About six weeks into our marriage I exclaimed. “How could we possibly be out of money, I still have checks!” She took the check book away from me and though I know it exists. I’m surprised that my name is even on them. She totally took over the bills some 23 years ago and didn’t look back until July of 2008.
A few days before discovery, my spouse had asked me to leave our home, but the fact was that she was finally having a conversation with me. She admitted to “talking” to men at school. The next day, I found the phone bills in a box and began to wade through them. I didn’t know what I was looking for–long phone calls I suppose? I finally confronted her with the bill and asked who the numbers belonged to. The out-of-town number that usually went for an hour, both day-and-night was the most glaring. Of course, it was HIS number. She brushed it off. “It’s just my high school boyfriend. We have been talking since the reunion.” Well, they weren’t just “talking,” and she tore up the phone bills in front of me.
The high school boyfriend asked if I would find the phone records. "No danger there, I pay the bills" she said.
I went on-line and found the phone records. In time, I found the other men there. From the phone bills I know all the dates and times of all the icky details. The fact is what I know really hurts me. I can track when she tried to call one man at 3 am. He return the call at 5 am. I can see the phone call that they made as they were driving to each other. There is that 2 min. phone call to me to tell me know she will be late.
The whole thing just tares me apart. At some point, I would go over the phone record with her and she would tell me who everyone is. If I had a question she would start dialing the number and find some excuse for the impromptu call, leting me listen so I would know it was her Aunt or girlfriend or coworker.
We don’t do this anymore.
But there is that new phone bill sitting unopened on the back of the couch. My impulse is to go on-line and pour over the records again. “If there were four guys, there might be five.” “What did I miss??”
Every time I tell her a date or a detail that even she doesn’t remember, that sad look washes over her face. Is this hurt about me or her? Or is it about someone else?
It’s self torture. At some point I had to stop thinking about it. Stop reliving it. I have to accept it for what it is. I’ve poured over it, I know what happened and in some ways, better than they do. I have my answers. She’s not doing it anymore. We are rebuilding and doing a good job of it.
I'm letting it go.