“You left this morning on an early plane
You left your picture behind to haunt me.
You left in a steady rain
You’ll say you miss me; say you want me.
I’m left this mornin’ with a world of doubt
I’m left this mornin’ indecently exposed.
So much we never did talk about.
And your kiss goodbye, said the case was closed.”
~ “I Don’t Wanna Lose You” Reo Speedwagon
ANYA: “This is your wake up call! The sun is up and beautiful! The world is waiting for you to charm them with your smile, grace them with your kindness, tickle them with your sense of humor and touch them with your big heart. So much out there to see, feel, touch, taste and experience. You have so much going for you and to give. So, my darling, please leave your home today and see what god gave us. 😊”
Her text was warm and beautiful, bringing a smile to my face through the threat of tears. The problem was I knew the sun outside paled in comparison to her beauty. My state of depression was growing so dark it blocked out the sun—a star far off in a distant galaxy brought as much brightness. God had abandoned me years ago, and it was clearer than ever he was gone for good. My mind was breaking, leaving me to opt for descending into nothingness. Her text was a super sweet gesture, but after I lost my partnership promotion and then Anya, the meaning of my life had vanished.
I didn’t want to discourage her from sending me her sweet words, refusing to let her know how immobile I’ve become. Without a promise to leave Jackson, a promise that should come naturally, I didn’t see the second half of my life changing for the better.
ME: “Haha! That was sweet. Thanks for that.”
ANYA: “It is really nice today! I promise! This is your day and it’s all about you! So up and adam!!😊”
Her “up and adam” message made me laugh—reminding me why I fell in love with her. Recalling the time she called duct tape “duck tape” brought back some needed contentment to my life—enough to consider getting out of bed and showering. If she saw herself through my eyes, how much she meant to me, she’d understand why my life had to end. If I’m not allowed to embrace the best feeling on the planet—falling in love, then there no longer was a purpose for being here. I’d just make people miserable, even making normally peaceful people angry. I didn’t want to be remembered for inability to move on from heartache. She would never be able to understand how a story ending with her staying with a mentally abusive philanderer would be impossible to ever recover from. As intentionally sweet her texts were, they only reminded me of what I lost and what would never be. As much as she believed she was, Anya was no longer in love with me. She was just killing time to make a friend feel better after being so much more. To know she was only brave enough to choose love as long as it didn’t interfere with the façade of her marriage was the toughest thing I’ve ever had to face. Her warmth was one of the best things about her, but if I were to die tomorrow, she would never even attempt to be by my side. Knowing that, I couldn’t fully embrace her heartfelt texts.
ME: “I’m only on my 11th hour of sleep though! Jk! 😊”
ANYA: “Time to move!”
ME: “You’d be proud of me. I’m at my computer now.”
ANYA: “Off the computer and out of the house but computer is a start! 😊”
ME: “You’re too cute, babe.”
ANYA: “😊”
A few hours later, I forced myself to leave my apartment. Sitting in my car and warming it up for over ten minutes uncertain if I had the strength to be seen in public, a message came through my phone.
ANYA: “R you out of the house young man?”
ME: “Haha! I’m in my car and out of the house I am happy to report. It’s hot but beautiful out.”
ANYA: “Yay! Good for you! Yes, hot but beautiful! Life is good! Now where are you going?”
ME: “Good question!”
ANYA: “Well doesn’t matter. You’re out of the house!!!”
ME: “I think I’ll just drive around. Nice to be out again.”
ANYA: “Good! I’m so glad! Thank you! Smile at someone. You’ll make their day! I swear! You have a great smile!”
ME: “Haha! Oh, I doubt that!”
ANYA: “Believe in it!”
ME: “I know you’re really worried about me. Thank you for your sweet texts.”
ANYA: “I care you know.”
ME: “I know.”
There was no doubt in my mind Anya cared about me, but it wasn’t enough to save me from this sorrow—just enough to try and help me cope with it. I decided to take this small victory of leaving and parlayed it into a return to my bedroom to further contemplate my existence—feeling more removed from the world than ever before.
My life became centered around taking a Vicodin pill, taking one every two hours in an attempt to stimulate me into looking for jobs, but all I did was read my old journals when things were good between us. Since my room was dark, I had no idea if it was day or night time. If I did fall asleep, it was no earlier than five in the morning. With my sleep cycle completely out of whack—I had never felt this much in despair. Since I also wasn’t eating, I couldn’t tell if it was lunch or dinner time—I didn’t have time for breakfast. Only if Anya messaged me did I know what time it was.
