Sometimes your heart knows things your physical world has yet to reveal. And sometimes that little voice is right. You are smarter than you think and braver than you believe. I had finally found proof, but I was devastated to learn that I was right. Finding proof of your husbands affair is the furthest thing from validating. Instead it’s a face first plummet into deep insecurity, suffocating abandonment and crippling devastation.
July 16, 2017 (The Beginning of The End, Pt. 2)… I came home to an empty house and two little girls unaware of the new world we had just walked back into. I remember wondering when he’d be coming home. I spent the whole day anxious and on edge, terrified of how to handle him walking back through the door, but the worry was for nothing. He didn’t come home.
It wasn’t until a day and a half later than I received this text:
July 17, 2017 … “Im working a little later tonight for some project work that has to get done and then I will be going to talk with my parents tonight. Not sure what time I’ll be home, but it will be pretty late.”
I hadn’t heard from him in over 24 hours. I had returned to find the house empty. Little E had gone into her little reading nook in our closet, only to come out asking where all Daddy’s clothes were hiding. Little E spent the rest of the day looking for her puppy who she was convinced was playing hide and seek and yet was never found. Little E had stayed up crying in her crib asking when Daddy was going to come give her kisses. Our last conversation kept playing in my head. Those words on the screen were all I could see when I closed my eyes. I had just asked my husband if he was having an affair. And he didn’t deny it. Only to hide out for 24 hours and then text, as if nothing had happened.
My response to his text was calm but direct. I informed him that after the disturbing events that had transpired the day before, coupled with his disappearance, he would not be welcome back into the home until he was willing to talk and be transparent. So we didn’t see each other again for about a week. He didn’t come home to visit his girls until the counselor had encouraged him to do so in our first counseling session.
Session 1: The counselor spent a good chunk of time trying to understand my husband’s refusal to move back home. He stated that it would be a while, could be months, maybe longer, before he’d be “ready” to move back home. We established a visitation plan. He was only willing to visit for a total for a couple hours each week, when it worked with his schedule.
Session 2: I read him a letter of my heartbreak, anger and confusion. He didn’t have much to say and even less of a response. As the session came to an end, the counselor stated that it seemed my husband and I were in two different places. She could tell I was wanting to work towards saving our marriage but wasn’t sure how my husband felt. She didn’t want to waste our money while he sat their silent and uninvolved. So she challenged him to make a decision. He had 2 days to let me know if he was in or out. Whether he was wanting a divorce or wanting to fight for our marriage.
The two days came and went with no word from my husband. The counselor rescheduled a session for us to come in, that upcoming Sunday, which just so happened to be the day following the proof I found of his affair.
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It was Saturday, the day before what would become our last counseling session. He had cancelled on most of his time with his daughters that morning, to attend an all day concert. When pressed on why this concert was more important, he explained that his friend needed him because he’d lost his dad months earlier. He used this excuse a lot because he knew how much I liked this particular friend of his.
The day had passed like any other, our new normal as just the three of us. And as evening came, I bathed the girls, put them in their footie pajamas, read them stories and sang over them. Little E was asleep in her crib as I nursed Tiny N on the couch downstairs, and I did anything I could to distract myself from the noise in my head. I was eager about our counseling session on the following day. I was ready for my husband to come home. I was mad, confused, alone, angry, lonely, devastated, empty but I was ready for my husband to come home. I had no clue where he was but I was sick of having to lie to my hysterical toddler about why daddy’s clothes were missing from the closet and why he no longer kissed her goodnight.
Sitting on our worn-in blue couch, I was nursing my four month old infant to sleep, when a little light bulb went off. I had suddenly remembered the name of the concert that he’d accidentally mentioned and I searched the Vans Warped Tour on Instagram. I was shocked by the style of music and people in attendance. It was not my scene and pretty far from anything I thought my husband was into. That is when I noticed the pink little ring indicating new Instagram stories ready to be watched. So I clicked and watched. I was two stories away from the end of the reel when the camera scanned the audience. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him. My husband. My husband with his arm around her.
The Vans Warped Tour Instagram page has over one million followers. That day in San Diego, there were over forty bands playing on a half a dozen stages. Over 7,000 people attended. And yet, somehow, in a sea of thousands, the two of them were caught together. It only took one little scan of the audience for me to finally have proof of my husbands affair.