I went to see John the same evening after his operation. He looked so frail and I was so pleased he was ok. I didn’t stay long but he reminded me of a list of numbers he’d written that was on his desk at home – a list of people he wanted me to tell that the op had gone well. Now, when John was writing said list, I was walking past him at the time. I had noticed he hadn’t written names next to the numbers. I asked why? He said I didn’t need to know who I was sending the message to – it wasn’t a big deal. I said I wanted to know. He’d only written about five numbers. He said he wasn’t going to go back and write names next to them – I asked that he just write them down from now on. He wrote one as I was stood there and I continued on to the sofa.
About 10 minutes later he passed me the list. There was only that name that he’d written when I was stood there. I asked why he hadn’t written the rest (there were about 25 names in total). He said he couldn’t be bothered. I was annoyed but it was the day before his operation, so I left it.
The next day when I went to collect him from the hospital, whilst we were sat waiting for him to be discharged, I suggested going through the replies. I told him to get his phone out so he knew who had responded. He was reluctant: “just read them, it doesn’t matter who it is.” But it mattered to me, so I insisted and we matched the numbers to the names in his contacts as I read the messages.
I stopped when he mentioned one name. Let’s call her Jane.
Jane was his ex. The ex that he said was his first love and who he’d messed it all up with by cheating on her (red flag that I ignored). He’d remained friends with her – it wasn’t a big deal according to him, so I tried not to let it bother me. But I was insecure – of course it bothered me. It bothered me a great deal more when it turned out he was ‘sexting’ her in our first year of marriage. He was (as always) apologetic – it wouldn’t happen again. He eventually agreed to stop talking to her.
Imagine my surprise when I found out that they’d ‘got back in touch some years ago’ and he hadn’t told me because – you guessed it – ‘it wasn’t a big deal.’
But it was a big deal – because he’d kept yet another thing from me.
So, back to the hospital.
I asked why he’d thought it was ok to get me to text her. He used those infamous words again. I was fuming. But he’d just had his operation. This was not the time or the place.
I was completely amazed at his nonchalant attitude but mostly at his shady actions in the first place. He knew what he was doing when he didn’t write the names down. He knew I would have told him where to go if I’d seen her name on the list. He knew he would be dishonest to get his way, apologise afterward and I would eventually come round after some time.
Because that was what always happened, wasn’t it?
We eventually left the hospital, took a cab to his Mum’s where he would stay for the next couple of weeks. Our son was coming up to 2 years old at the time and would happily use anyone lying down as a trampoline – not the best when you’ve just had abdominal surgery… So we’d agreed he would stay at his Mum’s for his initial recovery.
Over those following weeks, I got into a new routine with the children – dropping them off at my Mum’s in the morning; heading to work; picking up the children; stopping at John’s Mum’s so the kids could see him; getting home just in time for bedtime; dealing with bedtime drama’s; finally sitting down, not always remembering to eat because I was so, so tired. I would be so glad when the kids were all asleep so I could close my bedroom door and just cry. Cry at how crap everything was and the visage I portrayed that everything was fine.
John ended up staying at his Mum’s for three weeks. He then came home but went back to sleep at her home every night for another few weeks. He said this was because he didn’t feel loved. I hadn’t texted him enough when he was at his Mum’s (he actually said that). It didn’t matter that I was running myself ragged – I hadn’t texted him so clearly I didn’t care and he wasn’t coming home properly until he felt ‘loved’.
It was laughable really, considering he’d done everything he could to make me feel unloved for many, many years.
He acted as if not coming home was a punishment for me. It was fine for me. Yes, I was tired but I was managing on my own.
I didn’t need him.
It was the start of my awakening.
This Can't Be Love 