wouldn't. I was a nervous wreck.

"Then she was there. Alive and perfect. They lay her on my chest and I looked at her and I was in love. She was beautiful and she had blonde hair and blue eyes. Blonde hair and blue eyes" She paused. "Just like her father. You have brown hair and brown eyes. Nobody in either of our families has blonde hair and blue eyes. I knew she wasn't yours.

"She was my daughter, but you were my husband. I loved you both, but I knew I had to choose between the two of you. I chose you. The hospital staff assisted me when I told them I wanted to give her up for adoption. Within 24 hours, the paperwork was in my hands. They asked who the father was and I told them I didn't know. They told me that would make it easier because if I knew who the father was, they would have to get his permission. I had just breast fed her and was holding her. She was sucking on this pacifier when they brought the papers in for my signature." At this point she started crying again. "They took her from me so I could sign. I signed and reached to take her back."

The nurse said, "You can't have her. She isn't yours anymore". I reached for her, anyway, and was only able to grab the pacifier before they left with her. I never saw her again. Two pictures that I was able to get with my phone, this pacifier, and her birth certificate are all I have of her."

She was bawling now. "God forgive me, I want my daughter back."

I sat watching her cry for a long time before getting her a glass of water.

"Thank you," she said. I sat back down. It took a long time for her to compose herself. "I knew I would have to tell you something, so I made up the lie about her being stillborn and having her remains cremated. When you got home, I couldn't believe you didn't ask to see birth certificate or death certificate or anything. I still can't believe it."

"I trusted you," I said. "I had no reason not to. Besides, it was so traumatic I saw no reason to add to our misery by looking at those pieces of paper."

She continued. "As time went on, you and I got back to normal and I was almost happy, but part of me was missing. It still is, and it gets worse every year on her birthday. I have always found private time to take out her Birth Certificate and touch her little footprints and I hold the pacifier. There were times when I wanted to put it in my mouth to feel nearer to her, but there was just a bit of my dried breast milk on it and I wanted to save it, so I didn't." At this point, she wanted to show it to me but it was gone. Scraped off by the DNA lab I suppose. "Oh, my God. It's gone." She wailed then she looked at me. "It's gone. Her milk is gone. You bastard. You took her milk." She sunk to her knees and literally curled up in a little ball on the floor. She wouldn't stop wailing.

I picked her up and lay her on the sofa. I couldn't let her leave in her condition so I covered her with a blanket and went to my bedroom, but not to bed. She stayed there for several hours. At midnight, I heard the toilet flush. I went downstairs. She was sitting on the sofa.

"Want some coffee?" I asked.

"Yes, please." She sat at the counter as I brewed her a cup. She took a sip. "I guess I sorta flipped out, huh?"

"Sorta." We sat in silence and drank our coffee.

"More?" I asked.

"Yes, please," she replied.

"Where are you staying?" I asked as I brewed two more cups.

"In a motel."

"You've been there over three weeks?"

"No. Most of the time I was with my parents."

"Do they know the truth?"

"No. I lied to them, too. I told them that you and I are having a rough time and I needed to get away from you for a while. They paid for me to visit them. They think I came back to help work out our difficulties."

"Where is your motel?"

"Just off post. In fact, I should be getting there now." She looked around, walked over to the coffee table, took a pen out of her purse, sat and signed the divorce papers without reading them and left.

I cleaned the coffee cups then went upstairs to bed.

It was midmorning on Sunday when I awoke. I spent the rest of the day in thought.

On Monday, I took the divorce papers to my attorney and he filed them. I went to the Post Housing Office and told them I would be moving out of Quarters and into an apartment off post.

Six months later I was divorced. Neither the court nor I, had heard from Lydia. As a result, she got nothing except her car and whatever else she took. Her copy of the final decree was sent to her parents address in PA.

I found myself thinking a lot about who Lydia had cheated with. She would never tell me who he was or how the affair started. I was pissed not only that she cheated and got pregnant, but that she protected the bastard and wouldn't tell me who he was. The only thing she told me was that it only lasted one weekend.

Thankfully, I got so busy at work that I didn't have time to think of anything else. I also didn't have time for much of a social life, either. There was an officer who worked with me who I became friends with and spent at least one evening a week having dinner with him and his family. My mind's eye saw them as the perfect military family. Husband, wife, two children, two cars, and a beautiful home. They had it all. Of course, being a military family, they had to deal with the periodic moves, taking their children out of one school and putting them in another, as well as all the other difficulties of military life. Civilian families generally grow up in the same area with the same friends for long periods in their lives. There are exceptions to that as well. Families in some industries, like oil, move as much or more than the military. Anyway, Major George and Marian Johnson seemed perfect and I enjoyed my time with them and I enjoyed playing with their children. The son was ten and the daughter eight. I don't know what 'typical' children are, but these two seemed pretty solidly grounded, so I assumed they were typical.

One evening after dinner, George and I were talking. The subject of TDY's came up and we discussed their pros and cons. They were necessary, of course, and we knew that, but most TDY's took us away from our families (those of us who had them), and we felt we spent enough time away from them without factoring in TDY's. The subject came up because he had been selected to attend a two-week security seminar at Fort Hood. He was to leave in two weeks.

The next day, I went to our CO.

"Sir, is there any reason I can't go to the seminar instead of Major Johnson?"

"Not really. The general just thought that he had a bit more experience in that area than you, but it would work if you went."

"Good. He and his wife will be celebrating their 12th Anniversary and it would be nice if they could celebrate it together."

"Well, Major Sadler. I didn't know you were the romantic type," he said laughing.

Two weeks later, I found myself back at Fort Hood, which is where Lydia and I lived when her daughter was born.

