My Husband’s Mistress Sold Her Life Story To The Daily Mail
After my husband left me, I found his mistress's story on the Internet.
Ginny Thomas/ Shutterstock When I caught my husband on the telephone talking about black panties, I knew my marriage was probably not long for this world.
And then the credit card statements started coming to our address in their joint names. There was some cockamamie story about how she was "just a friend" and he was "trying to help her rebuild her credit."
Uh-huh.
So, as scorned women everywhere have done since the dawn of time, I dragged my divorce out for as long as humanly possible in order to keep my health insurance, and then I stalked both of them for the next 10 years.
I suppose I shouldn’t use her real name. So let’s call her … Larb.
Imagine my surprise and delight when I discovered that, at some point in the recent past, Larb had sold her life story to the Daily Mail, a British tabloid that apparently runs sordid "as told to" narratives for fun and profit.
Her article, which unfortunately no longer exists outside of my hard drive, was titled:
I LEFT MY LOVELY MIDDLE-CLASS HOME, DOCTOR HUSBAND, AND THREE CHILDREN FOR TEXAN JAILBIRD I MET ON THE INTERNET
At least it’s catchy.
It turned out that Larb was a nurse who had been married to a pediatrician in the UK.
They lived with their three small children in a big house, with a maid, a vacation apartment, horses, and all the trappings of a comfortably middle-class (I would argue slightly more than middle-class) life.
But that wasn’t enough for Larb.
Larb wanted — if not something more — then at least something else.
So she dumped the doctor (and those pesky kids) and left it all behind for a heroin addict that she met in a chat room. As one does.
Why she would talk about this to a newspaper is anyone’s guess. It had to be for the money — the great motivator, which she would’ve had plenty of if she hadn’t blown up her life (and eventually mine).
Here’s a selection from the article that still makes me queasy almost 20 years later. This is why I don’t read romance novels:
"We exchanged photos and R — — [a.k.a. the Texan Jailbird] e-mailed me saying that he sensed I was a passionate, sexual woman. Within the month, we were in love. Believe me, you can make love via computer. We could feel a strong physical bond between us."
I have all kinds of thoughts about "falling in love over the internet," most of which involve the word BS.
Anyway, through further sleuthing I discovered that R. the Texan Jailbird, having facilitated Larb’s escape from her golden shackles, promptly died.
Just like Larb’s first husband (cue the violins), the love of her life, who was killed in a farming accident nine days before their first wedding anniversary.
Look, I’m not completely heartless (no, I am) but the words "black widow" spring to mind.
With R. and the rest of Texas in her rearview, Larb hopped back on the computer to find her next dim-witted target, despite her assertion to the Daily Mail that:
"I am a moral person, not the sort to have affairs with anyone."
Yeah, well. I tend to disagree with that statement.
Larb, as far as I know, didn’t kill my ex-husband.
The last I knew, they were living in a double-wide in the middle of the desert in New Mexico. I mean, I like solitude but, come on.
I wonder if Larb ever misses having a maid. I would. I would definitely miss having a maid.
And if he’s still alive, my ex-husband is 77 years old.
Bev Potter is an Ohio-based writer interested in health, humor, and entertainment.