As I was getting ready to lead a group of emotionally challenged teenagers in a personal narrative workshop today, I received a text from My Husband. It read, “Hey, I am going to have tea with that girl I told you about tomorrow (Saturday), you know, the one I dated before you? Let’s have a family day on Sunday?”

My gut felt punched. I doubled over in my chair, pretended to look for something in my bag, and quickly, with superhuman powers composed myself and continued with the workshop to the best of my ability.

It was not easy.

Afterwards, I couldn’t fully articulate why his text bothered me so much. I went to lunch with one of the volunteers with my program. A dear friend and fellow writer. He always gives it to me straight. He didn’t hold back this time either. He helped me see the truth. That I needed to know what My Husband’s real intentions were. Were they to get closer or farther apart?  My Husband’s wanting to see this woman from his past feels different to me than dating someone he just met. It feels threatening and suspicious. Especially after he was vague about his sexual feelings towards me the night before. I was still confused about that. 

I waited a few hours to call him back. I needed that much time to prepare myself.

I told him his text hurt me. He didn’t understand why. I explained that if he wasn’t having sex with me, it was hard for me to feel good about him having sex with another woman.

Then I asked him again, “Do you have any intention of being intimate or romantic with me ever again?”

He said he had no intention of being intimate or romantic with me ever again.

Never. Ever. Again.


The Truth.

I asked for it, and I finally got it.

Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.

I thanked him for it.

I hung up the phone.

And I sobbed alone in my car in front of the Glassell Park swimming pool while families piled in and out of their cars with laughing screaming happy children in tow.

I wanted to die.

Not literally.



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