ANYA: “Rise and shine! Another beautiful day! I went to work in Irvine yesterday and everybody in their blue or white shirts reminded me of you! Time to get back into the swing of things sweetie! Get up get up! Life is beautiful!”
Her texts were sweet and thoughtful—but no one could save me now, not even her love. Suicide was the only answer to end this pain. Even if I got another job, my mental state wouldn’t have allowed me to be successful—I was done for. Anya feared that I would end my life, somehow, she could sense I was at the end of my rope, but it’s the last thing I wanted her to worry about. To want sympathy is pitiful in my book, all I ever wanted was understanding. I planned to end my life not because of Anya, but a culmination of everything that happened to me in life, and not just necessarily about love. There were a lot of people who would’ve loved to be in my shoes, but my mind was too diseased to recognize that. A century ago, my existence made a lot of sense—but not in this century. My suicide note to everyone will ensure no one feels responsible for any of this. If it was a sin to end my life, then a descent into nothingness made the most sense—I wanted to erase my entire record of existence.
ME: “But it’s sooo early! I’m kidding. Thank you, Sweetheart.”
ANYA: “Ahhhh ur up! Yay!!! This is going to be a great day!”
ME: “I’m up but not quite yet adam. 😊”
ANYA: “Good good!!! Going to get my hair cut off today. Going to get a long bob.”
ME: “Haha! What’s a long bob?”
ANYA: “A bob down to my shoulders. Need a change.”
When Anya told me about getting her hair cut, I recalled the time she asked me what I thought about it, in fear of losing me over it. Now, it seemed official—her mind was made up proving what I always believed—women never change their minds when it came to me.
ME: “Cute!”
ANYA: “😊 We’ll see!”
ME: “Oh I’m sure. 😊”
ANYA: “😊 Thx! I’ll let you know. Meanwhile you’re going to get out and do something right?”
ME: “I plan on it. I can’t tell you when or what but I have to do something.”
ANYA: “I’m glad to hear that! Good for you! You’re awesome! 😊”
ME: “I really am awesome, I swear! Just kidding. I’m just down right now. I’m sure I’ll snap out of it soon. Your words help me feel better.”
ANYA: “You are awesome! I know you will sweets.”
ME: “I just don’t want you to worry about me. You have enough to worry about. I’ll be ok.”
ANYA: “Only natural to worry. I’m sorry. I feel responsible for all of this.”
ME: “Well it’s my fault for making you feel that way—it’s not your cross to carry. I’ll get back on track. You’re not responsible. Your life is what you make it. This was my choice. I’ll be fine I promise.”
She shouldn’t have felt bad about getting angry at me. Your life is what you make it and I made it to feel the way I did at this moment. I could’ve walked away and not allowed her to reconnect with me and followed my mind instead of my heart—that’s not who I was though. It’s my fault for not protecting myself and letting my guard down. My decision to trust she wanted me to fight for her and do all the things she asked of me for her to leave Jackson. I made my bed and now I literally, slept in it. Love simply did not want anything to do with me. I wasn’t rich enough, tall enough or popular enough for her to be with me. I knew it from day one and I refused to believe it—thinking me, of all people, could get her to leave a man who represented all the things I was not. Although appreciated, I didn’t want Anya’s sympathy. My mind was made up to end this hellish joke of a life. If I needed a drug to feel euphoric, this life wasn’t worth loving. My drive to succeed has been dismantled. Years of toil, hard work, sacrifice and belief had become a complete waste of time. Although it was Anya’s responsibility to inform me of the real reasons why she remained married to Jackson when we decided to give this a try, the blame rested on a weak hopelessly hopeful heart for my misery—this was all on me.
After Anya’s messages, I found the strength to shower and grab lunch out before running around to do a few errands. About two hours away from the comfort of my dark bedroom, Anya sent me an instant message.
ANYA: “Whatcha doin?”
ME: “Just got done getting my car washed. Did you get your haircut?”
ANYA: “Oh good! It’s hot out there! Yes, it’s short! They cut 6 inches off!”
ME: “How do you like it?”
ANYA: “Well I have to get used to shorter hair. It’s much darker too. It’s more of a sleek look than messy. Wanna see it? I can send you a pic.”
ME: “Yes! Of course, I do!”
ANYA: “Ok but don’t laugh!”
