We sat on the couch holding hands. Our daughter was taking a much needed nap. We were both emotionally spent but there was work to be done. Together, we were discussing how we wanted to move forward. He had made it very clear he wanted to remain by my side. He said he couldn’t bear the pain he caused me and he hated himself for it.
We talked openly and freely. He admitted he had been falling for Paige but for all the wrong reasons. He said it was her vulnerability and pain that spoke to him and he wanted to save her from having to endure more pain. He said their stories were similar. He said he recognized something in her that he wanted to heal inside of himself. He also admitted that if he poured his energy into saving her, he wouldn’t have to deal with his own emotional distress.
I alternated between tears and dry eyes. It helped tremendously that he was genuinely and completely rueful. It helped that his actions supported his words. It helped that he continually reaffirmed his love for me. It helped that he was willing to do whatever it took to heal this, both for him and for us. It helped that I finally felt seen again.
We discussed how we, not he, were going to handle the “I love you” text Paige sent and the complete inappropriateness of their relationship. We discussed his role, her role and yes, my role in all of this. He insists this was 100% him but the truth is, I played a role, large or small, in my husband turning to another woman. What was he missing or needing that I was no longer providing? What needed to be healed inside of him? It turns out, the answer was the same for both posed questions.
It’s ironic, because the more independent I was forced to become, the less he felt needed/loved. The less he felt needed the more inept, worthless and unloved he felt. He sought out someone who idolized him, gave him constant positive feedback and treated him like a hero. He sought out someone who thought he could do no wrong when, in his eyes, my growing independence caused him to feel guilt and as if he was doing everything wrong.
This all goes deeper than the surface. These issues my husband was facing stemmed from a childhood filled with conditional love, constant abandonment and feelings of never being good enough. Big stuff, powerful stuff and all this came to light when we began peeling back the layers.
Monday came and Paige arrived. My husband sat close beside me and began the conversation. He talked about the inappropriateness of their relationship with genuine remorse. He vowed to never allow it to happen again. He made it clear I was his Other, that he loved me and that he’d be staying with me. He made it clear he would do whatever it took to make it work with me.
When it was time for me to speak, I know she was expecting a hail of word bullets to rain down upon her inwardly drawn shoulders and bent head. What she got from me was kindness. I softly said, “Paige. Thank you for bringing to light what is missing in our marriage. Thank you for helping us understand what we need to work on.” 
Upon hearing both my tone and my words, her head shot up, tilted, her mouth formed a small “o” and her eyes widened. She looked at me incredulously and said, “Uh. Wow. I, um, I had great respect for you before but this just …” and she let her voice trail off. I said, “Haven’t you ever been treated with kindness?” She didn’t answer but dropped her eyes to her knees once again.
She tried to apologize for her husband’s and parent’s actions towards us but I stopped her. I told her it wasn’t for her to apologize as they were all adults and made their own decisions.
It was Paige’s dad, not her husband, who had repeatedly called my husband and interrogated him while we were at the hotel. It was her dad who used the most debasing language to accuse my husband of adultery. But it was both her parents who repeatedly phoned my husband to verbally berate and abase him. When he wouldn’t answer their calls, they took turns leaving threatening and harassing messages. They told him they fully blamed my husband.
I had only been privy to one or two of these conversations but I had real anxiety over their verbal onslaught. I was afraid they would pull a knife or gun on my husband, me, Paige or another employee. I put their names and phone numbers in my phone in case they decided to contact me. I set our alarm system when I was home alone. I made sure the doors and windows were locked. I was beyond careful when I left the house. I was over the top vigilant with my daughter. I looked at pictures of them, memorizing their faces. I took professional shooting lessons.
Again readers, you know that I don’t believe in coincidences; somewhere along the line this likeable soul said she would help me or my husband try to heal what was so deeply painful for him (or us). Or, maybe, we told her we’d try to help her heal her pain. Interesting take on things, huh?
I most certainly could have been very bitter and handled the situation differently, but again, if, on some level, this made one of the three (or 4? Maybe her husband played a part in this, too?) of us stronger or helped us heal, why would I verbally abase someone that I had, on some level, asked to play a part in all of our healing? What would that solve? And, as I’ve written before, yelling/swearing doesn’t help; it’s just an attempt to intimidate.
My husband and I both felt good after our conversation with Paige. I felt strong, positive and empowered for the remainder of the day. Paige had sent me a text thanking me for the kindness I showed her and how sincerely sorry she was that her actions caused me and my family pain. She vowed she would never cross any lines now or in the future. I had the fleeting thought that through all of this mess, I had finally gotten my beloved husband back. I had been praying to God for my husband to return and I knew better to question how that happened.
My confidence faded the next morning, though. As the employees, my husband and I were gathering in our kitchen, Paige arrived and as is her way perkily said, “Morning!” “Breathe,” I told myself, “Breathe. You’ve got this.” But I didn’t. I couldn’t meet her eyes and when her perfume hit me, I left the crowd and walked casually to our bathroom.
Once there, I shut the door and all hell broke loose internally. My trembling legs would no longer support my weight and I collapsed to the floor. I bent my legs, rested my forehead on my knees and, in a protective manner, tightly wrapped my arms around my shins. I made myself as tiny as I could. I let the tears come, although I cried quietly. Before long my upper legs were wet with tears. I started hyperventilating so I knew I had to raise my head. I did so and took long, cleansing gulps of air.
Then I heard it; my husband’s footsteps heading towards the bathroom I had sheltered myself in. For the third time in as many days, he was coming to soothe me instead of ignoring my pain. He quietly opened the bathroom door, took one look at me, shut the door and sat down next to me. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me towards him. He passionately and convictedly whispered, “I thought this might happen. What do you need? What will help you?”
I told him I thought I was doing fine. Seeing her again was a punch in my gut that I would have to learn to deal with. He sat by me, held me and stroked my head even though he had employees waiting for him in the kitchen. That spoke volumes.
I smiled up at him through swollen, red-rimmed eyes and thanked him for doing exactly what I needed. I physically needed him next to me when I was in such emotional pain. I needed his constant reassurance and I needed to feel his love. I was broken and he was the glue that was helping put me back together.
He, for the bazillioneth time, apologized for putting me in this position and then kissed my lips ever so gently before extending a hand to help me stand.
This is the fourth in a series of 5 blogs:
Part 1; Affair / Part 2; Betrayal / Part 3; Revelation / Part 4; Aftermath / Part 5; Healing
~ For more background pertaining to this blog, here’s “Liminal.”