You never know what’s around the corner.
That evening, after the tidying up, a last quiet drink and putting my feet up, I walked in on my husband texting. As I walked in he hid the phone. And in that moment I knew… Apparently he’d planned to tell me about his affair the next day; he’d had to wait until his mum died so I wouldn’t tell her (?!?). But he was – after five weeks – in love, and eighteen years together meant nothing. He’d move in with her as soon as her husband had moved out; he wanted to be with her all the time and couldn’t believe the love and connection he’d found.
And the future was grey… I have never felt a door slam so hard in my face, or faced so little understanding of why I couldn’t get with the programme and be happy for him. I tried asking him to reconsider, told him we could sort things out but, it seems, he had a new relationship that didn’t need work so wasn’t interested in working on ours. Strange he hadn’t given me any indication before that ours needed work…
I can’t remember much of those first months – I know there were desperate calls to bemused friends, who rallied round and with tea, hugs, flowers and endless patience while I rambled on in pain and confusion. I know there were tickets booked to see my parents, because home (even when home is an RV in a place you’ve never been) is where you go when you’re broken. I know that his dream house has gone on the market (and how, how could he have pushed so hard to buy it and then walked away without a backward glance)…
I remember gratitude for the massive outpouring of love, a lifeline that kept my head mostly above water when there seemed very little point in swimming. And I am still grateful for that lifeline, as I continue to wait in this house, surrounded by broken dreams, waiting for someone to want it, to breathe happiness into it, to give it a heart. And let me move forward.
The future is grey. The only thing I can see clearly is the door of the new home that, one day, I will close behind me, giving myself and the pieces of my life a place to rebuild. I just hope that when I can finally open it, the mists will clear and I’ll see a future.
Grey mists veil my sight
Blanketing any colours
That shine tomorrow.
Thanks to reaklop2 for a perfect image.