Prior to all of this happening, I had made plans with my niece, Michele, who is my twin-from-a-past-life. She was born when I was six so she is much more like a sister than a niece. She recently moved to Fargo and we were to have a much anticipated Girl’s Night out. All day long I thought about cancelling but in the end I decided to meet her.
She only knew what had transpired from a few short texts I had sent her at 4 in the morning. These texts were filled will fear as she was the one I reached out to when Paige’s husband and dad were outside our hotel room door. I needed someone to know what happened to us if shit got too real. Even now, almost a year later, I can’t bring myself to type, “If we were killed” or “If we were shot to death” so I’ll keep it to “if shit got too real.”
I hoped by sharing my pain, and maybe some laughter with her, it would be just what I needed. I also needed to put a little bit of distance between me and my husband. I’d hoped to find some clarity, some direction. As is the way of fate, it had other plans and they came in the form of an attentive listener named Kenny.
Kenny is one of Michele’s besties. He was in town for the weekend and we graciously allowed him to join us on our coveted Girl’s Night. It was Kenny who, unknowingly, delivered the final piece of the puzzle in the form of relating a conversation he once had with a gal pal. I have to say, God orchestrated this so beautifully and so subtly that I wouldn’t understand the true reason Kenny told this story until the following morning. That’s when the proverbial “other shoe” dropped. That’s when I finally understood what the Guys meant when they said there’d be more.
Kenny told a “random” story about how one of his gal friends had formed a deep friendship with a man who was not her husband. She would tell this man stuff she wouldn’t tell her husband; stuff about their marriage, her likes/dislikes, etc., and this married man would reciprocate. Kenny told her she couldn’t have a friendship like that outside of her marriage; it just doesn’t and can’t work. Then he put a name to it; he told her she was having an emotional affair.
And there it was; the smoking gun delivered by a quirky, well meaning, story-telling pawn. Bless your gentle Irish heart, Kenny. Truly.
The next morning our daughter was eating breakfast, I was hand washing some dishes and I asked my husband, “So how do you plan to proceed with Paige?” He said he’d talk with her about the inappropriate declaration but he really didn’t see anything changing as far as their friendship. He felt she was in a bad place, marriage wise and he wanted to be available to her in order to help her with that. He said he’d do this for any of his employees.
I continued to wash the dishes and over my shoulder said, “You can’t have a relationship like that outside of your marriage. It just doesn’t work. You should be sharing that stuff with me. You can’t have that type of friendship with a person of the opposite sex outside of your marriage.”
That’s when it hit me. That’s when I finally understood what my brain had been trying to protect me from. I remember turning away from the sink, drying my hands on a towel and looking at him. Things were happening slowly inside my head. I opened my mouth, truly not having any idea what I was going to say and the words, “Oh my God. You’ve had an emotional affair” gushed out.
I was still processing these verbalized words while I began to rapidly blink my eye lids. What the fuck? Who said that? Was it me?? It didn’t feel like me or sound like me but I think it must have been me. Shock. As I looked at my husband’s face, his God damn beautifully handsome face, I saw that he, too, had just learned the truth. I watched as his face crumpled. He clearly hadn’t known or understood that his deepening friendship with Paige had become adulterous. It was just as much news to him as it was to me.
His eyes tore themselves away from mine for just a few seconds before they fluttered up to reconnect. He said something along the lines of, “Yes. You’re right.” I don’t remember the exact wording but I remember I loved him even more for owning it.
My right hand fluttered to my upper chest and then to my mouth. My eyes broke contact and I gazed toward the ground. I said, with a voice full of despair, “Oh my God. Oh MY GOD! That’s it! You’ve had an emotional affair!”
Everything was happening in slow motion. I started to turn away from him in order to grab the counter top for support. Before I had completed my turn, he was in front of me slipping his arms around me. I folded like a rag doll on to his chest. My arms went up to his shoulders and I rested the side of my face on his chest. I remember taking in a deep, ragged breath. Had I been breathing?
I pulled my head back, still staying in the safety of his arms, and looked at his tortured face. I robotically and repeatedly moaned, “What have you done? What have you done?!” After the third or maybe it was the hundredth time, I returned my head to his chest and heaved a visceral howl that seemed to continue for an eternity. He placed one hand on the back of my head, pulled me tighter and gently, compassionately whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
Our 4 year old, ever my champion, said, “What mommy? What mommy!? WHAT MOMMY!!” I couldn’t answer her. I remember a part of me was wishing she wasn’t witnessing this and then, at the same time, I was glad I wasn’t hiding my tears/pain from her as my parents had done to me. She switched tactics and demanded, “Daddy! What have you done to hurt mommy!!? What did you DO!! You shouldn’t do that, daddy!! You do NOT hurt mommy, daddy!”
My husband did the best thing he could have done for me; he held me. He let me wail. He let me curl my hands into fists and hit his shoulders. He let me incoherently mumble, “What have you done!?” a trillion times. He could have left me standing in the kitchen all alone. He could have become incredibly angry. He could have pushed me away. He could have done a plethora of distancing responses, but instead he innately did the only thing I truly needed; he held me. Tightly.
This is the third in a series of 5 blogs:
Part 1; Affair / Part 2; Betrayal / Part 3; Revelation / Part 4; Aftermath / Part 5; Healing