Usually, Military Seminars were pretty intense, but this one had a relaxed air about it. We were divided into groups of three for project purposes. It worked out that there six groups of three, and two left over. That was a Major from Alaska, and me. We developed a close friendship almost immediately. It was as if we had known each other all of our lives. His name was Keith Franklin, and, as I said, he was stationed in Alaska at Fort Wainwright, the coldest Base in the United States Army, but he loved it there.

He was a computer genius and we got so far ahead of everybody else we had to slow down and wait for them to catch up.

On Friday of the first week, we were in the 'O' Club having lunch. He opened up to me about his personal life. He had cheated on his wife and she divorced him. Now she was living with some civilian and his two children were calling the other man Daddy. Of all the bad things divorce brings, I always thought that would be the most difficult to stomach: your kids calling another man, daddy.

By the end of lunch, I had unloaded my story as well. When I was finished, he had a strange look.

"And you don't know who the man she had the affair with is?"

"No. She wouldn't tell me."

"And it was here at Hood?"

"Yep."

"Five years ago?"

"Almost six now."

"Blonde hair and blue eyes?"

"That's what she said."

"Come with me."

We went to the post personnel center. Everyone who was assigned to Fort Hood had to process through there. We walked right into the office of the personnel director. She saw us coming, stood and came around her desk to hug Keith. She seemed to be about sixty years old with a twinkle in her eye. I liked her and hadn't even spoken to her yet.

"Aunt Lucy. This is Fred Sadler."

"Hello, Fred," she said, shaking my hand.

"Hello, uh, uh," The name plate on her desk said Mrs. Healy. "Mrs. Healy," I started.

"Call me Aunt Lucy. Everybody does."

"Aunt Lucy," Keith began, "do you remember a blonde-haired blue-eyed officer who might have been here about six years ago?"

She thought about it for a few seconds. "No, but I don't always see everybody who comes through here. They all have to, but that doesn't mean I see them." She thought for a while longer. "Fred Sadler? You were here about then, weren't you? I remember the name."

"Yes, my wife and I were here," I said. I looked at Keith as if to ask, how would she remember that.

Keith looked at me. "Aunt Lucy has HSAM and can remember virtually everything she has read, seen, or been associated with. That goes for people, too. She can remember everyone she ever met."

"HSAM?" I asked.

"Yeah, Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory. It's a condition,"

"Or a curse," interrupted Aunt Lucy.

"Or a curse," continued Keith. "Very few people have it. Aunt Lucy is the institutional memory for Fort Hood; especially when it comes to personnel matters. Isn't that right, Aunt Lucy?"

"Unfortunately."

I looked at her, then Keith, then back at her. "You remember everything?"

"Everything that happens to me personally."

"Christ," I said. "How do you have room for all of it?"

"We don't know. It's just always there."

"Does it have a downside?" I asked.

"Oh, goodness, yes. Not only do I remember the good things, but the bad as well. It can cause lots of depression if you let it."

"I can only imagine," I told her.

"Aunt Lucy," Keith interrupted again. "Fred," he indicated me. "Is looking for someone who was here at the same time. The only thing he knows about him is that he was a blonde with blue eyes."

She laughed. "That's it? No height, weight, rank, assignment? Not even his initials?"

"No, ma'am," I said.

"Calling me ma'am is a waste of good oxygen, Fred. I'm Aunt Lucy. Give me some time to think about it and maybe ask around. Is it important?"

Keith looked at me and I answered. "Yes, Aunt Lucy. It's important. Oh, he was probably about the age I was when I was here if that helps."

"And he was in the Army. Officer or enlisted?"

"I assume he was an officer, if he was in the Army."

"So, you don't even know if he was in service."

"No, I don't."

"Or civilian employee?"

"No, I'm sorry. I know it isn't much to go on."

She laughed. "It is exactly nothing to go on. There can't be more than two thousand blonde, blue-eyed men I've run across in the last few years, but I'll see if I can narrow it down to the time frame." She took both of our cell numbers.

Two days later, she called Keith. "I've been thinking about the man you asked about. I don't remember any blonde-haired, blue-eyed soldiers, either officer or enlisted who would have been about the right age, but I do know two civilians who work in the Post Engineers Office. One has worked there about 30 years, so he's probably too old. The other has worked there about ten years. He's in charge of new construction now, but he used to be the head of plumbing. His name is Kurt Weber. There are about 15 other blue-eyed blondes on the Post, but the ages don't fit and I didn't bother trying to remember civilians who live off the base because I assumed when Major Sadler was here, he didn't have time to make many civilian friends."

Keith told me, and I immediately started planning how to meet Weber, and determine if he was the man and maybe get a bit of revenge. Men who prey on the wives of our military members are the second lowest forms of life on the planet. The lowest, of course, are those who prey on the wives when the service member is deployed overseas. Those bastards deserve the worst imaginable fate anyone can devise.

As I said, Keith could almost read my mind. "Let's take a look at this guy," he said. The first thing he did was call Aunt Lucy. "Is there any legal way we can get Weber's address and phone number?"

"Sure is," she said. "I have a civilian directory in my desk." Thirty seconds later we had both pieces of information.

"I love you, Aunt Lucy," Keith told her. We were in his rental car, and at 3:45 PM we were waiting outside the main office of the Post Engineers Office. We knew him immediately when he walked out of the building. He was a good-looking guy, and I hated him on sight. He made his way to his car and we followed him just to be sure he was going home. He did. We sat within sight of his house for a couple of hours. He never left, but someone, who we assumed to be his wife, was working in the flower beds in their yard while three children, all with blonde hair, played around her.