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The first time I thought, “He’s cheating on me.” was probably six months into the relationship. It was becoming a regular thing for Sebastian to disappear all night and not answer any of my calls or texts. When I asked him where the hell he was, or why he wouldn’t answer me I got every excuse in the world.

  • My phone died.
  • My phone never rang.
  • I was with friends, over at so and so’s house. No big deal.
  • I was running errands and ran into a few people I know. We got to talking in the parking lot.
  • Phone must have been on silent.
  • You do this all of the time, so I didn’t think it was an emergency.
  • If you didn’t call me 20,000 times in a row maybe I would have picked up.
  • I have no missed calls from you. Are you sure you were dialing the right number?
  • I needed a break. I had a bad day and went for a long walk. Don’t you have bad days?

Yes I’m an idiot who doesn’t know how to use a phone! I’m also a heartless bitch who can’t give you space…

Really when it came down to it, I was desperate for a good reason. If he had a good reason why he wasn’t coming home and not answering his phone then I wouldn’t be upset. I wouldn’t be heartbroken. I wouldn’t be scared all the time. So I took these lame excuses and held on tight. I swallowed my pride, my self respect and my sanity to just let those excuses mean that he wasn’t running all over town cheating on me while I waited at home.

When he was home he was tired, distracted and moody. One day he’d say that he loved coming home to a clean house and that I made it feel so welcoming and the next day he’d yell that he couldn’t stand being here with all of these questions and disappointment. We’d go from loving and sweet to screaming at each other in 1.3 seconds. It was exhausting.

When we weren’t fighting, and he was home, we always had sex. Sex was the one thing we did well, we never fought about how good the sex was. We were both attentive, soft, loving and really needed each other in those moments. In all of the desperation, it’s no wonder that at seven months in, I was pregnant. That’s right.

I was scared to death of what his reaction was going to be.

How could I let this happen? Why wasn’t I more careful? I already had a kid who was just barely two years old and I wasn’t ready for another one. Then I started to picture us with a baby. I started thinking to myself, awe he’d be so sweet as a new dad. I imagined that we’d lay in bed and he’d talk to my stomach. He’d look up at me with all of this love in his eyes and he’d grow up. He’d stop running all over town, come home on time, really try harder at work and we could work together to afford a little house. It wouldn’t be terrible. So I told him. “Sebastian, I’m pregnant.” He slowly turned in his chair, away from his computer towards me, and glared. “You’re what?” he said through clenched teeth. “Yeah I just took a test. See?” as I extended my arm to show him. He wouldn’t look at it. He just turned back around and went back to his computer. No words. In fact he didn’t talk to me the rest of the night.

My mind raced. What did I do? What should I do? Why is he mad at me? Does he think I did this on purpose? Does he think I want this right now? No, screw him. I know I didn’t do this on purpose, it was an accident. These things happen. We’ll figure it out, I told myself as I cried myself to sleep. The next day, he was no where to be found. Didn’t answer his phone all day. I went to work, picked up David from the sitter and came home expecting him to be there. Nope. Where had he gone? When would he come back?

Finally, around 2 a.m., he walked in the door. He grabbed a water bottle and threw himself down on the couch to watch tv. I snuck down the stairs, careful not to wake David, and marched into the living room. “Where have you been? All day, all night? Not answering your phone? I thought something had happened to you!” Sebastian looked startled. He took a deep breath and asked me to sit down next to him. “I think it’s very sweet that you were worried about me. I couldn’t come back until I had some time to think. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.” He held my hand and looked warmly into my eyes. “I just needed to get away and figure out how I felt about this.” Of course he did. I just dumped this big thing into his lap and expected him to just take it and respond correctly?

That all made sense. I calmed down. I apologized for overreacting and freaking out on him. He said he understood. He told me he loved me. Then he coolly explained to me that we weren’t ready for this. It wasn’t the best idea for us to have a baby. David was still too young and we didn’t have a house and we weren’t prepared. Right, we weren’t. We weren’t ready. It was too soon. We didn’t have enough money. We hadn’t been together that long. We couldn’t have a baby. So I agreed to have an abortion. He took me the next week and waited for me to come back out. I walked carefully to the car, emotional and tired. We drove home in silence. Two hours after arriving home, I spoke about how much I hurt and how tired I felt. “You know there were women walking out of there like no big deal and you just keep complaining. Why are you taking it so hard?” I was astonished. “I’m sorry that I don’t know how to have an abortion the right way.” He scoffed and went back to his computer.

I laid there wondering to myself how he could say something like that to me. We were quiet towards each other for the next couple of days. There was no yelling but no sweetness. I was hurt and upset that things had gone so bad so fast. He was spending more and more time out or on the computer. One evening I finally got frustrated and said strongly, “What are you doing that’s keeping you so glued to that thing?” Without evening looking at me he quickly spit out, “Looking for apartments.” I was taken aback and could feel myself already shaking. “Why would you be looking for apartments? We have another couple of months left on this lease.”

“My friend and I are moving in together. Further North. Looking at a new place that you couldn’t afford.” The room was spinning. What does that mean? Did he not want me to come with him? He didn’t want to be here anymore? “So you’re leaving then? When?” I said through a shaky voice. “Soon. I’m not sure exactly.” So that was it. He was done. After everything, did he not love me? Did he not care what this was doing to me? I ran from the room, feeling like the walls were closing in. I made it about five steps down the stairs and started sobbing uncontrollably. What had I done? Why was it so easy for him to be so cold to me? He had given no indication that he was thinking about this. The whole situation didn’t make sense.

He came out of the bedroom and wrapped his arms around me. I couldn’t control the sobs that came out. “Why?” I managed to cry out. “What do you need?” he asked quietly, holding me tighter. “Don’t leave me. I love you.” I said staring desperately into his eyes. He looked back, no sympathy in his face and said, “No you don’t. It’s best if I go.” I cried harder and flung myself out of his arms, running down the stairs to the living room. I must have been there hours. I eventually fell asleep. I spent the next couple of weeks sleeping in the other bedroom and avoiding him when I could. He’d avoid me too then try to hug me suddenly. I let him. Then he’d turn around and leave. Leave me standing there alone. Waiting for him to come back.

By Phoenix Reborn

79 Replies to “When it Rains, It Pours”

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