I pulled back the covers, the bedding that we received at our wedding shower five years before now, and saw a sleeping Husband curled up and out of it. He lay still in the dark and his curly black hair was mangled.
I tore the covers off his body and threw them in a pile on the cold tile floor. I was enraged. I could barely see straight. If I could have, I would have shot him with small tiny daggers and killed every molecule in his body. Instead, I screamed, “Who is she? Who the f* is she?”
I heard mumbles, muffle, and more mumbles in return. “Who told you? Who have you been talking to? Carol?” he asked.
“Who the hell have you been talking to everyday?” I yelled in return.
Finally, a quiet and tired response crossed his lips, “Rachel.”
Rachel. Rachel was the person who was now in my family and I didn’t even know it. She was the one in bed with my husband. She was the one who had sucked all the time away from my family outings, family dinners, and left me alone with the six-month-old baby and a four-year-old. She and Husband made me a single mom in an instant. Husband did this to us, but Rachel had played her part.
Relief. I actually felt relief for a split second as well. I wasn’t crazy. The husband was seeing someone else too. Part of me knew it before I saw the phone numbers on the computer last night. My heart knew it.
There were signs: a black backpack that was carried to and from the car, and laundry being done immediately upon entry in the house. There was the pick up truck. He told me he would spend the night in the pick up truck because he didn’t want to drink and drive when coming back from the casino; too dangerous for him. There were also the late nights, where I stayed home and wondered where he was and when he would be home. Not to be forgotten, Husband spent extra time in the bathroom and never left his phone unattended. Signs. I guess there were other signs too.
Then there was Valentines Day. Husband walked in the door at 11:00 pm to find a plate of chocolate chip cookies that I baked for him because I knew they were his favorite. The cookies were sitting next to a framed wedding photo. They were on the counter. Husband didn’t even look at the photo or take a bite of the cookies. He ran to the bathroom as fast as he could. That was when I knew about “her” my heart, but tonight was when I knew in my head.
To be honest, I can’t even remember the conversation that lasted the rest of the night. There was yelling and crying, and lying on Husband’s part. He said they just talked on the phone; there was no sex. Lie. Lie. Lie. I knew it was all a lie.
He had to leave.
“Get out! Get your stuff and get out! I don’t ever want to see you again.”
“What about the boys? I want to be part of their life!”
“You should have thought of that before you started f*cking Rachel. Was she good? Was she better than me?” I hissed.
“No. I want to be with you. You are my wife. You are my family. Let me sleep on the couch downstairs. We can work it out,” he replied.
I knew that my life would never be the same. Single mom. Alone. In pain from the sex the night before. Afraid.
The door opened and shut. It was 5:35 in the morning when he walked out the door, never to live with me again. I heard the sound of his white F-150 engine ignite. He left our family in the dark that morning.
I rubbed my eyes, cried into my pillow, and had to pick up the pieces in the next hour before my one year old and four year old woke up. I had to be strong. I was their mommy and I had to find a way to function for the rest of the day. I needed to make it to the doctor’s office to see what was wrong with my insides.