A Letter to him - in parts
Did I send some of this to him? Yes, yes I did. I am not sure why. Some were in response to conversations we were having at the time. Maybe I wanted to speak the hurt with some distance and time. With calm and truth. Not the passion that comes from betrayal and new pain and anger. Maybe I wanted to hurt him by reminding him of how we got here. If I am being honest. But mostly I did it because I have written letters before and they have helped. And also my therapist told me to do so. Therapy, you lot. Get. On. That.
But this is in part(s). Because not all things are meant to be public. There are things worth keeping between those directly involved. It's better that way. Ok, fine, and my ten closest friends and family. But that's it. I promise.
The part where I bare my soul. As if I haven't already.
::Early July::
You're telling me you can't. You can't do this. Any of this? All of this? Honestly? Knowing this is no longer my role. Fixing this is no longer my responsibility. So, I don't respond. It's not that I am unfeeling. It's that my role is different now and I don't want to blur boundaries.
Sometimes when I feel guilty about how hard you are working (for which I am and have always been grateful) or when you apologize, I look at an album called "Nope". It has the screenshots, phone records and pictures you two sent one another. The texts to me apologizing and begging for another chance as you were texting her simultaneously. I remind myself that I begged you to stay. I remind myself that I promised you we were in the hardest part and that it was only going to get easier. IF you committed and stayed. And that that wouldn't be the case if you left. That it would, in fact, be harder if you left. Especially financially. [REDACTED] I remind myself that she was scared I would hurt her and I have to wonder what you told her.
I have to remind myself that while I am not blameless, I reacted to an awful situation in the safest and healthiest way I knew. For my children and myself. That is my job, to protect them until my last breath. Even when it almost took my last breath. That was your job, too, by the way. I did everything I could, everything, to save our family because that was always the most important thing to me. The thing I value above all. Still what I value above all. Even thought it looks different than what I wanted and what I thought I had.
I tried to be open minded. I was willing to start again. Even after you said you loved her. Even after you continued to lie and cheat and piss on everything you said was important. Everything I hold dear. Everything I thought you held dear. I stayed longer than I should have and longer than you deserved. I look at the album to remember that.
I know it's hard. I get it. I got up every day for months trying to keep this family together. Years if you count the dark parts of 2014/2015. Counseling and conversations and changing - me, the kids, the house - whatever I thought would help. Ten days after I discovered the Instagram thread, emails and chocolate covered strawberries, I stood in my church and my home, with you, our families and our friends. Baptizing our daughter. Celebrating. All the while knowing so much of it was a farce. That we were celebrating with a family that didn't really exist anymore. I couldn't. But I did. And I did for many more months when I, too, was depressed (or "sick" as you called it). Keeping the kids together and their lives running smoothly. You know, a 7 year old, 4 year old and 6 month old. Loving them. Protecting them. Reassuring them. Answering hard questions. Calming them. All the while I was trying to breathe.
I know you are sorry. I knew you would be. I knew she wouldn't want the stepmom life. I'm sorry it took you losing everything to learn that. This season of life will be hard for you. I get it. It's hard. It feels impossible. But you will get through it. There is no other option. I know from experience. I did "I can't" for almost a year every day. So you'll do it and you'll survive it. I have faith. It will be a fog but it will be done. You can. You will. Because you have to. Like I had to.
::Mid July::
A year ago today, your girlfriend returned to work. You sent her chocolate covered strawberries to celebrate and wish her luck. Those are a romantic gesture. If her colleagues weren't suspicious before, they were then. I told you that. I wonder if you see it now. [REDACTED]
And yet you played the victim and blamed me and my trip. I realize now, too, that you were texting her far more than you were texting me while you were away. Yet you still blamed me.
I am grateful that this happened. But this is why I have nothing left and am done. I was still working my ass off to save this and you were devoting all your time to her and looking me dead in the eye and lying to me and talking about dishes, messes and cooking.
"I would drive this far every day just to see you [name]".
Forgivable? Maybe.
Forgettable? Never.
Because you wouldn't drive that far to see your family. And even though you're [REDACTED], you still refuse to accept that that relationship was romantic - gifts, talking about dating, physical stuff, her sending you songs about making love. That's still denial. Which is kinda ok, because that's not my problem anymore.
::July 29, 2018::
{I sent a collage of four images. Two selfies of her that she had obviously sent him and he sent back with comments. Two of their text string. Where they said they loved each other and he asked her to switch to Instagram as he had almost texted his mom "I love you, [NOT HIS WIFE's name]". Seeing that? A pain I can never describe and, to a degree, I still feel today. Like a year hasn't passed at all.}
A year ago I found these. This relationship WAS like that. No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise. [REDACTED] Also, I am WAY prettier than she is. And that's just on the outside.
[Not proud. I was mad. But, um, it's true.]
I know you're sorry. So, there's that.
::Later that evening::
I have to say, today also holds the ONE truth you uttered between last May and, probably, sometime this Spring. You told me you loved me but that you didn't think it was enough. I left and took the boys to the park. I knew then.
You didn't love me enough to stay and there wasn't enough love to fight for.
I wish I had stuck to my guns and made you leave when I texted you to do so and you were working on my mother's day gift. I knew then, too. I wish I had trusted myself enough to prevent so much collateral damage. Each discovery made it worse for the four of us left here.
BUT, I had honesty this day a year ago, too. You truthfully said it wasn't enough. It's too bad. Because we always were. And [name] never was.
This is my story. These are my words. My feelings. The way I am processing the loss of my partner, my marriage and my family as I knew it. BUT that doesn't mean that this can't be a balm for someone else's wound. I wanted to say don't share because this is so painfully bare. Which became the reason I had to. Share away. When someone else writes your feelings, you feel a helluva lot less alone.