An Open Letter to My Husband & the Woman He Fell in Love With

10:49 pm:
It's too soon to write about this. The wound is so fresh it's oozing. But I don't see any other options in this landscape. I want to call on my best friend for a shoulder to cry on. But I can't go to him. He's front and center of the dilemma, right along with me. Except, for the first time since I became his wife—seven years, three weeks, and one day—we've entered a battle we cannot fight together. I am alone. He is alone. I am awake. He is asleep. He's in love with someone else.


11:18 pm:
Grace. That's how I handled myself when he told me he was seeing someone from work and wanted a divorce. I'm fucking proud of that grace, wherever the hell it came from. One-hundred and seventy-two days sober, and tomorrow I'll jot a 173 on my wrist despite it all. I did offer to look the other way and let him have his side-piece. Jesus, that's pathetic. Yes, I know I'm better than that.

Any woman in her right mind would punch him in the face. Pull the hairs he insists I cut every three months because nobody does it better. Tell him he's a liar, a cheater, and a coward. I'm not a woman in her right mind, though. If I were, I would've walked away the first, third, or fifth time I caught him online dating women in other cities, women I couldn't possibly run into. This time is different. This time it's real life. Real crashing. Real heartbreak. Real consequence. All those infidels that came before were preparing me for tonight. With each secret text message, picture, email, and lie, year after year, I uncovered a cushion and subconsciously stacked them on top of the other to soften this final blow.

It still hurts. Should it hurt this much if I say, I'm not in love with him anymore, either?! It hurts worse when you've fallen out of love but still care deeply. When from the outside looking in, everything looks perfect because it is. We had a fine-tuned rhythm; we knew each other better than ourselves. So, honey, want to go tear up a sleazy buffet Sunday and pretend this faux paux never came to pass? They have Wendell's favorite muffins on Sundays. Then, I swear, I won't nag or complain about your apathetic nature anymore.


11:58 pm:
You have a shared custody schedule all figured out already for us. It makes me giggle knowing you planned all of this with precise execution. But you did say that your new love interest inspires you. She makes you want to "be somebody" and "do things." I hope those include being a role model and a present father figure for our son.

My god, I think I accept this. But I go from okay, to not okay. I venture into the lane of Let It Go and overcorrect back into Jealousy & How Could You? That's the thing about me—it's like a language I made up that only he can translate.

Nothing is sacred anymore, though. I wasn't born yesterday. And, getting into this, I knew I was falling in love with someone lacking emotional maturity, integrity, and self-esteem. I didn't care. I still don't. Okay, I care, but I don't mind. Part of me wants to fight for our union. Two-thousand, five-hundred and eighty days. Two cats and one little boy. How do I cope with my pain and the suffering inflicted upon my little boy? How do I remain strong through all of this mess?


12:45 am:
I was calm at first when I found out. I've had a sneaking suspicion something was going on with him—you learn a lot about a person after you experience together childbirth, death, and disaster. So many people will tell you I had much involvement with shaping the man Josh is today. They're right. But, you see, Josh saved my life. He breathed into my lungs and begged for my heart to beat again. We had nourished an emotional connection to one another since that day four and half years ago, and what it has become is more profound and beautiful than any love I knew before. We made each other whole—a mess of imperfection that seemed to fit just right.

That's it! That's why the sting is so damn painful—there are so many moving parts to this love that I'm losing. The scorned wife is microscopic compared to the best friend, the loyal confidante, and the mother to our child. I don't want to lose my comfort, my person; he is my home—a safe place. My whole heart, every moving piece, belongs to him.

1:33 am:
He was texting her from our sofa. I'd walked back to my office so he could "play video games," but I'd almost forgotten to share some good news, so I doubled back. He dropped his phone—hands shaking. I put my head in his lap, reassuring him that it was okay to speak his truth. I knew in my heart what was coming. I knew the moment I looked into his eyes. Facial expressions give him away every time. Take note of that, Victoria. Or don't. How about ending it instead? Perhaps, don't throw yourself at married men? Ugh, that was uncalled for. I'm not in alignment with my core values at the moment, Victoria. Pardon my egregiousness. My family just fell apart right before my very eyes.