My Husband's Affair Became the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me (18 page)

Before long Danielle came inside and gave me the phone.

“Hello?” I said, curiously.

“Hi,” said Brian. I couldn’t believe it. Had this been my daughter’s opponent for the past twenty minutes?

“Listen,” he said, “Danielle phoned Helen this evening and swore at her. This behavior is totally unacceptable. You need to get
your
children under control.” I was outraged. In the past, Brian had always referred to our children as
our
children, even when they misbehaved.

“This is not how my children are allowed to behave,” he continued. “I want you to do something. You get your daughter under control. She is not allowed to phone Helen and she is certainly not allowed to talk like that to anyone.”

“Listen,” I said. “I have no idea about Danielle phoning Helen, but if it’s true that she did, then I can imagine what kind of language she might have used, and I want you to know that I’m not going to do a thing about it. I suggest that you get the log out of your own eye, before you go around worrying about the speck in your children’s.
²
Our children shall not be required to behave at a standard higher than that which their own father requires of himself.”

“Anne, this is different ...” Brian began.

I cut his objection short. “No, it’s actually not one bit different. I’m not going to do a thing about it. If Danielle felt she needed to talk to the woman her father is leaving her mother for, so be it. She has every right,” I said. “My decision is final. I’m not changing my mind. Good-bye.”

I slammed down the phone. I had never spoken so assertively to my husband, and it felt rather good. I could feel my heart pounding, as if I’d just delivered a sermon on human rights to the Ku Klux Klan. I was sure I was right, and I was rather impressed with my rebuttal. A man walks out on his family, and then expects them to exemplify characters on
Little House on the Prairie ?
Guess again. Every action comes with a price.

2. Biblical reference to Mathew 7: 3-5

CHAPTER 12
our children 

DAY TWELVE—SATURDAY, MAY 27, 2 000
The Child

I am a person beginning my life

Starting my journey to grow.

Absorbing all your nourishment

To teach me what to know.

I listen and your voice shows me

The way I should speak my mind.

Will you teach me to yell and criticize

Or to be respectful and kind ?

I reach for your hand to lead me

Into a world full of hatred and love.

Will you teach me to touch with gentleness

Or react with a punch and a shove?

I crave the knowledge inside your brain

It’s much more vast than mine.

Will you encourage me to want to learn

Or make my desire benign?

I feel what your heart is saying

Even though it’s not said aloud.

You cannot hide your thoughts from me

I know when you’re disgusted or proud.

For I am a child living in your world

And each thing you do impresses me

That’s why I watch each move you make

For what you do, is what I’ll be!

AUTHOR UNKNOWN

On Day Twelve I awoke to an already hustling and bustling household. It was a special day: Danielle would be attending graduation ceremonies with her boyfriend Jason. This was the day she could show off her soft lilac silk gown and white beaded purse.

Danielle had a tendency to panic under stressful conditions of this nature and I was already feeling too weak to deal with the slightest additional stress, so although part of me hoped more than anything that I could help Danielle have a great day, another part of me was afraid to face it.

Brian and I were invited to a pre-ceremonies get-together with Jason’s parents around six o’clock. I was stressed about that because I had no idea whether Brian planned to show up or not, whether he cared or what I was going to say to Jason’s parents. I would have given anything to find some tactful way of getting out of this engagement.

In the afternoon, Danielle had an appointment with a hairdresser, to have her hair done in an expensive and elaborate do for the special occasion. At about half past four, I watched Danielle’s hair receive its finishing touches at the beauty salon.

Suddenly she blurted out, “Quit staring at me mom!” It was rude. I felt embarrassed and humiliated. Attempting not to make matters worse, I took a seat that faced a different direction. It was obvious that Danielle was once again on the brink of exploding.

On the way home Danielle was saying that she didn’t like her hair, and it wasn’t what she expected. I reassured her that she looked beautiful (which she did), but it didn’t help, and inwardly I agreed that it wasn’t the best style for her, yet I dared not say so.

Upon arrival home, Danielle ran to her room, looked in her mirror and started to sob. “You look beautiful,” I offered trying to comfort her. “No, I don’t. I look like Curly Sue!” she shouted. I stared, feeling sorry for her, wanting to help her, yet not having the slightest idea how.

“I’m not going,” she announced. Seconds later I could hear her on the phone scolding her innocent date, telling him she wasn’t going and offering no explanation.

The stress was overwhelming. It seemed impossible to encourage her.

At this moment Brian came home. I greeted him cautiously doing my best to appear happy. I prepared him a plate of food, serving it to him in front of our newly hooked up television, where he was already sitting staring at a hockey game. Then I sat down on the sofa beside him. He kept watching and eating, but said nothing to me.

Moments later Danielle was peering down the stairs, seemingly having gathered herself together, “Mom, can I talk to you privately for a minute.” I headed back upstairs hoping I could handle whatever was about to happen next and wishing I had Brian’s emotional support on this high stress day, but I didn’t.

“I’m going to the grad after all,” she told me. “Jason talked me into it. I just love him.” The female teenage roller coaster was in operation at full speed! At this moment we seemed to be back on top. I went back downstairs to ask Brian if he would still be coming with me to meetJason’s family as promised two weeks ago. “No,” was his answer.

I wanted to cry.
How could I now be emotionally so far away from my husband ?
I wondered.
If only Brian would kiss me. If only he would reassure me. If only he cared about what I was going through.
Instead he was distant, uncaring and aloof.
How could he leave me to deal with this alone? What was I going to tell Jason’s parents?