ME: “Come on now. You’re beautiful!”
ANYA: “I just sent it!”
When her picture arrived on my phone, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling because my reality was this beauty would never belong to me. Her dark hair now curled slightly at the ends barely past her shoulders—I just loved her new look, her smile making it purely perfect. She was just one of those women that could do anything with her hair and look absolutely stunning—just another form of gorgeousness. As much as my heart disallowed my eyes from her photo, my mind intruded telling me to not torture myself.
ME: “Wow! It looks great!
ANYA: “Thx! Have to get use to the dark and short.”
ME: “It looks perfect.”
ANYA: “Thank you! You’re sweet!”
Her hair made the word beautiful an understatement—breaking my heart even more knowing I couldn’t see her new haircut in person. When I didn’t hear from her that evening, the new haircut had to be for a client meeting. Or maybe she reconciled with Jackson after Facebook during the Boston trip—she likely had their own bedroom away from the kids, and was out on a date with him. To my surprise though, she sent me a late night text.
ANYA: “How r u feeling?”
ME: “I feel ok. I did get out of the house today though. How r u?”
ANYA: “Well you did get out so that’s a good thing! I’m good just worried about you.”
Anya made it hard to follow through on my pact to kill myself with her sweet text at a very late hour for her. She wasn’t responsible for being angry at me—she had every right in the world to let me have it. Sadly, she had turned into Summer from the movie we saw and my heart was reeling. Anya had her “everything”, but I lost mine. If I wasn’t good enough to be with my soulmate, I had no business being on the planet. All I had left to fall back on was a lost career, love and a sick mother. This relationship could never have been about me, and I dove in knowing it had to be about her. I just never dreamt she would leave me, broken beyond repair. I would leave her a personal letter explaining why I decided to take my life—she wasn’t responsible for my belief in love.
ANYA: “Please feel better soon.”
ME: “I’ll be ok babe.”
ANYA: “Promise?”
ME: “I don’t make promises anymore. I’m kidding! 😊”
How many promises have I broken already? I had to take a page out of her promise playbook and not make them in order to avoid breaking them. Unfortunately, and although I disagreed, promising to be with me was the same as hurting her kids—she forgot to tell me when we met that they trusted her to never leave her abuser. If what Anya and I had was true love full of goodness, there was no way the kids would be hurt if she left Jackson. They would only be hurt if this wasn’t true love—why it scared me that she believed her kids would be hurt by us being together.
ME: “You shouldn’t feel responsible. I wouldn’t want what I was doing to you if I was you either.”
ANYA: “I’m worried about you. Wish I could make it better for you.”
She had the power to make me feel better. But as long as she believed a promise would bring me happiness and her kids sadness, I had to accept my fate.
ME: “Me too.”
I would’ve rather not known this kind of love existed. To know a love so deep could lead to such emptiness brought forth my complete and total demise. I wasn’t suffering from a broken heart. No, this was a broken soul. If my soulmate, the one the universe put on this earth for me, couldn’t see the innate goodness in our love, then there was nothing else to live for. I didn’t want to discount anything Anya felt. I fought her long and hard to see that our love would not hurt them—but in her eyes it did. When she had to spend time dealing with my emotions taking her away from them. I wasn’t at home—I didn’t see what she did. And she wasn’t home with me and wasn’t inside a head that spent lonely nights while she slept next to someone else. As much as she claimed to love me because our relationship problems took her away from Katie and Andrew, that didn’t mean what she felt was love. She likely believed since she told me so much, she had to show compassion to soften the threat. Now that she didn’t believe the goodness in our love, talking to Jackson was fruitless. Once she felt secure that I was fine, she would disappear from my life for good and I’d certainly know what I suspected for so long.
The next morning, Anya’s compassionate heart came through once again. a consistency I always craved up until now.
ANYA: “It’s a beautiful morning! Am I bugging you w/my wake up calls? Well too bad cuz you’re getting up! Hmmmm…what’s on the agenda today? 😊”
Did hurt and sadness count as being on the agenda? Not in her wildest dreams could she ever bug me. This poor woman had to put up with a lot of my shit—so much it ashamed me to reflect upon it. Although I needed to see her anger, I preferred her to be at peace—I was desperate to know how she really felt about me. In the same breath, I knew these messages would cease sooner than later. This represented my last depression—the fire inside me will soon forever be extinguished by my own hand. Anya had no idea of my plan to exile myself from the world. I knew with certainty she would stop messaging me soon as much as I knew if I died she would never be there for me. I hated to hide the darkness from her, but there was no saving this soul anymore. The damage has been done and the time to take the trash out was near.
