56

Now I moved into the ATD (After The Divorce) era.
I thought about the counselor I’d seen for a few months after the divorce. She really helped me. Not by being sympathetic or casting blame, mostly just listening. On our next-to-last session, she surprised me by lifting her blouse out of her skirt and pulling it down a little. There was a pretty big scar on the side of her hip. She straightened her clothes and sighed.
“We were young, sixteen and seventeen thereabouts, and my friend had gotten her older brother to get us some booze. It was mostly liquor, so it wasted us pretty fast. We had gone deep into the woods to keep out of sight and started a fire when it got dark. Not that big, and one thing led to another and then to dares, so one boy jumped the fire. Soon we were egging each other on and we were all doing it. I was on my fifth jump when I stumbled and landed on the embers on my side. I was in the hospital for three weeks and this scar will never go away.”
“I realized after I got my degree that it was a conscious decision I made to jump the fire. The more I did it, the easier it got until I got careless. This scar is my price. The point I’m trying to make here is that you made a conscious decision to have sex with a man outside your marriage, and when nothing happened, when you realized you could get away with it, you did it again and again until you got caught.”
She paused a little before continuing, repeating herself. “You did it again and again until you got careless and got caught. Understand? You can’t rationalize it away as a spur-of-the-moment situation. You choice to continue meant that even though you had jumped the fire a few times and felt safe, eventually you stumbled and fell. The scars you carry are on the inside, and they will never go away, but they will fade as time goes by. The next time you have to make a choice, remember to scratch your scars.”
I thought about that a lot over the next week before realizing she was right. I could have blamed it on X. He showed up at my door, but he didn’t force his way in and everything that happened once the door closed behind him was a mutual decision. Just as the subsequent times were a simple decision on my part.
So here I was. Divorced for four years now. I heard through family that hubby had found someone new. They had been married for a year and have a brand new son.
I started dating about six months after the divorce, but there was no spark with any of them. I admit I did occasionally take one to bed, just to get my needs met. Right after the last one left, I lay in my bed looking back on my life and realized I had to let the past go if I was ever going to be happy again. I got out of the bars and the meat markets, joined a gym, got involved in community activities. As soon as I was fit enough, I did 5 and 10k races. I never once finished in the top ten, but I made a lot of friends.
One fellow runner and I got along so well we trained together. Training led to coffee afterwards, then lunches, then dinners. We had dated four months before he let me into his bed. He was so attentive and caring that I cried after the first time. We were going strong four months later, and he was hinting about going up a level when I told him why I was single.
I wanted him to see me as I had been, and how I was now. I assured him I had been faithful to him from the first date, that the mistakes I’d made in my past were just that, mistakes. Mistakes I had had no intention of repeating. I didn’t know it, but he had been married before, and divorced when he caught her having multiple affairs. In his head ‘once a cheater always a cheater’ was written in stone, and the relationship died. I mourned for a while but moved on.
I found out the next year that God did indeed forgive us for our sins. More importantly, I found a man who could forgive mine. He was older by seven years, but was lean and fit. We met at a race, both crossing the finish line at the same time. I was so happy I had finished I did a little victory dance, lost my footing on the uneven pavement, plowed into him, and we both went down.
Instead of being upset, he laughed! I landed on top of him, and we were nose to nose for a minute. I tried to apologise, and he grinned. “You know, if you wanted my attention, you could have smiled, maybe flirted a little. Tackling was a bit much. However, I will forgive you over dinner tomorrow night. I hope you like French food. ”
He handed me a card out of his gym bag. “Call me and tell what time works best for you. It’s a bit of an upper end establishment, so wear a nice dress.” I was still trying to form coherent words when he cupped my face in his hands and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. Then he was gone.
My running buddies were laughing hysterically. “That didn’t take long, did it? If I knew tackling a man would get him interested, I’d have given that hunky vendor a beat-down the first time he stopped by. Good going, girl. Did you know he’s ranked the fourth highest desirable bachelor in the city? No? Well, good luck.”
The restaurant lived up to its billing. He was casually but sharply dressed in what had to be very expensive clothes, and the tie had to be pure silk. I had on my best dress, one that I had gotten at a tremendous discount because they ripped the hem. One of my hobbies was sewing, so I removed the tear by cutting it out and raising the hemline by a little better than an inch. I thought it enhanced my legs and I must have been right the way my date was looking at them.
The date went well, and so did the next ones spanning an eight-month period. He was fit, attractive, and I had lustful thoughts I hadn’t felt in years. It was more than lust; it was turning into love. I hadn’t felt so happy after making love since before BTA. It broke my heart, but I was truthful. He heard me out, handing me tissues and rubbing my shoulders as I cried. I tried to gauge his expression, and he seemed… amused a bit.
“I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me. I’m not above telling you I’ve developed powerful feelings for you, and that if you continue to see me and it goes farther, I will sign any document, accept any prenuptial agreement you offer, if it means being with you.”
He hugged me gently. “I know all about your former marriage and affair. Yes, I investigated you, invaded your privacy. Understand, I was falling in love with you and couldn’t comprehend why such a beautiful and desirable woman was still single. So, you made a horrible mistake. But it seems you accepted responsibility and the price that goes with it, and that counts for a lot with me.”
He got up, going into his home office, coming back with a small box and a large envelope. He handed the envelope first. “Read this. If you don’t object after you’re through, open the box.”
Before I asked for a pen, I read the papers inside the envelope twice. I signed on all the designated places and gave them back to him. I had just signed an agreement stating that I was on a twenty year probationary period, but if I fulfilled the requirements, it would be void at the end of the term. The contract had only one clause. That I be a loyal and faithful wife. I dropped the box on the coffee table twice before I got it open, crying as I slipped the ring on my finger.
So then, I entered my HEA era. Happily Ever After. I didn’t deserve it, but I learned to live with it, and made damn sure over the years he knew I would never let him down.
I went back home for a school reunion recently and ended up sitting with my ex and his wife. At first it was strained, but it had been fifteen years. We ended up talking openly. I apologized one last time. He accepted it and told me he had long ago forgiven me because the anger and pain were just too much to carry around. I told him it had taken more than a few years to forgive myself, but I finally accomplished it. We spent the rest of the evening talking and showing pictures of our children. We had two, both girls, and they had three boys.
This is the moral of the story. Sometimes good people do stupid things. Even if they didn’t mean to, even if they don’t get caught, it will follow them for the rest of their lives. There will always be a little voice in the back of their brain that whispers, “What if this is the day they find out?” I was arrogant because I truly believed in the back of my lizard brain that if I got caught, Hubby would forgive me. You all see how well that worked.
I watch my girls like a hawk, and when they get old enough to understand, I’m going to tell them about my past, and hope they have the maturity to learn from it and forgive me. I’m also going to tell them a story about scars.
That’s it. My therapist was right. It feels good to get it off my chest. Thanks for reading, and if I helped you made a decision that will stop you from creating a life-altering event, then good. If I didn’t, well, that’s all on you. If you consider it, think about how well you’ll be able to carry the scars.