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  • Writer's pictureHappy Mommy Hour

Marriage Under Mercy Part 4

Part 4

I had two weeks before we flew out to Boston for the summer. I just needed to make it till then. I mean what else could happen? I already had my “truth.” I was separated and getting divorced. My family was torn apart, and my relationship with God was an angry one. One day while the boys were at school, a friend dragged me out of the house and took me to lunch. Five minutes after we sat down, my phone buzzed. It was a text message… It was A. She wanted to talk. My palms began to sweat, my heart fell into my stomach and my stomach fell into my butt. What could she possibly want?? I texted her back and asked her if I knew everything. She said I’m not sure, what do you know? That’s not good. She wanted to tell me her side of things, and I agreed to meet her later that week. The momentary peace I had after my husband came clean immediately left, and horrible anxiety took its place. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” I was nervously preparing to meet with her, and my closest friends were voicing their concerns. “Do you think this is going to help you?” They felt I had been hurt enough, and hearing her version couldn’t help matters. But I wanted answers. I wanted details. I wanted to know how she could do this. She had been one of my closest friends. I had respected her, I had cared about her and I wanted to know how she could just toss me aside. This friendship had meant a lot to me, and this was the death of it. I reluctantly got ready to go. It was 8:30 p.m., and the location was set for her house. I was terrified. I asked my friends to pray over me. I asked for prayers of discernment to know what was the truth and what was a lie. I prayed for angels to be around me to keep me calm and to help me listen without showing too much emotion. I felt like I was heading to the lions’ den, and what she told me that night would haunt me forever. I started to walk up to the door, and I was so nervous. I paced back and forth, hesitating and almost changing my mind. I knocked. She opened the door, and we stood there for a moment looking at one another. Then she asked me to come in, and oddly, it felt like old times. Being there in her house still felt comfortable- we had so many happy memories there. It even felt- for just a moment- like we were friends again. She asked me if I wanted a drink, and at the same time we both said, “Shots.” We smiled. We went into the kitchen, took the shot, and then we headed outside. It was time...

She asked me where she should start, and I said the beginning. I then asked her the same question I had asked my husband. Did you love him? Or did you just lose your mind? She paused, but answered quickly, “I loved him.” I then told her that I asked my husband the same question and that he would rather say he lost his mind than admitting to loving her. I knew this would hurt her, but I wasn’t there to spare her feelings. I was there for the truth. We began talking, and she told me many details. I’m not going to get into every description or every detail because it would be pages and pages. (Just know that even 3 years later what she told me can still creep in- causing me to close my eyes, take a deep breath, and have to pray.) I stayed at her house for over three hours. She could have talked to me all night, but I couldn’t take anymore. I was starting to feel ill. She showed me texts and gave me descriptive details, and the emotional roller coaster was taking its toll. But during our conversation, I was calm, patient, and listened to every word she said. I felt like a shell of a person- like I was floating outside my body looking down on us. It was so strange hearing the words coming out of her mouth. She told the story like we were still best friends- like we were talking about her break up. We even laughed several times to lighten the mode. It was surreal being there in her home- sitting on the patio couches, cuddled up with drinks in hand, talking about a man we both loved who in her mind had betrayed us both. Eventually, I NEEDED to go home- all of the energy had left my body, and I also needed to tell my husband that any hope of our marriage being saved was dead. She walked me out. I could tell she wanted to hug me, but we just sadly looked at one another and said our goodbyes. The next day she wrote me asking me to coffee. In her text, she told me that she had confessed all the physical details, but she wanted to explain the emotional reasons why. I knew I had to end this obsession for both of us. So instead, I sent her a collage of all our pictures together and ended with “you broke my heart.” I didn’t see her for again for over two years. I agreed to attend a large charity event we would both be at (just me, not my husband), feeling like we had enough time and healing to be in the same place at the same time. But when I eventually saw her, she was FURIOUS. She HATED me. She was rude, aggressive, and violent. In her mind, SHE was the victim, and I had somehow wronged her. I still have no idea what she perceives that I did to her- we never spoke again after that night on her porch. I would never receive a real apology from her. Just anger and hate.

The good news is, I have finally forgiven her. Not for her- I don’t think she cares one way or another- but for me and for my peace. In the past, when I heard her name I would feel bitterness and be reminded of old insecurities I didn’t like to talk about. I have come to terms with the fact that if it hadn’t been for that knock on my door if she hadn’t fallen in love, I would be in a dead marriage. I would have been kept in the dark and manipulated for who knows how much longer. The rest of my life? So I have not only forgiven her, I am thankful. That time in my life- as hard and dramatic as it was- shed a light on something I had to see. If it wasn’t for that pain, for that fall-down-on-your-knees-and-beg-for-God-to-help-you type of pain, I would never have awoken from that sleep I was in.

After our talk, any respect for my husband was gone. I had nothing left, and I couldn’t even look at him. I was enraged. I was spiteful, and I was cruel. We were back on the merry-go-round of emotions, and any peace we had earned before was dissolved. We had one week before I left for Boston. One week before I could leave this place for good. “Please?” he asked. “Please just go to church as a family one last time before you go?” I looked at him with disgust. Why even bother? He asked, then pleaded. “Please let’s just go as a family?” I rolled my eyes and spit out, “Fine!” What would one church service do anyway…..

To be continued...

Written By Blaire Lometti-Mathias




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