The Escape

I fled the house like an escaped convict trying to avoid recapture, terrified I’d be dragged back to jail. I threw my suitcase in the backseat of the car and got in behind the wheel. There was a cacophony of emotions swirling in my head that morning. I felt like a cork afloat in the sea being at once pulled back to and pushed away from my home. The tide of exhilaration was strong however, and it propelled me towards the airport. 

My feelings were confusing as I oscillated between excitement and guilt. Everyone who knew me, and especially those who didn’t, would probably judge me to be a horrible human being if they knew what I was about to do.  I struggled with the guilt brought on by my own moral code, but my heart was in control now and I couldn’t think about that or I’d lose my nerve.

 I had finally found something that made me feel alive. I had to explore it further or I would never forgive myself for not being brave enough to pursue my own happiness. It was by far the craziest, most selfish thing I had ever done, but it was also the most exciting. I felt more alive on that October morning than I had in years. Up to that point my life was an endless stream of avoiding risks, pleasing others, and complete passivity, but this, this was for me. My first bold step of active participation in my life. 

There were a hundred reasons for me to feel guilty about what I was doing, not the least of which was putting someone’s marriage at risk. What kind of person does that? It’s not the kind of thing I would have ever believed myself capable of before, but things had changed. I could no longer bear my life of self-denial. I had been given a shot at happiness and I was taking it. 

Though anyone watching may have thought that doing this was impulsive and irrational and completely out of character for me, the truth was it was a long time coming. It was the culmination of events seemingly orchestrated to bring me to this point. 

It began with the death of my grandfather, who had died the day before my daughter’s third birthday. It sent me into a grief tailspin. I was very close with my grandfather, so losing him was a terrible blow and though I did my best to maintain the façade of happiness for my daughter’s birthday, inside I was crushed. 

As a mother and wife, there were obligations that I had no choice but to meet, which left me with no time to truly grieve this profound loss in my life. It was only a month later that my father-in-law died, on Father’s Day. My husband George fell into a deep depression and was often nearly catatonic. The household tasks and caring for our children fell squarely on my shoulders as did all the efforts to console him, while I was still devastated myself. 

The stress and responsibility eroded my normally high tolerance for dealing with George’s issues. Resentment and hostility began to boil to the surface as the same age-old arguments we had been having for years came about again, revolving around the mystery of my lack of interest in sex with him and his belief that I didn’t love him. 

What ifs began to creep into my head ad nauseum. What if I had never gotten myself into this? What if I had taken the time to see what else was out there before settling down? What if I would never stop having the same fight over and over again as long as I lived and was married to this man? What if this was all there was for the rest of my life? 

The idea that I would never again get to experience the joy and excitement of falling in love made me feel trapped. To think my husband would be the only one I’d ever kiss for the rest of my life depressed me. I had never gotten to have any other romantic experiences in my life. 

We met when I was only sixteen years old. He proposed when we were eighteen and by the time we were twenty-one we were married. I made the mistake of never taking the time to live a minute on my own. I moved out of my mother’s house to move in with my sister and then directly into a life with George. I hadn’t experienced a single day on my own. 

But after over a decade and a half together, the stability I thought I needed came into stark contrast with the notion of my future. These two deaths in rapid succession coupled with the fact that his father had only been fifty years old when he died, brought our own mortality into the forefront of our minds. 

When George finally managed to crawl out of his depression after a few months, we started to talk for the first time in a long time about what we wanted out of life and the problems that we felt were present in our marriage. After receiving some spiritual guidance from a few of his more enlightened friends, George finally seemed open to listening to me and to honestly expressing his own feelings. It took us eighteen years to get to the point in our relationship where we felt we could actually be honest with each other. 

As the conversation brought us new levels of transparency, I also became more aware of my own doubts and I could see that although I’d been with this one person since childhood, I never felt the connection that one should feel with their spouse. 

Rather than being happy and in love, I saw that my life had somehow become all about how to withstand the nearly constant barrage of insulting and condescending remarks, while placating his fragile ego. 

