We are here, he and I, we are at our vacation home, our place of rest. The place we go for a quick get away or an extended stay when it’s time to replenish our stressed, harried body and thoughts. I love it here; I also hate it, I have a bag full of mixed feelings when it comes to being here.
When I met my H he already owned the house we live in full time. He had owned it about five years and was a swinging bachelor at the time. That means, “others” had visited that home, some serious relationships and others were the casual relationships. Anyone understand what I’m saying here? There were ladies that screwed my husband in that home. I am not naïve; I get “it” there were others before me, he has a past, I have a past. Blah blah blah.
I never even knew this bothered me until we got this place. It wasn’t until we hung the pictures, filled the rooms with furniture that I realized “hey, this is truly OUR place. There hasn’t been any other woman or man in these rooms; bedrooms, couch, kitchen, shower. This place is about us. You. Me. Us.
When I was suspicious, and the hinky meter was sounding its alarm, I honestly never would have thought he would bring anybody here. He may be selfish, but he isn’t callous. He isn’t even so gross as to bring somebody into OUR home. At least, that is what he says when we discuss other people who cheat. In fact, my H can’t even watch a movie where infidelity is involved. He is dead against cheaters.
Finding the dinner dishes for two, the day my world blew apart. Now?! Really?!
For years, I had been asking God to do something with him. Make him grow up. Make him a better Christian, father, and husband. It was time God do something with this man because he was making me terribly miserable and since I didn’t believe in divorce, something needs to be done. SOON. NOW.
Poor me, I don’t deserve this life. I’m a darn good person; I’m a good Christian woman, and he has no idea how lucky blessed he is to have me.
Nearly every time I wash dishes I recall the evidence of dinner for two in that dish rack. Sometimes I can feel how my heart crumbled when I stood there staring, long enough for him to remark:
“You’re checking out my dish washing skills?”
“Why did you wash the coffee pot, you never wash the coffee pot” I replied.
Because of the countless blogs read, I did remember NOT to bring anything up to the POS cheater until there was enough evidence. I was confused and felt two ways about all this.
I had been sure that if he was guilty, he would crawl back to me and beg my forgiveness and I couldn’t wait for this to happen. Now, he could change and we can have a perfect marriage, even if he screwed everything up. By now, however, I knew that there could be a stack of condoms, a pair of lacy panties laying there and he would tell me I saw things that were not there. In fact, there could be a naked woman on top of my H and he would say I was bat shit crazy, there is not a naked woman on top of him.
So, I was now sure; I needed better evidence than what I had.
It’s then that I went into overdrive to find the proof. I also began working on myself. I started to work “The Love Dare” and I also
found the website http://www.cheatinghusbandsecrets.com
, which I highly recommend, it’s full of scripture prayer and details how to get your husband away from her. And get your husband back to you, Where he belongs. The website explains, cheating is a spiritual matter; It is not about the sex, excitement or relationship.
I read, (and attempt to put into practice) how to stop myself from panic mode ( a daily, nearly hourly occurrence) The key to all of this: He should have NO idea I know about the affair. (At that time he didn’t know I was aware or suspicious) As I began work on myself, as I pull myself out of bed at midnight to pray for me, pray for him, to and pray for us, he should NOT know. Oh, and also, pray for her, the Mystery Woman, as she is called by Osita Godwin, (although I must admit, it’s not what I call her). I would, actually still do, lay beside my husband at night, lay my hand on his leg or shoulder while he sleeps, and pray.
(Ladies, please, it’s okay. I’m NOT saying his affair is, was, or could have been MY FAULT because is never will be my fault. He chose to Eff somebody else. He made a choice, no matter where our marriage relationship was. In fact, I think I will make this a permanent disclaimer.)
Because of the woman who “called me out” here I eventually got to work. On me. And, wow! What an eye opener.
So, when I walk around this home, Our Resting House, as depression and fear begin to fill me, AGAIN, I find the need to write, to remind myself why I feel this way, where I’ve been and where I am now.
I end up telling myself it’s because he’s never admitted to anything, so I will continue to assume that he is leaving himself the room in case he has the opportunity again. In fact, the subject came up this trip, and he got angry, very angry at me for bringing it to a discussion.
And, I told him, hey dinner for two more than once would cause you to ask questions too. All you need to do is say “hey this is what happened” and it would…..
That’s where he cut me off and began yelling. He said something like “it never happened,
there was never dishes or dinner for two.” He carried on with this needs to stop, the usual lecture I get from him. He was then quiet; I could tell he was in thought. Not sure about what, but he was surely thinking about something.
For now, at this time, I’m okay with how it went. Sometimes, I just want him to remember that I know. Something happened. I know.