We are now reaching the point in my story where it’s difficult to write. Difficult to go back in my mind and recall the memories that hurt my heart so deeply. Difficult to believe that I actually lived those moments. They happened. They are a part of who I am now. They affect my life choices. Hell, they affect my heart choices. They affect that small voice inside me that judges the person I am becoming. I sat down to write today, and immediately became exhausted with the thought of recording the story I’m about to compose. I’ve racked my brain to come up with any other possible message or anecdote to put into this blog, but today I have to continue the story. My story. Because I said I would. I said I would be honest, and it isn’t fair to leave out the hurtful parts. It isn’t fair to any other woman or person who has been hurt due to infidelity. Minimizing the problem doesn’t make it go away. Minimizing the problem doesn’t heal the scars. And most importantly, minimizing the problem doesn’t help to properly convey how big my God is.

As I said earlier, my husband and I did not spend Christmas together. However, in true Kat fashion, I decided we would have our own Christmas as soon as we got back from visiting our families. I would re-create Christmas. We would have a lovely day together, just the two of us. Even as I type the words, I realize what a moron I was to force this upon him. I had everything planned out. We would get up and make breakfast and have coffee together, just like we used to. Then, we would open gifts and watch Christmas movies and enjoy each other’s company. I had carefully purchased gifts for him that I felt screamed how much I loved him and knew him and somehow sent the message “Stay married to me, please.” Our own little day of joy on the Upper West Side. 

Ok, so it wasn’t perfect, but the truth is the morning wasn’t horrible either. He complied for a little while. We managed breakfast and coffee together. We were quite civil. We opened the gifts we had gotten one another. I could tell he was embarrassed because he obviously hadn’t put any thought into his gifts for me, and my heart went out to him. Maybe this would be a tiny turning point. Maybe he was recognizing that our partnership was worth saving. Then, in an instant, my hopes were dashed. He’d made plans to watch football with some of his friends for the rest of the day. I didn’t understand. I thought we would have the whole day together. I was confused. Had I not made myself clear? I desperately wanted to avoid a fight, but I couldn’t help questioning his decision. Did I not deserve ONE day? Just ONE! 

He said it wasn’t me, we just hadn’t communicated properly. He assumed I would only need the morning with him, not the whole day. Plus, it was the week before the playoffs and apparently playoff season trumps celebrating Christmas with your wife. This very conversation may be the reason why I despise the NFL. What could I do? I offered to watch football with him at our place. I offered to go with him…so we could at least be together. No dice. Fine. I told him I would take myself to the movies (this new Disney movie called “Frozen” was currently out in theatres…I wanted to see what all the fuss was about). He left to spend time with men I don’t like while watching a sport that truly doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of life. I showered, cleaned up our little holiday extravaganza, and headed uptown to the AMC on 84th Street. 

I was on the corner of 84th and Broadway when I got the text. The text from my husband. The text that was meant for someone else. The text that his wife was never supposed to see. The text that was intended for her. That woman. That woman who helped steal the innocence of my marriage. That woman who allowed herself to be a part of the breakdown of my life. That woman who had so little respect for her vows and for my own. That woman was still texting my husband. How did I know? Because my husband included her name in the text. Looking back, it’s almost comical. What was he thinking? So now I’m crying on this cold, dark December night on the corner of 84th and Broadway and I just don’t know what to do. I cried and I didn’t much care who saw me. I think this happens a lot in New York…random girls crying on the street. It didn’t feel like that big of a deal to me at the time. So I continued crying. 

Eventually I text my husband back. I let him know that he accidentally text his wife, instead of one of this girlfriends. He immediately called me and let me know he was coming home so he could properly explain himself. Boy, did he have guts. He didn’t believe he was in the wrong. The whole thing was a misunderstanding. I walked 11 blocked and one avenue back to our apartment. Crying. Hurting. Heartbroken. I walked up 4 flights of stairs to our doorway. I readied myself, once again, to hear the lies that would pacify me. So much for football. 

John 14:27 “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”