It happened again.
While out with my sister, I stumbled across an old acquaintance from school. In the course of the conversation, condolences and hugs were offered, stories were shared, and the topic turned to divorce (my sister’s pending divorce and the man’s recent actions to hire a divorce attorney). I silently listened to his Walk-Away Husband story.
“Calling the divorce attorney was really hard!” That call made the end of his marriage real. The failure in his voice spoke volumes. He did the marital counseling, he took the “let’s make it work, I forgive your infidelity” approach. He has just reached the end and already moved out of his home. He didn’t hate his soon-to-be ex-wife. In his words, he’s had enough with the lies. “I just want to be happy.”
Without sharing my own convoluted situation (what IS really going on here? I’m still not sure…but I’ll keep things under wraps until this story is over), I gave him some bits of history from my experience with Husband #1. Here’s what happened with spousal support, this is what I was thinking from the left-behind wife’s point of view, this is how I changed from emotional motivations to more detached motivations with a financial spin…
The night wore on…
And then it started…
Talk about places we’ve both been, places we want to go, things on our bucket lists, people from our past. Our mutual love of travel. My dream of renovating an old farm house and his being a small business owner with a roofing and renovation company. I told him how I have my own compound miter saw and an air compressor. How I laid a Brazilian cherry floor in my home. How I knew about flashing and insulation R-values and switching out my broken three-way light switch.
Not only did I look good in my new White House Black Market top and jeans, I evolved into someone even sexier to him as I talked his language. Dangerously… he was talking my language, too. By the end of the night, the invitations to go to his place were open, strong, flattering, friendly and sincere.
But I said no each time he asked, not just because I hadn’t shaved my legs that day. I said no because my story is still in the draft stage and not finished yet. I said no because I still love Husband #2.
On the way home, my sister shared with me that the Roofer (as I nicknamed him) told her about his desire to take me home. “She’s not that type of person.” Somewhere along the way, my sister saw in me the integrity I’ve built up in regards to loyalty since I committed myself to marriage way back when.
No matter what, I am loyal to my husband-du-jour even if the current situation is difficult. Even though I really do need a new roof…
I have a phone number and an email address for the Roofer, but I won’t contact him. You see, I’ve learned enough about myself to know that I attract injured men. There is something inside of me that they see as magnetic. It is my Siren’s Song. They come to me and get tended to… which is what I’m good at. I wouldn’t call myself a Rescuer, more of a Fixer. They are my old, worn out houses. I work on them, patch them up, restore them to their former selves and make them strong enough… to leave.
Maybe I’m a Husband-Flipper?
What I do know is that I’ve got something inside of me that projects the idea of a perfect person for a rebound relationship. I’ll fill the loneliness gap.
And the Roofer would fill mine.
But that’s not even close to a good enough reason to start up with someone else while wrapped up with Husband #2. No matter what, I won’t get tangled up in a new relationship while still working through the old one.
There are enough issues in my life already.
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