Your husband is a kind man. But you realize this. Only a kind man would have taken you back. Or a fool. And he's enough of both you're not likely to find another. He was my friend. (Cliche, I know, but so it goes.) The kind I could count on or say anything to. He might have remained so if you hadn't constantly harassed him about how you knew he was fucking me. (He wasn't.) Or that he wanted to be fucking me. (If he did, he hid it well.) Or that I was trying to get him to fuck me. (In case you haven't heard, I abstained when the opportunity finally presented itself.)
And maybe it's true that we had feelings for each other all along, but they'd have stayed in Pandora's Box where they belonged if you hadn't hacked the valentine's flowers he gave you into pieces and screamed that I could have him (since he obviously loved me more than you anyway). Or if you'd noticed he was too sick to get out of the car instead of leaving him there asleep (he nearly froze). Or when you pretended to be him online and sent nasty notes about how much you disliked me to my friends. (Did you really think that would work?) Not to mention that amazing trick you do. The one where you turn into Medusa indiscriminately spewing lies as lethal as cobra venom. Like telling your children that their dad was fucking someone else. Even though he wasn't. And didn't. Ever.
That bit really pisses you off, doesn't it? Knowing I represented more than his half-hearted revenge-attempt for all your infidelities. Not that it matters now—he chose to live up to his obligations. He stayed (despite your lies and hurt). So I guess you won in the end. Or did you?
It's true, I can't kiss him or hear his voice on my phone ('cause he's still your whipping boy). And in between calling me a bitch and telling me to stay away from the husband you abandoned, you predicted he would break my heart. And I'd be lying if I said our separation has been easy. But you were wrong. My heart isn't broken. Because he loves me. And you know it.
Rebecca Gaffron is fascinated by sea-green spaces, words, and men who behave like cats.
Share on Facebook
Tweet about this Piece
Poor Mojo's Tip Jar: