I just realized today is January 13th.
It was one month ago today on December 13th that I found out I was the other woman.
It was one month ago today I proclaimed to W that I couldn’t be his mistress anymore. He had to do something. His response in a soft and almost inaudible voice was, “Maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore.” WHAT?! is what the voice in my head screamed. After months and months of talk about his divorce, telling me he loves me, the dozens of marriage proposals, discussions about blending families, looking at houses, picking out wedding locations and honeymoon destinations, choosing a wedding date…WHAT?!
How could he say that? It was the first time I realized I was expendable. It was the first time he had made me feel like he could and would walk away from me. It was the first time I felt rejected, unimportant, unloved, used by him. By him, I had never thought it would be him to make me feel that way. It was the first time I felt like the other woman. I was silent.
I noticed he was shaking. So I asked him why. He said, “I am scared I’m going to lose you.” Lose me? He never claimed me. He never put himself into a position to have me. Sure, I had fallen in love and taken myself out of the dating pool. Sure, I had believed we would be married one day in the near future. The reality was I knew he wasn’t committed to me, and that there was this “thing” between us preventing us from being together. That thing was his marriage to a woman who is not me. This is why I had told him I couldn’t be his mistress anymore. He had never made me feel like the other woman. He had made me feel like the only woman…until this day.
After some endless words from me. I couldn’t even tell you what I said. I was speaking out loud. My thoughts were taking on words, my feelings were spewing forth in an audible form. I’m not sure if he even understood what I was saying, I’m not sure I did either.
I gathered my things. Packed my bag. Got ready to leave. As I tried to put one foot in front of the other and walk out the door with what dignity I had left…my eyes finally filled with tears. And then I wept. I cried. I had tried so many times to hide my tears from him. My tears were for the privacy of my bedroom. My tears were never meant for him to see. I cried. He wiped my tears and kissed my face. I cried. The facade of strength I had been so careful to show him was crumbling. I felt naked and raw in front of him. I felt weak and powerless. I cried. He knelt beside me and touched me sweetly. I cried. I felt small.
We went for lunch after that. He had a hamburger. I had a beer. He tried to make light conversation. I tried to piece together my heart in the privacy of my mind. I tried to forget this may be the last time I would see him. I reached with my hand and brushed his arm. Something that used to bring me such comfort suddenly felt like it was gutting me. I blinked back more tears and tried to smile.
It was time to say goodbye. He drove me to my car. I just wanted to say goodbye and quickly retreat to solitude of my car. He followed me. He wanted to hug, embrace, kiss me to say goodbye. I wanted it too, but I wanted more to not have to peel myself off of him. I knew that if he hugged me, I wouldn’t want to let go and the pain of that goodbye would seem unbearable. I hugged him anyways. After what seemed like forever I peeled my body off of his, trying to burn the feel of him against me into my memory. I retreated to the driver’s seat and shut the door. I wept. I heard the passenger door open and he was there again, asking me to drive off. I said I needed a minute. He sat down. I didn’t want him to, well I did, but I wanted him to stay. Stay with me. Pick me. Choose me. He didn’t. He sat for a while in silence as I wept. Finally, I told him to go. He touched me one last time and he was gone. I cried. I wept. I cried. And finally, I drove away.
I discovered that day he is capable of leaving me. He is capable of walking away.
It’s been a month since I discovered I am the other woman.