I thought about not going, but reasoned that would be worse. Hopefully, I wouldn’t have to be there for very long. I wished I could understand why Brian didn’t want to be married to me anymore, but at this point the only explanation I had been given was that it was because I didn’t like sports.

“Time to go,” Danielle announced from down the hallway in her bedroom. We headed for the car.

“Isn’t Dad coming?” She questioned.

“No, I guess he’s not.”

“What are we going to say Mom?”

“Don’t worry, Danielle. It’ll be alright. We’ll apologize and explain that he had to work.” She looked sad. “Danielle, this is your special day. You go and have a great time, and don’t worry about your father. Don’t let your dad spoil this day for you.” She smiled as if resolutely closing a door to a part of her life, and then swinging open a different door that hopefully would lead to a better place. I was proud of her.

Jason’s parents greeted us kindly. They complimented Danielle on her appearance and I complimented Jason on his. He was a nice young man and well-mannered. Danielle’s stunning appearance and confident, outgoing personality no doubt won her a lot of grace from the many young men who were interested in dating her.

“Where is your husband?” Jason’s mother questioned.

“Oh, he was so sorry he couldn’t be here. He had to work,” I lied.

I was ushered to a seat on a black leather sofa, where hors d’oeuvres and sweets were pushed eagerly upon me in the name of hospitality. “No thank you,” was not going to be an acceptable answer. I took one small plate, and on it allowed a lone piece of cheese, a stick of celery and a small dainty cookie, attempting to appear delighted.

“Take some more,” Jason’s mother urged.

“This looks delicious,” I lied again, “but really I have a very small appetite.”

Jason’s mother looked puzzled, but put the trays down and

helped herself to a generous portion. I was glad the teenagers were eating so at least it appeared that someone was enjoying the hard work that had gone into creating such a beautiful array of goodies.

I had to explain how my husband was self-employed and sometimes you just couldn’t leave a job until it was finished. They looked skeptical. They were not impressed by his absence, but continued the visit politely. When Danielle had captivated everyone’s attention by telling one of her entertaining tales of adventure, one by one I placed the three items on my plate into my mouth and politely chewed, smiling. As Danielle continued on in her usual animated and expressive story-telling style, I snuck off to the restroom, where I got rid of the food by spitting it in the toilet.

At last the time came for Jason, Danielle and Jason’s family to head off to the ceremony, and I was free to go. I had won another small battle in my personal war to survive.

Returning home I felt extremely fatigued. I sat with Brian in the rec room watching sports and the news. Several times I tried to initiate some small talk, but he was in no talking mood.

Eventually we went to bed. He told me that he came home to tell the children he was leaving. I was out of excuses and delays. The children were going to have to know. I couldn’t keep living in a lie with our children, and it seemed that Brian really was going to leave us. It was best he told them himself. Yet I wasn’t going to encourage him.

It didn’t happen that evening.

Brian: Deep inside I was hesitating, wrestling with my decision,

afraid of hurting my children. I didn’t know how to tell them, had no

idea what to say or how I could explain my behavior so that they

would understand the truth, and still respect me.

I wore an elegant satin night gown to bed that night, something which, in the past, had been used strictly as evening lounge wear. I didn’t want to expose myself to Brian. His plan to tell the children he was no longer willing to be their full-time father was just too painful for me. Sleep was hard to come by-so was clarity concerning our situation.

DAY THIRTEEN-SUNDAY, MAY 28, 2 000

On Sunday morning, while my two youngest children and I got dressed up for church, Brian pulled on his jeans. He had no intention of attending church. Instead, he gathered us into the living room.

I knew what was coming and could feel the unavoidable grief deep in the pit of my stomach. But I could not force this man to live with us, if he had chosen otherwise. I knew I had done everything within my power and understanding to make things different. It was over.

Brian sat in a chair alone. I was in the middle of the sofa with Tamara on one side and Dustin on the other. Danielle was over at a friend’s house. I put an arm around each of these two precious souls, and drew them into myself in an attempt to protect them. We sat directly across from Brian, facing him like two opposing teams, mother and kids versus father.

There was a moment of silence and anticipation, yet these two younger teenagers had no idea what they were about to hear.

“There is something I have to tell you kids,” Brian started. “It’s not very easy for me to say this.”

The kids listened attentively, curious.

“I want you to know that I love you very much and this has nothing to do with you kids, but your mother and I are getting a divorce,” he said. “I have been having an affair with another woman, and I am moving out and going to live with her.”

The kids looked at me, searching for my reaction, searching for reassurance.

“I’m so sorry, kids,” I said. “I’m very hurt too. Your father has made up his mind. I have encouraged him to change his mind and give me a second chance, but he won’t.”

“I will still be your father and try to see you as often as possible. I just can’t live here anymore,” Brian said lamely, as if that would help them to understand.

“But Dad, don’t you love us anymore?” asked Dustin. “Yes, I love you,” Brian said. “Isn’t mom good enough?” Dustin asked. “Can’t you just be with her?”

“It’s complicated, son.” Brian was once again offering a response that didn’t come close to the explanation our son was searching for.

Dustin remained quiet, sullen and composed, much like he had following a fight Brian and I had when he was only ten. After that fight, Dustin had said to Brian, “Well, I certainly don’t appreciate the way you spoke to my mother!” Dustin then displayed his loyalty to me, his desire to protect me. Brian and I had both been astounded by the impact our arguing clearly had on our son.