Fortunately, the only thing she found was the porn.
There were way worse things on there, diagrams of 3D-printed guns, parcel bomb schematics, a couple lists of names I'd typed up when my temper ran a little too hot. When she stumbled into the folder-inside-a-folder-inside-a-folder and popped open
(more) a couple .MOV files, she figured she'd hit the motherlode, the dirtiest of dirty secrets, enough to convince any judge that her ex-husband was too gross, too corrupt, too deviant to be of any benefit to her children's upbringing -- well, other than the cheque every month.
Truth is, judges usually agree with women regardless of any kind of evidence. Bad father? Enough said. Take the kids and half the paycheque.
I wasn't going to do anything with the schematics and diagrams and lists, probably. Honestly, they served the same purpose as the porn: a momentary escape, release some tension in a fantasy world, something to believe in for fifteen minutes. I wasn't going to hurt anybody.
And really, wasn't it her fault we were here anyway? "To honour and to serve" was a bigger lie than any of the ones I told.
Ah, there. It just happened again. Sometimes it freaks me out how much I've memorized off those diagrams. It always bubbles up when I think about her. How the spring (40 cents from the hardware store) kicks out when the tension from the push plate ($1.75 per square foot from the machine shop) releases at the box flaps are opened, how the 18-gauge wire pulls the blast door open and the friction on the flint creates the spark...
No one can resist opening a package, especially when it's a surprise. Kaczynski said that. And I'd never do it. It just feels good to imagine if I ever could.(less)
