Why do I stay with the husband I know is cheating !
I have to share my secrets with someone, or else I shall burst!
I must tell someone my secrets, I have to. I can contain them no longer. It just has not been easy to look upon my husband with eyes of love lately, I have always been quite discrete ... especially in public...as to how I really feel. That bird flew out the window this Monday with the last set of nudes I happened to have spied that were sent for his perusal from that wo(unto)man ( might I mention as I nimbly whisked the phone from the hands of my 5 year-old son to avoid him seeing them as he searched for a car racing game on daddy's phone). I could call her so many names.
My desire to curse her soul to the oblivion of Hades is unrivalled, I imagine myself blasting open her front door with a posse of full-blooded Helga's as we surround her and give her a sound thrashing. I imagine her begging for mercy for ruining my marriage, but...
I know it's not her fault altogether. He invites the advances. He takes the phone calls. He promises to meet her. He appears for her birthday parties.
Yes, parties. She has been around for three and a half years, seven years if you count how long I have worked in the same building with her. We passed each other in the narrow hallways regularly, I admired her hair, she admired my happiness.
So, why do I stay?
Always a question from the piously indignant SHE-RAH.
Well, I grew up with a mother that tried to pretend that I did not exist, for if I did, then she would have to hate me for ending her marriage. My father, who now adores me, then did not desire a second child. By the time my second birthday came around my father was engaged to a bottle of scotch and my mother betrothed to bitterness. She finally absconded from his physical and verbal brutality with myself and my sister one day when he went to work and left my father with a plate, a spoon, a pillow, two bedsheets and a roll of toilet paper and, to this day, she thought herself generous.
I was raised with the constant reminder of the unrelenting harshness this world meets upon single parenthood and while I felt empathy for my mother, my only source of love, I also endured the effects and stigma of single parenthood from the standpoint of a child. It broke me in many ways, to many.
Why, and how, would I willingly do that to not only my five-year-old son but also to my three-year-old daughter.
He may be lousy at fidelity, but he is a committed father.
How could I deny them that love. How would I willingly turn myself into my mother.
So thus it begins........... my journey of admissions, discussions and self-realization, a journey I have invited you to, dear reader.
Simply because I have begun to slowly realize that I am not alone.
Yes ladies, I do have a mirror. The gaze that pierces me whenever I peer into it I sadly begin to recognize in many eyes I encounter, and as the saying goes "the eyes never lie".
You have a friend.
Now please excuse me, we shall continue another day. I must go to check on the children so they don't happen to scamper down the halls while I inspect the third phone he thinks I know nothing about.
p.s- to the indignant among you...... be kind.