I Taught 19 Men How to Moan My Wife's Name

I had a 102°F fever and just wanted to call in sick, but my wife’s assistant shot me down and forced me to work overtime.

“Fern’s off enjoying Hawaii with her 18th boyfriend,” Jordan Wamsley said. “I’m in charge of the company now. Without my permission, don’t even think about stepping out of this office.”

The bastard was doing it on purpose, hoping to earn a spot as my wife's 19th boyfriend.

I wasn’t having it. I called Fern directly.

She answered coldly, “Jordan speaks for me. It’s just overtime—what’s the big deal? Stop being such a whiny little bitch.”

That was the last punch I was willing to take. “Let’s just get a divorce.”

Fern just scoffed. “Jarrett, you really think you have the balls to divorce me? You’re always yapping about it, but don’t forget—your mom’s medical bills still come out of my check every month.”

As soon as the call ended, Jordan fired off a poll in the company group chat.

[Jarrett’s threatening divorce again. Y’all think he means it this time?]

Fern’s vote popped up instantly.

[Bluff]

This time, I was already halfway out the door.

This time, I meant it.

——

Jarrett’s POV

Word spread like wildfire. The company group chat blew up in seconds.

[Come on, pigs would fly before Jarrett actually files for divorce.]

[Dude’s just saying it for attention again. Somebody tell him to grow up!]

[Guy lives off Fern’s money and still acts like a diva. Without her, he’s homeless lol]

Everyone voted. [Bluff]

Fern was loving every second of this. She even dropped a screenshot in the chat—proof she’d just Venmoed everyone a little “thank you” bonus for clowning me.

My colleagues all said thanks—and then took turns roasting me.

I just smiled to myself, tapped [Truth] on the poll, and typed out one line.

[Already had my lawyer draft the divorce agreement.]

Right after that, I left the group.

Almost instantly, Fern DMed me.

[What the hell do you think you’re doing? Trying to embarrass me on purpose? Want me to cut off your mom’s treatment?]

I replied. [Go ahead.]

For eight years, she held that threat over my head.

She never gave me a paycheck.

Almost always, she forced me to eat other people’s leftovers in the break room like I was some stray animal.

She made me shop for gifts to reward her boyfriends.

Made me watch—as she kissed them, touched them—right in front of me.

I lived in a half-finished room, slept on cardboard, and played the obedient husband just to survive.

But that version of me? He’d had enough.

Last week, I landed a major client deal—nearly puked blood doing it—but I got it done.

In front of the whole office, Fern promised me a 45k bonus.

That’s enough to cover my mom’s surgery.

And I’ve got other offers now. Better pay. Real respect.

So I started packing my things—even with my head pounding—ready to walk out.

That’s when Jordan blocked the door.

“Who said you could leave?” he sneered.

I held up my resignation letter. “This.”

He snatched it from my hand—and ripped it to shreds.

I stared at him, unimpressed. “Bro, no need to play tough. If you’re that desperate to be Fern’s 19th lover, I’ll help you out.”

Coughing hard, I pulled out a notebook from my drawer. “Here. Everything she likes—written down. Styles, gifts, sex positions.”

Every time she added a new boyfriend, I had to coach them through a few ‘training sessions.’

I called it 100 Ways to be Fern Schnitzer’s Boyfriend.

The motherfucker grabbed the notebook but still wasn’t satisfied. Instead, he started a video call in the company group chat.

Within seconds, the whole office joined—including Fern.

She was lounging on a beach chair in Hawaii, cocktail in hand, grinning like the devil while Boyfriend #18 massaged sunscreen all over her half-naked body—his hands going places they had no business being.

“Fern,” Jordan began, faking a shaken voice like a high school tattletale.

“Jarrett’s refusing to work, ripped up a company doc, shouted about quitting, and even called us both motherfuckers. I—I don’t know what to do with him anymore. Your call.”

This son of a bitch had already taken what he wanted out of me and still wasn’t satisfied—now making up crap and dropping rage bait just so he could kiss my wife’s ass!