I wanted to hurt him. To humiliate him. To go next door to our neighbors and borrow a baseball bat, then start bashing in every single one of his car windows. In public. That should suffice to get the neighbors talking and no doubt, they would put two and two together and know something awful had transpired against me. I don’t know why I dreamt of these things, but I did.
Perhaps it was because I was pregnant.
Not pregnant as in going to deliver any second pregnant. Try just ten weeks along. Yeah, we had just found out. Just gotten past the ‘oh my gosh, we are really having a second child’ phase. Long enough to feel all the familiar subtle symptoms. Long enough to start dreaming if it was a boy or a girl this time. And long enough to feel utterly conflicted as to why he didn’t feel the need to confess this to me prior to bringing another child into our family.
I was beyond angry.
I felt he timed his confession, at the most inopportune time, to ensure I would stay. That isn’t to say, I didn’t think about leaving him all the time. Trust me, I did. But we had a child together already, and one on the way. And I wasn’t about to go and become a “martyr” at that point, just to prove how strong of a woman I was. “Oh look at her. Poor thing. Raising two kids all by herself, after her husband cheated on her”. Fuck that.
“Why should I be the one to suffer more, when he cheated on me”, I thought. No I wasn’t going to move out, to deal with finding a new home. To pack up and start over. Become a single mom day in/day out. No way. He was going to deal with seeing all my pain each and every day.
But before moving forward, we needed space to try and figure things out. So I did what every wife in that position would do: I kicked him out of the house. To my mothers house in fact. That in itself, was real punishment right there.
He doesn’t have any family living by us. In fact, they live several continents away. Plus he didn’t want to involve any friends at the time. So that was the plan. To my mothers house he went…..
….until my oldest child starting peeing in her pants 10-15 times per day.
Despite arriving back at our home before waking up each morning and despite being there for the bedtime routine, kids figure stuff out. They are like sponges and my oldest, which I will refer to as Vivian (V for short), sensed Daddy wasn’t just over at grandma’s helping her unpack (she had just moved). That excuse only worked for so long. Clearly she was being deeply affected by everything going on between us, even though we tried to shield her.
So two weeks later, I asked him to move back in.
Needless to say, I knew this was not going to be easy.