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The bridge wasn't long or wide, a simple
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wooden structure spanning the narrow but
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profound gap between past
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disappointments and future
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uncertainties. For me, Lyall Jetman, it
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became the point of no return. I was 38,
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a man defined by his family. Gloria, my
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wife of 16 years, and our two children,
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Robert and Anna. Our life was a pleasant
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picture, albeit one painted with the
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constant brushstrokes of financial
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strain. To support them, I had left my
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legal career for the more lucrative
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world of real estate at a company called
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Countryman Realtor. My path had been a
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series of compromises.
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I graduated from law school with a new
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baby on the way, and a dream of working
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for the Department of Education was
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swiftly replaced by a reality of
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processing home loan closings for a law
0:47
firm. While Gloria worked as a bank
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teller, I became a cog in a machine,
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closing deals for $75 a pop. The work
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was demanding and I felt the impending
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doom of a market built on a house of
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Then an opportunity appeared. Bernie
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Schlire, a shrewd builder and developer,
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saw a spark in me. I joined his company
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and helped him turn it into a
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powerhouse, expanding into new
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properties and leveraging every possible
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partnership to maximize profits. I was
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finally on solid ground. Bernie saw the
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crash coming and one night he told me he
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had sold everything. Come with me,
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baby," he said, inviting me to join him
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But I couldn't. I had a family, a life
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built here. I stayed, and soon I met my
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new boss, Gabe Zel. Gabe was the epitome
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of a business prodigy. Younger than me,
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with a striking Adonis-like appearance,
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he was a superstar. Where Bernie was
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cautious, Gabe was a risk-taker,
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operating with a transparent, almost
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reckless abandon. He had gambled on
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countrymen real estate and won. I was
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content working for him. He treated me
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well and gave me free reign to manage
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the office. My only grievance was a
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minor one, his extravagant Christmas
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parties. The first Saturday in December,
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Gabe held his annual party at one of the
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finest vacation spots in Saratoga. It
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was a lavish, no expenses spared affair.
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I arrived with the most beautiful woman
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in the room on my arm, and the entire
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room hushed. My wife, Gloria, a woman I
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had married right out of college, had
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undergone a remarkable transformation.
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Once a little chubby, she had become a
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dedicated long-d distanceance runner,
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her body sculpted and toned. At six feet
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tall in heels with cascading raven hair
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and a new form-fitting black dress that
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showcased her fabulous runner's legs,
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she was a showstopper. I was proud. Gabe
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wasted no time. He greeted us with an
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overly enthusiastic charm, and soon he
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and Gloria were dancing. I wasn't
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jealous. We had been through too much
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together. Poverty, children's illnesses,
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the relentless grind of a middle class
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life. Adversity, I believed, had forged
3:05
our marriage into something unbreakable.
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But as midnight approached, Gabe led
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Gloria under the mistletoe and kissed
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her passionately. I dismissed it as the
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festive atmosphere and too much drink. I
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escorted my wife home, and we never
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spoke of it again. 6 months later,
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Memorial Day weekend arrived, a time of
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record-breaking heat and an abundance of
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cash in the company's operating account.
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Gabe had rented a mountain cabin in the
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Aderondex, and he insisted Gloria and I
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come. My unease grew when he confidently
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told me Gloria was looking forward to it
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before I had even spoken to her. I loved
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and trusted my wife implicitly.
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But this was a mistake I failed to
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recognize. The journey was long and
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difficult, and I traded my sedan for a
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four-wheel drive SUV. The last 5 miles
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were a rugged test of patience,
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culminating in the bridge. The wooden
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structure spanning a deep ravine that
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was our only way in and out. As I drove
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across it, a profound sense of foroding
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settled over me. I felt like a mouse
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trapped in a maze, and I wondered if a
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lurking predator was waiting. Gab's
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lodge was a testament to rustic charm
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We were greeted by a group of six
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others, all young and impeccably
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dressed. There was Gab's friends Ken and
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Glenn, their partners Robin and Sharon,
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and a woman named Paula Henry, who
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watched me with a scrutinizing gaze.
