Family Disease

The aftermath of finding someone in my house, and the understanding of what Sebastian was willing to do to get what he wanted haunted my every thought. Every move was done in a fog of doubt, dispair, anger, sadness and all at once. The next morning I woke feeling like I had lived 100 years in one night. My unborn son adjusted himself in my stomach and I cried. What was I bringing this child into? What did my other children know? Had they seen him? Had they met other people in their house hoping to get water one night and their father forced them to keep the secret? I hoped that they slept through his worst actions, and were protected by their ignorance. I walked down the stairs and found Sebastian in the same place I had left him. Curled up in a ball on the couch, back to the room, sleeping deeply. As I stood over him, watching him sleep, I was overcome by grief. A part of me, that believed in who this man was, died last night. I was suffering loss on a level I had never experienced. And yet, I loved him. I loved and I wanted to smother him, all at the same time. I wanted him to feel the pain, the love, the link that I felt. Then I wanted to take that knife of pain and twist it, then repair the wound for him and move on. I wanted to be everything to him, and this morning, I was nothing.

Sebastian opened his eyes and turned to me. He held his arms out and asked me to lay with him. I laughed out loud. “You think I want to lay with you? I’m down here to ask if you deleted those profiles yet? I don’t want to be touched, I can barely look at you.” Sebastian sighed, lowered his arms and sat up. “No, I have not removed the profiles yet, but I will. I was just hoping that you came down here to snuggle with me. I understand why you can’t look at me. You think I want to be like this? I want this family. I want my life with you and the kids.” Sebastian rose to get ready for the day. I struggled to control my voice as I simply said “I have to wake the boys.” I didn’t know what I thought. I was so disgusted, scared and humiliated that I couldn’t get past those feelings to think about his feelings. From there on, we had a normal day. A normal couple of days, with me avoiding eye contact and him begging for physical comfort. I slept on the couch, he took the bedroom as he refused to leave hoping that I would just stay in the bed. I didn’t. I dragged myself down to the couch, 6 months pregnant, and managed to sleep.

He finally asked after about a week of this pattern, “Do you want to try counseling?” I didn’t want to try counseling, because he never really took it seriously. I was trying to figure out if I had the courage to leave. If I wanted to raise three kids as a single mom. If I could leave my company, my house, my life and my thoughts of the future behind. I didn’t want to listen to his excuses. I didn’t want someone to tell me to leave. I just wanted to have hime confess what he’d done, and do better. When confronted with questions of why, and how and WHY, Sebastian simply stared off in the distance and said “I don’t know.”

The only comfort I had in my own house, was with my children. In them, I could be happy, complete and grateful. I hugged them more, asked for snuggles more. I tried to listen to them talk about their day, but I couldn’t focus on anything but my own pain. I was afraid to ask them if they had ever “seen Daddy at night doing funny things” because it didn’t seem fair to them, and I didn’t want to know the answer. My boys had a great relationship, they really enjoyed spending time together and they typically kept each other busy enough that I didn’t have to monitor them too much. One day I came upstairs to tell them that dinner was ready. My youngest son, 7 years old, had his door shut. That was odd. We don’t have a tendancy to shut doors unless we’re in the bathroom. I opened his door and, to my utter disbelief, found my oldest son pulling up his pants. My brain malfunctioned, I didn’t understand. “What are you doing?” I croaked out. David, 12 years old, responded with “Um, playing.” I quickly escalated my voice and nearly shouted “What would you be playing that you’d take your pants down?” At this point, he started to tremble. His face turned bright red and I no longer needed to ask questions. I knew. I stepped back and told him to go to his room. I instructed Douglas to go downstairs and eat as calmly as I could manage. David slipped past me and ran to his room. I followed him and closed his door. He slumped down on his floor and stared up at me with a terrified expression that broke my heart but that I was too scared to recognize. “David, what have you been doing with your brother?”

David shifted, looked towards the floor and whispered “Nothing.” I stood as still as a statue, surprised that I could still hold myself up. “David, I saw you. How long has this been happening?” David shifts again and puts his hands under his thighs. “Only a few times.” My mind is reeling. How many times have I left them upstairs alone? How long were they upstairs? Was the door closed a lot? All of those evenings, Saturdays, Sundays that my kids were playing so well together. The hours and hours that I couldn’t account for. I was so lost in my own messy bullshit, that I had no idea. I can only feel shame. I can only think of how terrible I am that I would allow this to happen. “How did you learn about this? To even know it was a thing?” I asked this with so mush strain that he looked back up at me, new fear on his face. “I don’t know.” And now all of the thoughts racing through my head are …

Oh God Sebastian, what have you done?