ME: “I love my wake-up calls. Hmmmm…Idk. 😊”
After an hour passed, she found the time to respond.
ANYA: “😊”
ME: “I’m sure I’ll snap out of this funk soon. I go to bed early and still can’t get out of bed. Never thought getting out of bed would be on my daily agenda! All I want to do is fall asleep and dream. I’m ok. Thank you for your thoughtful messages.”
ANYA: “I know you’ll be ok.”
After our IMversation, I decided to get on my computer to read and write in my journal—giving up on my job search. As much as I wanted to turn “us” into a positive in my life, my life was forever altered by Anya’s love—there would be no recovery from this. I wasn’t the same man anymore and my search for love has ended after knowing I met my soulmate. When I failed to secure a promise from her to leave her husband—there was no place for me here any longer. If the woman who hoped, wished and dreamt of being with me, who wanted to wear my ring, who would rather die than never have me in her life could easily change her mind about those things simply because as a woman she had the right to—then my life was eternally doomed. Part of the fun of living life was the hope of falling in love and sharing a life with that person. When the universe denied me that, it was time to become stardust. It broke my heart to know she would never defend me or vouch for me to her children—the man who truly honored and respected her. I always respected her wishes even when she claimed I never did—if I couldn’t fight for the one who called me her soulmate, then I couldn’t fight for anything. As much as Anya claimed to believe in our love because it was good enough to even say in God’s name “I love you, Landyn”, the truth was she wasn’t proud of me or us—even if I truly honored her like no man ever would. That she looked as being with me was the same as giving up her children. That she could tell me all about her kids, even telling me I knew them better than any other man, but never viewing me as worthy of an introduction. In the end, it felt like she viewed me as the abusive cheating monster and not her husband—the actual one who committed the most treasonous acts in a marriage. As I continued to read through my daily journal, I decided to tally up all the times we met to get my mind off my dwindling days.
ME: “I counted up all the times we’ve seen each other. It’s been over 90 times with 46 of those times at my place.”
ANYA: “Wow!”
ME: “Then of course I can’t help but think of how busy you always were and I feel bad for you. Sweet of you to see me that many times. Have a good day!”
ANYA: “You too! You’re up, right?”
ME: “I’m up.”
ANYA: “Yay!!!”
ME: “Haha! Getting better—I’m up by noon now! Now you don’t have to worry about me anymore. 😊”
ANYA: “Getting better!”
After Anya communicated her daily responsibilities to me before she left for Boston, for her to fit me in her schedule was no small feat. Sadly, I couldn’t tell if she did it out of soulmate love or was just under way too much stress at home and desperate for relief to stay in her marriage for the sake of the kids so she wouldn’t lose fifty percent of them. The longer we dated, the more I thought she would feel inclined to leave Jackson. All it did though was seem to show she viewed her marriage as the general unhappiness every marriage goes through—her unhappiness not attached to anger about Jackson’s infidelities. As long as he provided, she was never ambivalent to her marriage—they were unrealistic anyway.
I couldn’t have imagined she would allow me to go all in for us, then fight to stay in her marriage. If she didn’t want to lose fifty percent of her kids, I would’ve understood that—but not after allowing and encouraging me to fall deeply in love with her. And definitely not after asking me to fight for her. How could I not feel betrayed by that?
The next day, she remained consistent with her concern.
ANYA: “Rise and shine!!! 😊”
ME: “Rising 😊”
ANYA: “Good!”
ME: “How r u?”
ANYA: “I’m good. Taking the kids to the beach. Last free weekend before school starts. How r u feeling?”
ME: “I don’t want to tell you babe. I’m ok.”
ANYA: “Tell me what?”
ME: “I just want to spare you the details. I’m ok. Sorry emotions. No anger at all. Great day for the beach!”
ANYA: “I’m sorry.”
ME: “Not your fault.”
ANYA: “I still feel bad. Very bad.”
ME: “Why? I was the one who was pressuring you. Who would want that? It’s just so tough.”
ANYA: “It’s tough. I’m so sorry. I know you’re having a hard time.”