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It became clear that this was not a
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weekend of innocent fun. Infidelity was
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treated with casual disregard. Sharon
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was married and Robin had a fiance. This
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was a weekend of reckless abandon, and
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my wife was a willing participant.
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Throughout the night, Gabe positioned
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himself between Gloria and Paula,
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directing his attention solely to my
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wife. "My attempts to engage Paula were
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met with distant politeness. She was a
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woman of intelligence, a government
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inspector," she later revealed, a
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designated sober one, who observed
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everything, but intervened only if
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absolutely necessary. As the night wore
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on, a feeling of dread settled in my
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When Gabe announced his fatigue from the
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long drive, I knew what was coming.
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I returned to our designated room alone.
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Gloria joined me later, her face flushed
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with excitement. She sat on the edge of
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the bed and spoke of our history, of my
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sacrifices, of her pride in me. "I want
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to enjoy this weekend," she said before
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getting into the shower alone. She had a
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strange smile on her face. I must have
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fallen asleep because when I woke the
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sun was streaming through the window. I
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made my way downstairs, finding the
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house silent. I explored the grounds, a
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meticulously maintained universe of its
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own, complete with a heated pool, ATVs,
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and a locked barn with a generator and
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fuel tanks. It was there that Paula
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found me. "Are you fishing?" she asked.
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We spoke of our lives, our work, and the
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oddity of our companions. She confessed
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her role was to ensure everything ran
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smoothly to keep the Golden Boys out of
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trouble. "There's only one way out," I
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said, pointing to the bridge I had
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crossed the day before.
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I looked at her, and in her eyes, I saw
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a woman who understood the game. "I'm
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just here as the designated sober one,"
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she said. "I'll only intervene if
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absolutely necessary." We returned to
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the lodge where the others were by the
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pool. My wife in a black bikini sat on
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Gab's lap, engaged in a passionate kiss.
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I clenched my fists, but Paula squeezed
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"Think before you act," she advised.
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"It's just one weekend in a good
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marriage, and you need to consider your
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family." "But my marriage wasn't strong
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enough to withstand this. Not a night of
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passionate kissing, but an evening of
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pure, unadulterated pleasure.
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I went to the kitchen to heat up some
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food. Gloria followed me. I spent the
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evening with Gabe, she confessed in his
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room. She hugged me from behind. It's
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only for the weekend. Next week, I'll be
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all yours again. I stood still, facing
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away from her. I see, I said the words
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hollow. But what about our 16 years of
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marriage? She laughed, the sound hollow
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That's why I can do this. It's just a
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fling, a little fun for the weekend. She
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released me and left. I heard Gabe
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whisper something and Gloria turned,
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waved, and smiled at me as if everything
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were fine. I returned to the kitchen. My
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wife had left me and humiliated me. The
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food from the microwave seemed
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tasteless. I poured it away and made
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coffee. It was going to be a long night.
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Paula returned. I didn't expect there to
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be caffeine, she said, her eyes studying
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me. Wouldn't something else be better? I
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didn't answer. I just drank my coffee,
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the words still echoing in my mind. It's
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decided, Gloria had said. You can't make
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waves when you work for this man.
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Paula's words and Gloria's betrayal
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swirled in my mind. The screams and
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moans from Gab's bedroom above confirmed
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everything. She was having the time of
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her life. I waited until silence
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descended upon the house. I found a
8:30
flashlight and candles, then went to the
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barn. I found a wrench, a plastic
8:36
canister of gasoline, and a manual pump.
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The hinge on the generator shed was
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rusted, and the wrench broke it free. I
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filled the canister, walked back to my
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SUV, and drove down the mountain. As I
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neared the bridge, my heart pounded. I
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stopped the car and took my time,
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ensuring the gasoline seeped into the
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wood. The bridge, a testament to skilled
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artisans, had been built for the
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pleasure of people who profited off the
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And now I was going to burn it all down.
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The past disappointments, the future