The Decision

She lay in bed, eyes closed pretending to sleep. Paced her breathing slow, like sleep. She was wide awake, of course, and he knew it as well. Fuming that he had ever agreed to take the “morning” shift with the kids during their marriage counseling session.

He let his alarm blast an extra minute for good measure to ensure that they were both good and awake before rolling over, slapping it off, sighing audibly, and hoisting himself out of bed with great effort.

Her deep breathing continued, eyes closed. Hearing him yell at their children to get up and get ready for school, bedroom doors banging, followed by the front door banging, car doors slamming, and, finally, quiet.

She could open her eyes now. Breathe normally. Roll onto her back and stare at the ceiling.

How had she gotten here?

Had her optimism blinded her? His “potential”? Her audacious belief that – despite warnings from her older aunts and mother – she could change him? Light a fire under his lazy ass and be the man she needed him to be? Yes. Yes to all of it. Thinking you can change a man is a young woman’s game, she realized too late.

And now, so cliché, she was trapped in a life of her own construction.

How could she get out? There was certainly no easy way, no painless way, particularly for her kids who, she was afraid, learned that this dysfunction was “normal.”

She closed her eyes and breathed in. Blew out slowly.

An acquaintance from school died unexpectedly recently. An aneurism at 46 years old. Something you read about, hear about. An urban legend. A friend of a friend. She felt like a concentric circle of mortality was closing in too close to home. Had her hi-bye friend been happy? Did she know it was the end? But, at least it was the end. A way out. Clean. She couldn’t do it herself, of course. But it was, technically, an option.

And, the more palatable version. A dramatic exit for him. A car crash maybe. With her luck, he would live. Hang on, only to destroy her even more than he already has. Or, it would be an extended illness, where he could enjoy the full benefit of suburban sympathy with meal trains and prayers. Decide to blow their savings and his life insurance policy on “trips of a lifetime,” leaving them with nothing. Such is his way.

He would be sainted for sure. All of his ugliness glossed over. Dark secrets never told. Frozen in time. The perfect father. The perfect husband.

The thought revolted her.

She rolled onto her side and stared out the window, curtains opened to let in the light before he left to “help” her wake up with natural sunlight. She watched the leaves rustle. Saw a cardinal land on a branch and cock its little head at her before flying away.

Are you trying to tell me something, little bird? What? Escape? Fly off? How? How can I get up and leave? All the years invested, working to build this – what? A house of cards? An illusion of a family? What happens then?

Am I supposed to just pack my bags and leave? Walk out? He’ll never willingly leave. And where will the kids stay? Surely with her. But what if he puts up a fight? He’s so selfish, he just might. Cares more about what other people think of him – by a long shot – than the actual care and well-being of his children.

She wrapped her arms around her pillow and yawned. Closed her eyes and wondered if she could drift back to sleep. Perhaps the answer would come to her in her dreams. Cryptic instructions for a dreadful journey.

She dozed. She woke herself up with a light snore.

Blinked. She was still here. Still in bed. Nothing had changed. No visions set forth, clearing the path ahead.

She thought about how she got here. Seemingly unable to take the next step. Not even able to get herself out of bed, in fact.

Cataloging all of the missed steps, like tabs in a binder. The red flags, willfully ignored.

Her past seemed so blurry now, like she was watching a movie under water. One marriage. One family. A diorama crafted inside of a shoebox. A beautiful kitchen. A white picket fence. Two sweet children. A mom and a dad.

A diorama under a glass cloche to protect it from the rest of the world. To protect it from reality. From the day that came and the protective glass cover shattered. The filter was removed. The ugly underlying story was revealed like a house of horrors. A haunted house that hid a trapped woman, sewn into her bedsheets. Sewn by herself. A twist into a Grimm Brother’s version of her fairy tale.

How would her story end?

She couldn’t unsee the rot now, under the cracked glass. No amount of counseling, of talking, of tears could glue the brokenness back together.

She pulled her covers up to her chin, considered pulling them all the way over her head, but stopped just short. If he came home from carpool instead of heading into work, she needed to look like she was just getting up, instead of continuing to lie still from the weight of inertia.

How had she gotten here? A question she asked herself a hundred times a day. Did she deserve this? Not for any reason that she could think of.

She reviewed the tapes of her life once more. Had they ever loved each other? Had she ever loved him? Or were they both just in the right place at the right time. Couples pairing off. Like getting on a single-load ride at Disney World. One track. One direction. Date. Get Married. Have Children. This way to a perfect life!

She followed the rules. She did what she was supposed to do. Witnessing her single friends – just wanting to get on with it all and start her life.

She had allowed it. The dozens of roses on birthdays and anniversaries. The expensive dinners and weekend getaways. She hadn’t questioned where his money came from, assuming he worked for it, assumed he was a hard worker, a saver, responsible with money. Was this the first lie she let herself believe? How many more? One after the other. That he was a good person. That he loved her. That he could love anyone other than himself.

How many times would he blame her for any and every thing that had gone wrong. Twisting words and facts and truths to deny an ounce of guilt. And now, she considered, maybe he was right. Her current situation was, in fact, all her fault.

So many times she tried to glue it all back together. Counseling! Vacations! Date night! But the raw truth of it hit her lungs like damp, frozen air in the dead of winter. She could hardly breathe.

And here she was, all these years later. Their life –her life! – built on so many lies. Lies from him, of course. But the even bigger lies, she realized, were the ones she told herself. One after the next, after the next. That they were building a future together, one dinner after the next. A legacy, a future. One child after the next. She was a part of this. She let this happen. She didn’t walk away, say no, when she could have. When the collateral damage would have been so much more limited.

Oh, those poor kids. They didn’t ask for this. Didn’t ask for what’s going to happen next, she thought.

She heard the car door slam outside. Ok. He decided on a work-from-home day today, she thought. Good.

She breathed in. Breathed out. Breathed in. Breathed out.

Opened her eyes wide.

Sat on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor. And decided that it was finally time to tell the truth.