For a time, the texts and calls seemed like a drumbeat, an inexorable march to violent conflict. Rob's violent outbursts in front of his wife and kids were alarming. Also, Rob is a gun guy. I know this because when he gave me the tour of his house, the tour stops consisted of his gun collection, his rack of free weights, and his posters of steroided-up militia brandishing giant guns.
I looked at the baseball bat next to my bed, and it looked feeble indeed. So I went through the 24-hour drive-thru at Cooter McNugget's Gun and Liquor Emporium and got myself a gun.
I jest about Cooter. Plausibly.
(An aside. This is one of my favorite stores ever: they sell hardware, guns, and liquor. I just love that this combination exists.)
Anna's work on the charity was noticed by community business leaders, and out of the blue, they offered her a job. I was thrilled. So was she. She's not qualified to do anything, you see. She's uneducated and had devoted her prime to raising a Nazi's spawn. She was trapped. This offer was a get-out-of-jail-free card.
The next day, Rob came home and said that they were moving to Germany. He'd magically been transferred.
My heartbreak for Anna and contempt for his clumsy sleaze were mitigated by my happiness for myself. He was moving thousands of miles away from me. I would have preferred he died outright, but this was good too.
CUT TO: THREE YEARS LATER
Now they're back, and I haven't heard a peep from him. He's been busy moving in with a bar skank 18 years his junior and 9 years older than his daughter. Godspeed, bar skank. The kids tell me they really appreciate listening to all the sex.