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The writing was on the wall, he was cheating and had been for a long time, and I needed to make a choice. Did I require proof or did I have the strength to trust my instincts and save myself rather than go down with the ship? The straw that broke the camels back came in September 2007. Our son was six months old, David was five. Sebastian was spending most weekends working on his community service, a requirement of his probation, or at least that’s what he said. He was gone all day and well into the evening most of these “community service” days. According to him, he was helping with the Habitat for Humanity project building houses. He never came home dirty, sore, sunburnt or tired. He did though walk through the door with a sly smile on his face when I asked him if was really “serving” all day, and just said “Of course. Where else would I be?”

This routine had gone on for months. I had a baby, emergency surgery, while still paying all of the bills, full time job and another child to raise and he’s just gone. One weekend, he left early on Saturday morning. I told him that I didn’t feel he was really headed to community service and that I wanted proof. “What kind of proof can I get you?” Sebastian asked, snorting. Now remember, this is before smart phones so I couldn’t ask for a simple photo, I had to come up with something he couldn’t fake though. I realized that in order to prove how much he had worked, there must be some paper form that gets filled out by the supervisor onsite, right? So I said, bring home the signed form with todays date and hours worked on it and I’ll believe you. Half way through the day, I sent a text, “Get your sheet? When do you think you’ll be done?” No response. I called my mom, scared to death, “Mom, I just know he’s going to come home and not have this sheet. What am I supposed to do? I feel like I’ve put my foot down and if this doesn’t convince me, what will?” No one had any answers for me, how could they? This was my call, my gut, my life.

That evening, I heard Sebastian’s truck pull into the driveway. I immediately started shaking, I knew in my gut he wasn’t going to have my proof and that was kind of proof in itself. As he waltzed in the door, I was sitting on the couch patiently waiting. He looked me straight in the eyes, smiled, and calmly stated “Hey, why are you always waiting for me?” I laughed, “Because you’re never here.” He threw his work bag down and went to the kitchen to serve himself a plate of the dinner I had waiting for him. I let him get his plate and walk back into the living room, settling in a seat across the room from me. “Did you bring the form?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly. Sebastian shoved a forkful of food into his mouth, chewed slowly and swallowed with a large gulp. “Nope.” Sebastian said, loading his fork for another bite. My heart broke, right there, he knew what this meant and he just shoveled in the food. I thought I was going to be sick.

I lifted my chin, keeping my voice steady, “Well you knew why I was asking for it and what it meant if I you didn’t bring it. So, I guess that’s it then. Do you need help packing?” I hoped he couldn’t see how badly I wanted to rage, to scream, to crumple into a small ball on the floor and just fall apart. I held it together, watching him eat, staring me down. “Is this really what you want to do? Over a piece of paper?” he said, opening his mouth for another forkful. He seemed unconcerned with the answer. Like he was just verifying a sale price at Walmart on a 2 pack of toilet paper. If I said yes, then my marriage was over and he was saying that it was all over a piece of paper, which of course it wasn’t. It was about the years of loneliness, walking around daily with this sickness of knowing something horrible but never wanting to admit it out loud. Looking at my children, what had I had done to them? Laying next to someone who both repulsed and drew you in at the same time. I had spent so many months, trying to fix this and had to finally face up to the fact that he didn’t care. It’s like he was waiting to see how long I would last. I couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t play this sick game of chicken.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

I rose and went upstairs to begin putting his immediate items into a bag. When I came back down, he sat in the same spot, texting on his phone. He seemed completely oblivious to what was happening. “Here. It should be everything you need for a few nights. We can figure the rest out later.” I put the bag by the front door and stood, waiting for him to say something. He said nothing, he didn’t even glance up. He sat, on his phone, his left leg casually propped on his right knee. Not a care in the world. “Well Sebastian, do you have anything to say before you leave?” That’s when he looked up, the sly smile returned, “No.” Stretching his long body before rising, he let out a sigh. He walked his plate to the sink, threw his napkin in the trash and strolled to the front door. “Are you going to your parents house?” I asked, hopeful. “We’ll see.” he said, picked up his bag and walked out. He didn’t say goodbye to me or his children. He just walked out like he was running to get milk.

I stood there, frozen. He wasn’t going to his parents, he had somewhere to go. He had the ability to walk out of my house, and walk right into someone else’s. I broke. The tears came so fast and so hard that I actually fell to the ground and desperately grasped the carpet attempting to ground myself. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. The children were asleep, and I quickly tried to quiet myself so I wouldn’t scare them. I crawled over to the couch and laid there, tears streaming freely down my face. It was so obvious now, I had been right. I wasn’t crazy, irrational or overdramatic. I didn’t create all of this out of paranoia or spending too much time with my mother. This was really happening. The knowledge of this should have given me some satisfaction but it did nothing to curb the throbbing pain growing in my chest. Being right hadn’t made him stop. Proving that I wasn’t insane had still cost me my marriage. I wasn’t relieved. I was falling apart.

The next day, I sat in a divorce lawyers office, afraid that if I didn’t do it now I’d lose my nerve. The lawyer, Jim, sat very still on the other side of the desk listening to my story with a professional nod every couple of seconds, like he had heard all of this before. I was carrying around my own box of tissues as this point, but was still thankful for his office supply. “So you want to file for divorce then?” Jim asked, quietly, meeting my eyes. “I think I have to”, was the only response I could muster. He nodded his head in response and walked me through the process of what to expect, I honestly didn’t hear most of it. The only thing I could hear was the click of the door latching as Sebastian walked out. Jim asked me a question and I snapped back to the moment, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Jim smiled patiently and restated, “Are you prepared for how bad this could get? There are children involved and from what you’ve told me, he’s not going to be easy to work with. Are you ready?” The question took me by surprise. Did I have a choice, could anything be worse than this? I replied that I was ready and handed over a check.

I wasn’t ready, not any where near ready. I had no idea how bad it was going to get and it got bad.

By Phoenix Reborn

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