I could write about how I went to my online pharmacy and saw that -‘s medication is being sent to his gf’s address.
I could write about how it dawned on me that the books he ordered for my daughter from Amazon in late August had his gf’s address (and name) as the addressee.
I could write about how when I refused, upon legal advice, to move from the house so he could rent it, he said, “And how do you propose to make up for the shortfall?” I said that he created this mess and he could figure that out. I guess he did, by moving in with her and her three children under 12.
I could write about that.
Instead I’ll write about how one of my best friends is coming for dinner Friday night.
She lives quite a way away so she’s staying over. Why not?
I’ll write about how we added a newer friend of ours to the pj party and she said she’d love to come!
I’ll write about how I keep falling in slow motion toward a warm pool of love with one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.
That’s what I’ll write about.
Because if you want the example to be to your son and daughter that you can leave their mother without ending it like a man, starting up with another woman before divorce proceedings have even started, and move into another man’s house, fuck his wife, discipline his children, and benefit from his hard-earned life, that is now being enjoyed by his ex-wife and her new broken man, I’m not the parent to look to.
If you want to be the example that rare people can bring you to your knees, where you take the opportunity to puke out your nausea while you’re closer to the ground, and you somehow pull your way back to standing, connect with your friends and enjoy time together, and not get involved until you are sure the person is caring, loyal, loving, and faithful, you can look to me.
I am that parent.
How long will it take each family member to sort out the truth?