You had, seemingly, what others would describe as the perfect life. Your husband ran many corporations while you worked from home, as a successful children's book author. You both owned a beautiful home on a large stretch of land that you just had to have because you insisted it would be the perfect place to raise kids. A luxury car that you did not want, but your husband bought as it had the best safety features on the market. An exquisite diamond ring that sat upon your finger, sometimes a little too heavy but you never told him that. Anything you wanted, you got. That's why you never dared to complain.
You never complained when your husband started coming home from work later. You never complained when he would be too tired to talk to you. You never complained when he would pull away from your hugs, or avoid your kisses. You never complained when you tried to initiate intimacy but he would always come up with an excuse. All of that, and you never complained. You were naive.
You should've complained.
Maybe if you complained, you wouldn't be sat here, watching your husband on tv, charming the woman who was interviewing him. You studied his handsome face, trying to convince yourself that it's was an act. You saw the iridescent glow in his eyes. The familiar look of being enchanted, the interest, and the familiarity. That's how he used to look at you. A gasp slowly made its way out of you. It's her. He thinks you don't know that he's sleeping with her...but you know. How could you not know?
You stand there, frozen, as all of the questions in your head start to answer themselves. The clay bowl that seemed to be your lifeline at the moment, fell to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. The reality you had built for yourself comes crashing down, breaking as easy as the bowl.
Thanks to mothers who happened to be best friends, you've been in each other's lives even before either of you could walk. You've been there for each other through every major milestone in life. You knew him better than you know yourself but at this moment though, at this very moment, you wish you didn't know. You stumbled onto the arm of the expensive couch, as a blazing hot pain makes its way through your chest. You know what this feeling is. It's heartbreak. He promised. He promised on your wedding day, with his poetic vows, that he would take care of you until you both shall live.
You can't bear to watch your husband look at someone he loves. Someone that isn't you. You grabbed the remote and shut off the tv. You took a moment to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. During your last set of the breathing exercise your therapist taught you, clarity forms. You know what you have to do. You used the house phone to make a call. You hung up and made your way to the kitchen to turn off the burner to the elegant dinner you were cooking, and headed to the bedroom.
You grabbed the essentials. Your laptop and your phone. Your chargers. Your wallet. A few changes of clothes. Some important documents like your passport and birth certificate. You shoved it all into a small carryon bag. Once the bag is closed, you took a step back and let your eyes make their way around your room. With each item that comes into view, memories of your happy life play. They play like the beginning of a beautiful but sad movie.
The sound of the beep of the taxi you called earlier wakes you from your stupor. You grab your bag and head to leave when you remember the heavy diamond on your finger. You quickly backtrack, took the ring off, and placed it on the nightstand. It sat there like an abandoned mine, waiting for it's new owner.
You put on your favourite runners, and put in the security code to the house, for the very last time. With one more glance, you closed the door. Forever. It's not until you're in the taxi and tell the driver your destination, that the tears start. The thing that breaks you the most is that you know it's not a passing thing. You know it's not a mistake. It's not a mistake because he's in love with her.
