“I’ve been in your house. And I’ve been on your computer. I saw the letter you wrote to him. I knew you weren’t as innocent as you try to act. And I’ve told everybody about it already; so there won’t be any denying it. What do you have to say about that?”
My mind was whirling in a million different directions.
You did WHAT?! I wanted to scream. You told WHAT to WHO?!
Truth was, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I felt totally defeated. Again.
Had he even considered the repercussions of his actions? Our sons went to the same school together. I went to church with him – and his wife. We lived in the same small community. Tongues would be wagging for years to come about this.
“Let me explain…” I stuttered. But I couldn’t.
I pulled my car over to the side of the road because I was shaking so badly. There was no getting away from his cruelty. Ever. He’d long broken my heart. But now he’d resorted to breaking into my house. Just like when we were teenagers, he’d forced his way into my private sanctuary. There, he’d demolished my soul once more.
Wasn’t it enough that he’d left me over 7 months ago? Left our family stranded without any transportation, so he could be with her – again? And she hadn’t been the first. Not even the second.
Wasn’t it enough that I’d finally resigned myself to the meaninglessness of all those years of broken promises?
That I’d packed up my things and left the house where I once thought we could at least finish raising our family?
Wasn’t it enough that he already had a new girlfriend practically moved in with him? That my boys didn’t know which way to turn?
Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? He’d proven I was dispensable. Why did he care what I was doing? Did he want to see if I was recyclable too?
I hyper-ventilated over my steering wheel in humiliation. Everything in me wanted to point out these ridiculous ironies. But all he got in return was my silence.
I could even see his menacing grin with the words that came next through my cell phone. “You need to meet me now, so you can explain yourself. I’ve already gone and confronted him. I found him at the grocery store. By the way, his wife was there too.”
Well, this was quite the turn of events.
“So she heard your accusation? About me…with him?”
“Oh, yeah. You’d better believe she heard it. ALL. I even had a copy of the letter that you wrote.”
“What did she say about that?”
“She didn’t say anything. They both turned and walked away.”
“Yeah. They just left their groceries and got in his truck and drove away. So I called your pastor and told him all about the letter. I figured he needed to know.”
I sighed and banged my head on the steering wheel. I only thought I’d known how humiliation felt.
“So she didn’t tell you then?”
“Tell me what? That she already suspected something was going on between the two of you?!”
I gritted my chattering teeth.
“Tell you that she was the one who asked me to write the letter.”
“WHAT? Why would she ask you to write a letter to her husband?”
I took in a deep breath, willing words to form. How would I ever face her after this? What would she think of me?
“She asked all of us to write a letter to him. All of the youth leaders who worked with him at the church. Probably some of the youth too. It was a letter of encouragement. I mean, did you even take time to read what it said – besides what you wanted to believe about it? He was to be given one of the letters at a specified time each day – while he was on his Emmaus Walk. It’s a weekend retreat, a spiritual journey – one where he’d spend time in meditation, being encouraged. His wife set it all up for him. Maybe you should go ahead and read over it. Let me know what you think you find.”
Silence from the other end.
“You’ve just managed to create even more victims here – I guess because you can’t control me as one anymore.”
“Listen. I’ve got to go. I need to call the police about a break-in at my house.”
Unfortunate but true: I have to file this one in my non-fiction stack (crumpled up towards the bottom).