Without realizing it, I had allowed myself to become his project rather than a wife and partner. I had taken his criticisms to heart and I strove to be the “good person” he was trying to mold me into, knowing that I’d never live up to his impossible standards. 

However, despite these new revelations, I was still intent on trying to convince myself that I did love him and that I was just feeling sorry for myself, regretting that I didn’t get to have any romantic experiences before we were married. 

So, as we sat around the firepit that night in the warm summer evening, opening to each other, it felt good. I felt closer to him than I had probably ever felt because I was finally allowed to share my true feelings without him getting upset. He simply listened and tried to figure out a way that we could be happier both as individuals and as a couple. 

We discussed our mutual sadness at having missed out on the typical college experience: living in dorms, meeting new people, and being a little crazy in our youth. We wanted to figure out some way to have a do-over. That’s when we eventually came up with the idea that maybe we could have an open marriage. 

It was a novel concept for both of us, but incredibly intriguing. Neither of us was necessarily interested in seeking out a second relationship, but we did want the freedom to act on it if the opportunity for one arose, without hurting each other. With butterflies in our bellies, we laid down the ground rules for this new venture. We agreed to tell each other about any experiences we had so that both of us would be fully aware, and our trust in each other would not be compromised. 

This conversation turned our marriage on its axis and changed the trajectory of our lives. There was a sense of ease and happiness after this decision that lifted both our spirits because neither of us felt quite so trapped any longer. Our sex life even improved with our openness as did the peace in our house. We had fun together and enjoyed being with each other more than ever. It was great for a while until our idea of freedom became a bit more real. 

One boring summer day not long after we made this life altering decision, I stumbled upon someone online that sparked my interest. His name was Will. We shared a love of embarrassing teen tv shows, we had the same favorite movie, we loved the same music and playing board games. Perhaps most importantly, he made me laugh. He was the only guy I had ever talked to online that seemed to be interested in something about me other than what was between my legs. I was not trying to start a relationship. I simply enjoyed talking to him since we had so much in common. I told George about it and he was happy to see me happy. He jokingly started referring to Will as my boyfriend after a few days and all was well. Until it wasn’t. 

One of the reasons that I had such a strong connection with Will was because he was also in an unhappy marriage. When we got to the point of sharing these kinds of details about our lives, our conversations were just a form of catharsis for both of us. He lived halfway across the country from me so it seemed of little importance that he was married. Obviously, nothing was going to happen. 

It was easy to convince myself that I wasn’t doing anything wrong. How could I be if I was open and honest with my husband about it, right? I justified every conversation in my mind to stave off the realization that I was on a path that could potentially be putting two marriages in jeopardy. 

Despite every effort to keep things platonic, I ended up falling in love with Will. Then one day, without any forethought at all, those most dangerous three words escaped my lips, and I felt my heart leap into my throat as if the words had taken all my breath along with them. I couldn’t believe I had just let that slip. There was a moment of panic thankfully followed shortly by complete relief when he returned the sentiment. 

It was at about this point that I no longer wanted to share details about our conversations with George. Suddenly I started wanting to hide my phone so that George wouldn’t accidentally find out that I was in love with Will. Evidently, I was not the emotional stealth ninja that I had envisioned myself to be because it didn’t take George long to catch on to my avoidance tactics and ask why I was acting strangely. 

I tried to convince him that I wasn’t acting any differently and nothing had changed. I didn’t want to admit the truth to him, but when he asked to see my phone, I finally had to come clean. With my belly in knots, I told George that I had feelings for Will. This is the point where our whole lives began to unravel thread by thread. 

George went to a camping event with a group of friends about two weeks later and ended up sleeping with another woman. I should’ve realized right then that my lack of jealousy meant something serious for our relationship. I wasn’t jealous at all. I actually felt…nothing. 

After he’d had his own taste of freedom, he seemed to be a little more on board with my relationship with Will and we talked about me possibly going to meet him in person. George told me that I should go so that I wouldn’t have any regrets later. The thought terrified and thrilled me all at the same time. 

