“Stop Brett!” Those two words coming out her mouth broke my heart. Again. That familiar, empty, nauseous feeling rushed to the pit of my stomach. My head felt like I had vertigo My emotions were going a million miles a minute. I wanted to rage and hurt someone. But I didn’t.
My ex and I had broken up months before that moment. I had moved out of the house we were living in together in April, six months prior. During that summer we tried to make it work again between us. But her feelings had already changed. I think she was trying to make herself fall back in love with me. Mainly because of comfort and the bond her son and I shared. If I am being totally honest, those were the reasons I was trying too. I loved her, but I knew it wasn’t right.
At the end of the summer she had a drastic “change of heart.” She told me she couldn’t do it anymore. The drastic change of heart was she met someone else. She lied and gave me another excuse of why it was over, but that was the truth.
After the summer I still spent time with her son every other weekend. This meant I was still seeing her as well. We had agreed I would still stay in his life because he and I loved each other. Looking back it wasn’t the right thing to do for anyone involved.
I saw him every other Sunday. We would spend the day playing, going to Chuck E Cheese and building Legos. I looked forward to those days from the moment I left until the moment I saw him again. I also selfishly looked forward to seeing her.
The situation progressed to me spending the weekend at their house. At first I slept on the couch, it was all about the time he and I spent together. That soon turned into the three of us doing things together as a family. Then her and I started sleeping in the same bed and being intimate again.
I would ask her if she was seeing anyone. I wanted to know the truth. I didn’t want to continue being intimate if she was. She would always say no. She even went as far as to swear on her son’s life she was being truthful. But I knew she was lying.
I started playing detective. She had gotten back on birth control, there was a guys sweatshirt at the house one day, she was very nervous anytime I was near her phone. There was so much writing on the wall. But I chose to go head first back into this anyway. I set myself up to get hurt. I almost can’t even blame her because I allowed it to happen.
After she slipped up calling me the wrong name, I stayed the rest of the weekend to spend time with her son. I just couldn’t leave him at that point. Her and I talked and she answered some of my questions with partial truths.
Before I left I said my goodbye to her son as I put him to sleep. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I told her this was the last time I would see her. She texted me a couple times on my drive home, but I couldn’t respond.
My birthday was that next weekend. She texted me happy birthday and sent me a picture of her son holding a card he made for me. I couldn’t help but cry.
I had hoped she would call me to show she felt remorse for her actions. I wanted to see if she would try to prove that she cared about me like she had claimed. But that never occurred.
I wanted to talk to her and hear her admit the truth to all of my questions. I felt that I needed to know so I could have closure. But I had my closure.
The more I thought about it I knew I couldn’t talk to her. I needed space more than I needed the truth. The truth didn’t really matter. I knew enough that I could no longer have her as a part of my life.
Sometimes seeking the truth in delicate situations isn’t the best option. Hearing her confess to all the things she had done wouldn’t have been the freeing experience I had hoped for. It would have only served to damage me further and I would have brought that pain upon myself. I accepted what I knew and moved forward with my life. That was the gift of closure I gave myself.