I’d go back and forth from getting upset with her to being compassionate to her feelings. I wouldn’t have wanted my pressure either, but I also felt those presented times to show your love for someone. Anya claimed to be torn and so was I—torn being mad at her for allowing me to feel this and being compassionate for her struggles. Sadly, I trusted her to lead me in the right direction from day one; not day five hundred. After feelings of despair over Denise—I vowed to never feel that way again and here I found myself in a much darker place. How much more of my pressure could Anya take? What I couldn’t see was how it affected her kids when her mood changed on a dime because of me. From that standpoint, she had every right in the world to get angry at me for pressuring her. In my head, pressure to be with me, someone she claimed to love, shouldn’t be pressure at all. Her view of the pressure was different—it was the pressure to be who she needed to be around her kids at home and the extra stress I put her under at home. That was part of our disconnect and heightened the fragility of our hope. In the summer, the kids were out of school and she felt much more pressure having to be around them. Anya really had no choice but to pull away, and that was on me. When you’re married for nearly twenty years, love just didn’t mean as much to her. She believed love died naturally in a marriage and she likely believed the same would happen with us. Love meant a lot more to me than it did to her because it never left me jaded. Sure, it broke my heart, but never left me believing it was unrealistic if I ever got married. No wonder why Anya thought I was crazy.
I thought I could control the pressure I gave her but I couldn’t control how much I missed her. Although it broke my heart, I’m glad she seemed to be in a good place emotionally and mentally. I’m sure she missed what we shared but I could no longer trust what it meant to her. If what she felt was truly love, or at least truly believed it could last forever, she would’ve been willing to lose everything, not just risk losing it—love had to be a verb before it became a noun. I would’ve never pushed her to leave if I believed our love would hurt their kids and if it did hurt them, there had to be something else she wasn’t telling me.
The next morning, Anya texted me first thing once again.
ANYA: “Good morning! Happy Labor Day!”
ME: “Good morning! Happy Labor Day to you too!”
ANYA: “😊”
While she went to social events on this day, like the earth spinning on its axis, I stayed in the comfort of my bedroom, in and out of sleep. Unable to move and never feeling more alone.
Over the next two weeks, Anya morning texts started to naturally cease—like I believed they would. On the afternoon of September 22nd, while continuing to struggle to get myself out of bed to face the day, she sent me a text.
ANYA: “It’s hot as heck! How r u?”
ME: “I’m good. How hot is it? How r u?”
ANYA: “Idk but pretty hot! It’s really nice though. I’m good just working at home.”
ME: “Doesn’t feel too hot here. Oh wait. It is. Guess the trees make it seem cooler. Good day to be in a nice cool movie theater!”
ANYA: “I wish.”
ME: “How’s Katie liking her high school so far?”
ANYA: “She loves it minus the ghetto factor. She says she gets “daaaaaang girl” sometimes. You know what that means.”
ME: “I guess a public high school wouldn’t be a public high school without getting sexually harassed. “Dang” is still being used? Thought that word was old school.”
ANYA: “Ha! Yea they say you get approached differently by race. “Daaaaaang girl, chi chi Pssp, hey girl etc”! You should hear these girls talk about “them”. DACE kids are mostly “white” so they get their share. Luckily Katie blends in better than her friends.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
ME: “I went to public schools and never heard chi chi before. These kids don’t even make sense these days.”
ANYA: “The Hispanics say that.”
ME: “I thought the greeting was the same for both sexes. So, I guess they don’t say “Hey Holmes” anymore.”
ANYA: “No not to girls. They save “chi” for special times like when they see girls.”
ME: “Haha! And here I thought chivalry was dead.”
ANYA: “Yea Rico Suave”
I’ve seen women fall for guys who basically sexually harassed them, then turn their noses up to men like myself. Sadly, Anya basically dated, married and had kids with a man who basically treated her like a “chi chi”. It was natural for me to fear that Katie could fall in the same trap. When Anya told me “I should hear what these girls say”, it made me feel special, loosening the noose of darkness around my neck. Even as the cold hard truth surrounded me, I still searched for a sliver of a silver lining. I guess what worried me about Anya’s love is how come I was so broken up and she didn’t appear to be. How could this be so terribly hard on me, and appear to be so easy for her? The fact she would allow me to get so close, feel so much, then tell me she had no idea what she was doing was more evidence than I ever wanted to accept. I didn’t want my mind to win over my heart. I willed my heart to win, but my mind gained a lot of ground.
