The Brutal Truth: Part Six

Posted on | April 16, 2012 | 1 Comment

What on Earth would people think?

That was my primary concern.  From the moment he proposed, I was a woman on a mission.  Husband, house, baby, career… I wanted it all.  Color me a two-story brick house with a side of white picket fence, apron around my waist and husband and dog running around the yard with two kids flying a freaking kite.  It didn’t much matter to me what my husband wanted out of life; I insisted on having what I wanted; what I thought we were supposed to have as husband and wife.   I’ve always been too concerned with what people think, and I “needed” to portray the picture perfect life.

So when he left to drive back to Macon and spend the evening at our old house, all I could think about was what this meant to my plan.  Divorce wasn’t exactly part of my postcard ready life.  Divorce was for “others”… people who “couldn’t keep a man” or “couldn’t keep it in their pants.”  Divorce was not for me, not me with my ruffled apron and Jackie-O sunglasses. I spent the night fretting and worrying over what my friends would think… what my family would think.

The next day, he showed up around four o’clock in the afternoon.  He was sorry.  He spoke out of anger and sadness and hurt. 

He had spent the morning talking to his father and he wanted to try to make things work.

Oh but my pride was so wounded.  My pride was perched atop my head ready to parachute down into the depths of despair and I couldn’t just let him walk back into our lives.  I turned him away, telling him I needed a husband who wanted to be married to me WITHOUT having to be told to by his father.  Was I justified? Yes.  Was I harsh? Oh my yes.  He had acted out of turn.  He had written his own script.  He had not done what I expected him to do as the husband in my master plan.

It wasn’t going to work. 

Deep down, we both knew that.  Deep down, we were both biding our time, wishing the other would do something to end all the hurt.  For a week we struggled to talk to each other, struggled to look at each other, struggled to remember if and when we were ever friends.  That next weekend he had plans to go out of town with a friend.

Of course I wondered. 

Of course I assumed it wasn’t Michael he was going to see.

But I needed further proof that it wasn’t going to work.  I needed something concrete, some indisputable sign that said “Divorce is your reality.”

He left from work on Friday afternoon.

By Friday night, I had my definitive answer.

To be contined

Comments

One Response to “The Brutal Truth: Part Six”

  1. Julia
    April 16th, 2012 @ 1:14 pm

    I understand this. I understand the fear of judgement of others and losing the picture perfect life you created in your mind. I understand wanting a definitive answer of the future. I am on the edge of my seat following these posts, because, I totally and completely understand.

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    Spilled Milk (and Other Atrocities) by Law Momma is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
    Based on a work at http://www.law-momma.com.
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