My friend’s recent situation has brought back some memories…so part A is for my friend, and part B is for me (catharsis, and apologies if you’ve read before in a previous incarnation). Actually, it's for all my friends out there in readerville who have ever walked in these shoes.

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You don’t know anything is wrong until the minute after you’ve put the key in the door.

You thought you were taking time apart to figure out “things”. You never in your wildest dreams (ok, maybe you did a tiny bit but quickly squelched it away so that it wouldn't make your pulse race) think that things might actually end. You certainly never contemplated it yourself. You didn’t even look at another person, so focused were you on fixing your relationship (the one you never knew was broken in the first place until the brokenness fell on you like a sudden summer squall).

And suddenly here you are. You cannot believe your eyes. The image they’ve captured is forever seared into your brain, to be replayed over and over again until you have analyzed and dissected every freckle, every scar, every stray hair, and every potential movement. You actually have dropped your keys on the floor, and are standing there in utter shock. Your stomach, at the precise moment THAT image was seared into your retina, has returned to it’s rightful position but is now tight, fluttery and threatening to jump out of your body. Do you fight or do you run? At this point, is it worth it when what you would fight for is so obviously gone?

So you take a deep breath, and turn, and go to the other room to begin packing your things. Dully, you walk to your car, unhearing, heedless. You will examine your real feelings later, but at the moment all you can think of is escape. You will mourn then, in private, where all the anguish of your destroyed hopes can be lanced out of your soul.

Just when you think you know someone. Now you think that you never really do know anyone.

Alternately.

Sort of asleep but not really, that twilight stage of sleep, when some noise or motion jolts you awake. You look at the clock – it is 2:55 A.M.- a positively indecent hour. You know without looking that your husband hasn’t come home yet, and you know that he won’t be able to get up and go to work in the morning yet again. Fumbling at the bedside table for glasses and phone, sitting up, turning on the television, you call his number. It actually rings (it isn’t turned off), and rings, and rings, and rings until you finally go to voicemail.

“Hi,” you say, “It’s me. It’s kinda late…can you call me and let me know that you are ok and when I can expect you home?” and you disconnect the phone and grab the remote.

At 3:15 A.M., you thought you heard a car door slam, so you flew to your window and looked out, although you knew your hopes were false because even the dogs didn’t stir. You say, ok, one more time, and dial his number. This time you go straight to voice mail, and you say, sweetly, “Your wife would like to know that you are ok, and she is lonely and cannot sleep without you here”.

It is now 4:10 A.M, and you are getting pissed off. Of all the inconsiderate, irresponsible, rude things to do. How are you to know he isn’t lying on the roadside dead somewhere, or maybe shot in a mugging, or in jail? So you call again.

“Damnit, at least have the consideration to call me back”.

You are ready to cry. Here you are, by yourself, in the bed you share with your husband, and rather than spend the night with you, he has chosen to go out. He has left you alone. Other people deserve his attention way more than you, his wife. In your heart, you know that he just isn’t with other people, he’s with another woman that has a lot more… allure than you do.

When your phone finally rings at 5:22 AM, your heart is in your throat. You are at this point extremely angry, but you know if you belabor the point it will end up…dénouement time, and you know you aren’t ready for the ending. You take a very deep breath, and answer as if you haven’t a care in the world.

“Hey! Why are you still up?” very cheerful.

“Oh, just wondering if the liquor laws have changed in this city and bars stay open until 5 now?” said brightly, as you exhale through your nose.

“Oh, no, we were at Club P and then we all went back to so and so’s and I passed out on his couch…why didn’t you call me??” he’s trying so hard to sound blasé that you know he is putting you on.

“Look, asshole, I did call you and you know it. Stop lying to me. I know you were with someone…who the fuck was it this time??” The phone suddenly goes dead, and you think to yourself that he’s deliberately hung up so as not to talk to you anymore.

Which is fine, it’s so late now you aren’t going to sleep, so you get dressed in a leisurely fashion, feed your dogs, and head out to work. That way you won’t be expected to kiss the mouth that smells suspiciously of mouthwash and handsoap, or cough up a quickie to satisfy whatever residual urge he has from the girl before, nor will you be tempted to scroll through his phone, or go through his pockets looking for receipts. Your heart knows where he was, if not who he was with, and that is enough.