Broken

Susan and I married right out of college. I became an investment broker dealing primarily in Futures and Commodities, and the first few years were lean ones as I learned my trade. Our financial situation turned around after five tough years, and we’d been married for about eight years when we were able to buy our dream home in a gated, upper-income-level community. I drove a three-year-old luxury SUV and Sue drove a small BMW. We were moving up in the world. Everything seemed to be falling into place and the future seemed rosy.

If I could pinpoint the exact day it all began to unravel, was the day about five years ago when I came home and Susan announced that we were invited to dinner. She said one of our neighbors, Carman, had visited during the day and they’d hit it off. She and her husband Raul owned the largest house in our development, a mansion really, a seriously wealthy couple. I’d driven past it several times on my way to the community golf course, and speculated what it must have cost.