It’s January 2019, and I am in a completely different place than I was a year ago. A year ago, I was a newly wed, living with my husband. Now, I’m waiting to finalize my divorce and am living across the street from the man I dated before I met my estranged husband, now known as “The Mitch.” How did this happen? How did my life shift so quickly in less than a year? An innocent joke about my doing his laundry started the end of my marriage and resulted in me living across the street from my ex-boyfriend. (Spoiler alert… a joke really didn’t end my marriage. That story comes later.)
Anyway, it was August 19, 2018, and The Mitch and I had attended church then saw a movie. After that, I picked up my daughter from her father and had Sunday dinner with my mom. A typical day. Later that evening, I started folding laundry. The Mitch was lying on the bed. I playfully threw a sock on his head and told him I wasn’t going to do his laundry anymore so I could lighten my workload. We joked about it for a little while. He then got very serious and said, “Well, since you’re going to stop doing that, you can pay for the service fee on the Mercedes.”
The Mercedes was a gift he got me for Christmas in 2017, shortly after we were married. This was the second time he threw the service fee in my face. I then realized that it wasn’t a gift, at least not for me.
I simply replied that I wouldn’t drive it then. After that, he stopped talking to me. Hardly any hello’s, or goodbye’s, no conversations. He acted like I didn’t exist. When he did say anything to me, it was only in response to something I said to him. His replies were usually one word. If he had to make a complete sentence, he acted as if it was taking the life out of him. This lasted for four weeks.
For the first two weeks, I continued to wash his clothes, cook and fix his lunch and make his coffee for work. It was all done in an attempt to continue to be the person I am. I had resolved to not let his actions change my own. I endured the silence, listening to him converse with his friends and family on the phone. He would come and go without saying a word. We only shared a bed on weekends because he works nights. But Saturday’s and Sunday’s were just as lonely. He slept on the far left side of the king sized bed — our feet never even touched. I was being deprived of attention, conversation and affection.
The last two weeks, I felt half crazy. I didn’t know what to do. I eventually stopped doing all the things I had resolved to continue doing. I even moved out of the bedroom, sleeping in the room designated for my son when he comes home. The silent treatment from him was isolating. I kept music playing through my Bluetooth to drown out the silence. After work, I went home after I knew he was gone. I wanted to avoid the awkward tension of being around someone who acted like I wasn’t there.
Week five, September 16, 2018, I knew we had to talk. My daughter noticed what was happening. She walked in on me crying a couple of times. In reaction to all of this, she stopped speaking to him. I knew the situation could not continue. It was just too toxic. He and I actually had a conversation on that day. In a nutshell, he said he was done. No working it out, no counseling. I wasn’t the same. I didn’t do the things I used to do. His feelings towards me and our marriage were different and he didn’t want to be married anymore. The funny thing is, he wouldn’t say he wanted a divorce. He literally would not say the word. The Mitch accused me of wanting him to say it first so I can tell people he asked for it. That was one of the most absurd things I’d ever heard. He DID ask for it first. I told him to draw up the papers and I’d sign them.
Friday, September 21, 2018, my daughter’s 8th birthday, five days after he decided we were over, he calls me at 5:30 AM. The first thing he said was to tell Poo Poo, (his name for my daughter) Happy Birthday. He then began asking me about moving out, and if I wanted him to buy a new washer and dryer for me. I said no and I couldn’t answer his questions because I had not had a chance to find a new place to live. It had been less than a week. I had planned to look for an apartment the next day.
That did not satisfy him. He informed me he was still going on our first anniversary trip to Hawaii — I declined to go because we were breaking up — and didn’t want “any and everybody” in his house helping me move. He defined “any and everybody” as my family. This upset me. My family had been nothing but nice and welcoming to him. I simply ended the call. He then text that he was changing the locks on Sunday. I called him back and found out he wanted to move my things himself and put them in storage. I agreed and told him I would take off work to pack. He told me to go to work, but I took the day off anyway. After dropping my daughter off at school, I bought supplies to pack and went back to the house. When I got there, the largest UHaul truck I’d ever seen was parked at the front door. It had never occurred to me that he would be moving my things the same day. I looked into the UHaul and saw my washer and dryer.
I immediately went into the house. The Mitch, his brother, and his cousin were in my son’s room taking apart his bed and putting his clothes into trash bags. Random items were haphazardly packed in boxes. I could not believe my eyes. I don’t think there was ever a time when I felt so low, defeated and broken. I don’t remember him responding when I questioned why he was moving my things out that day. I just remember seeing my son’s room being dismantled.
This is a pretty long story. Come back Sunday February 3, for part 2. In the meantime, check out my Instagram page @prettypettyparent.
Pretty. Petty. Parent. 