However, George’s magnanimous gesture of telling me to follow through and meet Will was exceedingly short lived. His insecurities with the situation came roaring to the surface after only a few days. Suddenly he wanted more of my time and attention to be focused on him. At the same time he wanted me to acknowledge how pathetic and broken I was to consider this man I barely knew more important to me than he, my own husband. 

Insinuations and insults dripped like venom off his tongue, beating on my self-esteem without mercy, along with unending guilt trips about my lack of desire for sex with him. This barrage of emotional daggers only caused me to retreat, making me more defensive and secretive than ever. 

I no longer felt like it was George and I on the same team charting this course together, but instead it felt like I had become the enemy and he was attacking full force.  I wasn’t sure I would survive it.

There was one point where George decided that he wanted to talk to Will to tell him every way in which I had hurt him and let him know the kind of awful person he was getting involved with. Will agreed to talk with him and as my husband sat texting my boyfriend, I bit my nails to the nubs as I awaited the outcome. When they were done texting, I asked what had happened and George told me what he had told Will about me. When I asked about how Will had responded, George said with a sneer, “He said to be gentle with you.”  It spoke volumes to me about who loved me and who just wanted to win. 

The next few months were filled with what I can only describe as a schizophrenic tide of emotional upheaval. One minute George was fine with the trip I had planned to meet Will and the next moment he was convincing me that I should break up with Will and recommit to my marriage. I was lost in a sea of shifting thoughts, scared of the consequences George was insisting would result of my selfish actions. 

But in the midst of that emotional hailstorm, I found myself clinging to that sweet response to my husband’s tirade about me. “Be gentle with her.” And I knew that I had to go and meet this man.  

George lectured and ranted, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying because my heart was screaming at me to go. I couldn’t ignore it, it was too loud. I couldn’t live with the thought of that regret looming over my head for the rest of my life, so consequences be damned, I had to find out if I was making this all up in my head or if it was real. 

The fight that morning as I was getting ready to leave for the airport was inevitable and I knew it, so I endured it. And while it pained me to see the anguish on his face during that argument, I had to admit to myself that I was prepared for it. A common tool in his arsenal of manipulations that always called me back to him to soothe him and bolster his ego, reassure him that everything would be alright. 

And though it took quite a bit of resolve to withstand it, I willed myself to turn around and go. I knew he thought I would get to the airport and turn around and come home. That wounded expression he held had always been a weakness for me, something I could not bear to see. It was his winning move, and I knew he was confident that it would change my mind. It didn’t. Not this time. I clicked my seatbelt into place, murmured a quiet goodbye and drove away. 

I knew some of George’s points were valid, but I also knew I couldn’t bear to let go of the one person who loved me for me and made me laugh in order to continue on with the one who disliked me and brought out an anger and misery I didn’t know I was capable of. 

I was surprisingly calm getting off the plane considering the situation. I thought I would feel so nervous I would want to throw up, but I wasn’t nervous at all. It’s a strange feeling to meet someone in person that you’ve been talking to for months. You simultaneously know them and don’t know them at all. 

I saw him immediately after I came through the gate. I gave him an awkward half hug and we headed out of the airport. When we got to the hotel, he had a scrabble board set up on the dresser that said ‘I love you’ in scrabble tiles. We ordered room service, played scrabble on the bed and chatted. It was the most relaxed and happy I had ever felt in the company of a man. 

When I looked into his eyes, I saw his soul. We both knew that what we were doing wasn’t right, that it was unfair to our spouses. It was even more unfair to his because he hadn’t told her yet, but there was an undeniable chemistry between us that was so much deeper than just being physical. Rather than try to justify our actions though, I think we both just avoided the subject at the time. 

When we finally kissed, I felt a spark that I had never felt with my husband the whole time we had been together. While this trip helped me to know that what I had with Will was most definitely not in my imagination, it only made it harder to return home to a marriage that I had outgrown. Leaving him at the airport was extremely difficult. As if in a movie, he wiped my tears and told me that it wasn’t going to be the last time we’d see each other. It was not the end for us. I hoped with every fiber of my being that he was right. It turned out he was.