When I didn’t hear from her the next day, her inconsistency returning with a vengeance, I started to crack once again. Just before I broke into pieces, Anya texted me at thirty-seven minutes past eleven the following morning.
ANYA: “How r u?”
When I heard from her, I felt relieved she had stopped the implosion of my soul.
ME: “Hey chi chi! I’m good. How r u?”
ANYA: “Haha! Too funny! I’m good. It’s my turn to host Book club so I’m busy getting ready for that. What r u up to?”
ME: “What book did you read? I’m just relaxing, waiting for my recruiter to give me a call. I might go see a movie. Idk.”
ANYA: “You mean what book I was supposed to read? “Devil in the White City” Erik Larson.”
ME: “Haha! I was going to ask if the host read it but I got away with “chi chi” so I didn’t want to press my luck. Hmmm…never heard of that one and I’ve been going to the bookstore often.”
ANYA: “Old book.”
ME: “That explains it. 😊”
ANYA: “😊 “
ME: “Just walked outside. It feels hotter than yesterday.”
ANYA: “Yea feels good.”
Her response was strange—she didn’t like hot weather.
ME: “Oh I know how much you love hot weather.”
ANYA: “Yea it’s pretty hot.”
Her responses did not follow her usual script—she seemed distracted by something, or someone. I decided to leave her alone but messaged her two hours later.
ME: “What time does your Book club meeting start?”
ANYA: “7 pm”
She seemed to be drifting in her thoughts, possibly drinking again, or sad---likely all three. Whenever she failed to place a period at the end of her messages, it gave me the impression she was messaging me with Jackson around or she was emotional. Since she hosted book club, she was likely a bit inebriated. Those thoughts I had wondering how it could be so easy for her, was likely the same act I gave her—she had no idea about the darkness of my depression. I wanted to live a haggard life in the truth, not one clothed nicely in a lie. For a man to deeply fall in love with a woman who refused to be with him was atrial suicide. Anya was never a luxury to me, but a necessity.
When the morning arrived for me, usually now at ten, I messaged her.
ME: “How did your Bookclub meeting go?”
ANYA: “Good! Just cleaning up the mess! How r u?”
Anya had asked me everyday this week how I was doing—something seemed to be on her mind.
ME: “I’m good. How r u?”
Although I was far from “good” without her in my life, I didn’t want her to worry about me.
ANYA: “Good just tired.”
ME: “Was it a late night?”
ANYA: “Kinda”
Again, she failed to add a period at the end of “kinda” and this time she didn’t seem to be around anyone or in any kind of rush. This period neglect felt intentional—wanting me to pay attention to it. Maybe she felt like crying again, wanted to share, but she didn’t want me to worry about her—the last thing she needed. With her son and daughter now at two different schools, she had to shuttle them back and forth—at least for the next two years before Katie could drive. One of my reasons for pressuring her was so I could help take things off her plate. I could easily have taken Andrew or Katie to school before heading to work. It amazed me that since he ran his own business, Jackson’s hours were flexible enough to at least take the kids to school in the morning. Maybe I was old-fashioned, but if it made Anya happy, I’d be happy to do it. Anya could’ve feared I’d fall out of love with her, doing those kinds of things, but my love for her was why I would be more than happy to do it. Each time I pressured Anya, as much as she thought it was about me, it was thinking of her, of us. It was impossible to be happy every day, we were remarkably unhappy most days of our lives, but at least she’d be happier. Living a life full of stress and pressure was the last thing I wanted for her. She had to believe in our love though for me to show her how much better life could be with me instead of their father—a man who didn’t put any real work into raising them. The inequity in their marriage was evident—it’s why she pursued me.
Continuing to sleep my days away, life seemed to slip through my grasp—uninspired to put myself out into the world. In the past, depressions were eventually shaken off, but this was not the same Landyn before meeting Anya—like a soldier who returned home from war a shell of his former self. Although I promised myself to never initiate another message between us, I broke my vow.
ME: “R u sleeping ok?”
ANYA: “Huh?”
ME: “Have you been sleeping ok?”
ANYA: “Yes why?”
ME: “Because you said you were tired and you said it was a “kinda” late night. Thought maybe you weren’t sleeping well.”
ANYA: “Oh just last night cuz I stayed up cleaning plus think I drank too much. I’m ok. What’s up with you?”
Anya’s defensiveness regarding a simple inquiry sparked negative emotions. Her “what’s up with you” seemed more like “what’s your problem?”. I didn’t know what to make of it.
