I decided right then to act like this wasn’t bothering me. He was acting like moving his wife’s and stepchildren’s belongings was business as usual. I refused to let him see me upset. I sat down in the kitchen, put my feet up, and listened to music. I watched as he and his minions (he paid them) moved from my kids’ rooms, to the kitchen and to my office.

The Mitch then complains that I’m not helping. I didn’t understand that one. He told me to go to work. I was supposed to come back and find my things gone. Why is he expecting me to help now? He soon left to go to the storage and to work his second job (a man who makes SIX FIGURES a year, needs a second job because I’m not there contributing). I decided to tackle the bedroom we shared and I realized I would need help. I called my father and my sister. My dad arrived with my daughter. When she saw her empty room, she burst into tears. Once my sister came over, we managed to pack up most of the bedroom, bathroom and kitchen. My dad left for more bins and boxes and The Mitch soon returned to the house. I was bombarded with questions about what needed to be loaded and what was left to do. I tried explaining that my dad went to get more bins so I could finish, but I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. He was ready for me to leave so he could go to sleep before going to work, so I told him to shut the f*** up and lay down. His response, “You don’t have to get an attitude.”

That was the last straw. Something in me snapped. My sister started to speak, I stopped her and said, “No, it’s ok. I got this” and went off on a major rant. I let it all out. His brother, cousin, my sister, and unfortunately my daughter, heard me screaming about everything I endured with him for months and how I forgave him for the sexually explicit messages between him and SEVERAL women on Instagram. I continued to yell, scream and rant. I know I threw something, only I can’t remember what. My sister called our dad because she couldn’t get me to stop. When he returned, I calmed down and it was decided that I would come back and finish packing after he left for work. I apologized to my daughter for how I acted and told her that I didn’t mean to ruin her birthday. I had scared her and she was worried about me. Before she left for her weekend with her dad, I promised her I would have a place for us to go when she came back Sunday.

My dad, sister, cousin, a friend and I went back to The Mitch’s house after he left for work. His brother and sister in law were there to watch us. They were assigned to make sure my family and I didn’t damage the house or take things that didn’t belong to me. It made us feel like common criminals. I also learned that he only paid for the storage for two weeks. If I did not find a place to live and get my things out within that time, I would have to pay.

My head was spinning. So much had happened in such a short period of time. In June he helped plan my surprise birthday party. We planned a trip to Hawaii for our first anniversary. I had booked the rental car. He had plans to start a new business. I was supposed to design the logo and help him market it. We were having some problems, but I thought it was just the process of getting used to being married. We talked every night while he drove for work. He would always say how happy he was and he knew what he had at home. How there was nothing in the streets for him and that I was his best friend. Now here I am, facing a divorce and having to find a place for me and my children.

I stayed with my sister that night and planned to find a house or apartment the next day. That was just a day full of disappointment. At one point, I broke down and cried in the office at one apartment complex because nothing was going the way I planned. God bless the woman who showed me so much compassion that day. She listened, hugged me and helped me create a list of available properties. I will never forget her for the kindness and compassion she showed me.

Long story short, I did not find a place that weekend. My daughter and I stayed with my mom and stepfather. For two weeks, we lived out of bins, baskets and boxes while going to work and school. Within those two weeks, I got a text from someone I had not heard from in a little more than three years. I’d deleted the number, but I knew who it was the moment I read the text. It was him, the man I dated before I married The Mitch. He found out from a mutual friend what happened and wanted to help. He was a huge help to me. Not only was he there for me to talk to, he is the reason why I have my apartment today. He noticed the place across from him was available and was very nice. The landlord was working on it and he made sure I could come by and take a look. I fell in love the minute I walked through the door. There was nothing to hate about it — one car garage, fenced in backyard, three bedrooms, two baths and a spacious living room. This place was better than the house I was put out of. Don’t get me wrong, The Mitch didn’t have me living in squalor, but his home was in need of renovations to modernize it and optimize space.

Since the ex-boyfriend and I have reconnected, as friends only, he has been such a big help. We’ve watched movies together and even kept each other company during the aftermath of a hurricane. We text or talk daily. When we see each other outside, we always say, “Hi neighbor!” He has been through a divorce, so his insight on all I’m going through has been very helpful. He really looks out for me and I appreciate it more than I can really say. He’s the best ex-boyfriend/neighbor a girl could ask for.

Check out my Instagram page at @prettypettyparent for more.

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.