“I have an assignment for you.” I emailed later that week. “I want a confession letter outlining everything.” My email was longer than that, but that was the gist. The idea being this was his shot to be 100% honest with me. There would be no miscommunications regarding what was said during this time in our marriage later on. It would be there, in black and white, for both of us to see. And it would be in his own words. No more lies, no more trickling out the truth. I wanted every gory detail.
“You have one week to give it to me.” I said later that evening. I thought that was quite considerate considering the situation. However, I wanted dates and times which required him digging through cell phone records and other documents. He agreed to write it. What choice did he really have though? It was either that, or divorce.
When he handed me the letter, I checked the last page. I was wise enough to request that he end it with some truth statement. I wanted to know that his confession letter was actually truthful and not packed with lies. He included it, which meant he actually read my entire email, kind of like those riders celebrities include in their contracts to ensure only white M&M’s are kept backstage. Only I wasn’t famous.
Things were icy between us that week. He got asked to travel to San Diego for work, which meant another business trip was on the horizon. You know, the exact situation which triggered him cheating. I wasn’t about to let him go alone either. So the three of us went on his business trip, enjoying the pool while he worked.
On our journey home, Viviane fell asleep. It gave us time to talk. I had been pondering one of the things he had confessed to and wanted to double check a few details. Like did he really use a condom, which is what he wrote in his letter. If so, did she have it in her purse? Or was it him? Being the detailed person that I am, I couldn’t shake this feeling that he lied about that part. So when I pressed further, when I asked if he had bought them before heading back to his hotel, or if she whipped it out of her purse, he caved. Through tear filled eyes he said, “I lied in the letter.”
That is all it took for me. I phoned my mom and informed her that I was dropping Vivian off for a few hours. That me and hubby had some talking to do. It was the longest 45 minutes of my life till we finally were alone. I pulled up to our driveway and slammed shut the car door, then ran inside our house and closed every single window.
I then proceeded to scream every profanity known to man while my husband stood stoically at one end of our house, me at the other. Sitting on the floor of our kitchen, I was sobbing. Then screaming anything that came to my mind. “You fucking lied to me. You asshole. You have destroyed our family. You have single handedly ruined everything we built.”
It was a cathartic release. Something primal coming out of me during those dark moments. Up until that point, I had been in control of my emotions. I had handled everything diplomatically. But this was different. This was my moment to let it all out.
And I did.
The following day, I wrote a post on a mommy blog asking for any good therapist referrals. At last check, it had thousands of page views and nearly crashed their servers (ok well maybe not exactly). But it got a helluva response, as if that should have been a surprise. One unintended consequence was that my post got included in their email blast. And I received two emails, from two different friends, who had seen my post. They were offering their support, but at the same time felt as if they had just read my diary or something. Obviously, they felt torn, as if they shouldn’t know about this. But they did. And they wanted to see how I was doing.
That night, after I put V to bed, I cried myself to sleep. The pain was gut wrenching.