There are times I wish I didn't discover the texts and instagram messages and emails and photos. Truth be told, he wasn't that smart about it. I didn't have to try that hard. But there are times I wish I didn't know. Not because I want to deny the truth or pretend it didn't happen as long as it did but because things can't be unseen. I have deleted them from my phone. Though they are safely stored for the lawyer. But I can't access them with the touch of a button. Frankly, there is no need. I can see them all plain as day in my mind. Some stand out more starkly than others. But the gist of all of them are totally there. Stupid memory.
We are coming up on the anniversary of the first time I met the prostitot. Yeah, I know it's not nice. Trust me, she had been called worse. But she was young and I was mad and even in my anger and sadness, snark always remains. I am who I am. I brought the kids to see him and she was there. Took some pics of the family for us in all our green finery and even held the baby. Held. The. Baby. I told you she knew me. I was not some vague idea of a wife. She knew me. Held the baby. If I knew then? I probably couldn't have stopped the affair but I sure as hell would not have let her hold my daughter. Clearly still working through some anger. It's ok. Breaths. Deeeeeeeeeep breaths.
I can see the texts in my mind. Promises of royal treatment, complaints of unhappiness, of wanting out, of the joy that awaits. You know what he has truly found on the other side of those texts? Loneliness and regret. An empty, sparsely furnished apartment where the boys spend less than 30 hours there every other weekend. You know what he hasn't found? Happiness. Or the girlfriend either. Amazing how things change once the wife says - please, go ahead, he's all yours and, actually, thanks.
In my mind, while the end doesn't justify the means, he was supposed to be happy. That was the point. That was why, for him, it was worth throwing away 13 years and three lives. He was going to be happy. It would be worth it. The risk and destruction. And now? He tells me - I am not happy, if it makes you feel any better. I honestly thought it would and, of course, for a while I wanted him to be as raw and broken and devastated as I was. To hurt and writhe and squint into the sun and light of day as I did. But that's not me. I don't wish him to be miserable. It's not good for my kids or me or anyone. I don't wish misery on anyone. I don't.
BUT, it pisses me off when he says that to me. Right the hell off. Like a) I am the type of person who would revel in that and b) I am supposed to have sympathy. Um no and oh hellllll no. The point was he was going to be happy. The texts promised that. He broke that promise. I guess we can just add it to the list. But he was supposed to be happy and while none of this behavior here is justifiable, part of me thinks it would hurt a bit less and seem a lot less fruitless if he was. Like, ok, I did this awful thing but it was worth it because I am happy and now my children can benefit. But he's not happy. What the french toast am I supposed to do about that? Because his happiness? No longer my job, man.
Me? I am happier. I am free. He broke me in that the person I was meant to become could step into the light. Listen, I am not sending him chocolate covered strawberries in thanks. I am just saying, I totally got the better end of the deal. Still, he made promises. To me. His girlfriend. His kids. His family. Himself. He broke them. To all of us.
Thanks for coming along on this journey with me. Think that what I am saying is worth sharing? Please do. It'll help a girl out!