ME: “Just got done having lunch. I went to the gym earlier for the first time in 2 weeks. Easy workout though. Are you still drinking more than you usually do or are you feeling better now?”
ANYA: “Oh good for you!!! No, I’m better. Haven’t run since SF.”
ME: “Good! Why haven’t you run since SF?”
Anya told me she ran for the first time since SF a couple of weeks back, but she must have forgotten.
ANYA: “Um haven’t felt like running. Maybe burnt out. I’m still working out just not running. Will pick it back up soon. So I won’t be running another half this year.”
ME: “Is it because we don’t see each other anymore? Just kidding.”
ANYA: “Idk”
Her “I don’t know” response seemed to contain hidden emotions—a mix bag of anger and sadness.
ME: “I have to admit I feel less of an incentive to look good. That’s how I feel anyway. You inspired me to care about myself. I’m just that way.”
ANYA: “Sorry. I still workout everyday not to look good but to feel good. Think that’s just me though. I don’t feel good when I don’t work out. You always look good.”
ME: “I know what you mean. That’s because you love me. I don’t look so good these days. I’ll get back in shape though. How’s the new hairstyle holding up?”
ANYA: “Hair is fine. Grown out a bit. Have to get it cut soon. I don’t believe that.”
We exchanged a total of 12 texts on this day, far fewer than we have recently. It seemed she was trying to send me a message of some kind. Or maybe she was coming to the reality of a life without me in it—one without stress relief. If I was asking Anya to run away with me and leave the kids behind, I would let her go—but this wasn’t the case. At this point in time, I felt as insecure as a house five yards away from a tornado. All I needed was a promise from her to choose me, so I could wake up each morning not worrying if her love has changed. Didn’t we both deserve that? I trusted everything she told me that led me to feel this strongly about us. I feared nothing and no one, not even death. If I couldn’t fight for Anya, I couldn’t fight for anything in this life. I’m not saying her financial security isn’t important. I’m not saying her image and what people might say about her wasn’t important too and I’m definitely not saying the fear she had for her kids wasn’t real. All I’m saying is that it should’ve been just as hard for her to make the decision to love me in the manner that she did. If she couldn’t help it, then there was no argument she could make to me that could support staying in her marriage for anyone’s sake. To stay in her marriage after all we shared just felt insulting to me. The decision to stay for the sake of the kids now had to consider my feelings too, and that doesn’t mean it’s about me, but it’s not just about her either.
Then there’s also the part of me that can understand how Anya could be afraid that Katie may fail to get into a good college, affecting her future. Anya would then place the blame on herself, and us. My problem with her thinking here was that it neglects the shitty marriage, and punished us instead. Anya likely also felt why should the kids pay the price of having a great life for a bad decision she made? She likely thought the only way she could be with me is if she left Jackson and the kids behind completely—why she felt she would have to give them up. I know she was angry with me because of where we stood. I know it hurt her that she couldn’t feel my love because I will think we were getting back together—but how could she allow me to feel so much and be fine with her staying with another man? Without uncertainty, I was not built for this kind of situation--imagining someone I loved with another man alone drove me insane, but knowing she was with another man? It was atrial suicide—I had no clue she would ever consider staying at this point. Anya was everything to me and she knew me better than I knew myself. People announcing their love from the rooftop wouldn’t notify enough people about my love for Anya. I was beyond proud of her and wanted the whole world to know how special she was to me. For twenty-two months I’ve fought off the urge that should be denied to no one who felt as much love as she allowed and encouraged me to feel. Drinking herself into oblivion was a better solution than a promise? Didn’t she want me to meet her kids one day? Why couldn’t this work out if she truly loved me? Why did my heartache seem so much greater than hers? As I sulked the entire day, distraught from not hearing from her, I took a late afternoon nap hoping to sleep away the nightmare what was now my life. When I woke up, she had messaged me twice.
ANYA: “Did you have a nice day?”
ANYA: “R u ok? Haven’t heard from you.”
ME: “Hey! I’m sorry for the late response, I fell asleep—I’m ok. I had a nice day. Did you have a nice day?”
ANYA: “Yes nice day now house full of kids.”
ME: “So your day is just starting? I’m kidding. Pretty busy day for you I bet.”
ANYA: “Haha! Yea going to be a long night.”
On a Friday evening, surrounded by people that kept her mind off of me, I had never felt more disconnected from the human race. Fridays used to be the happiest of days for me—the beginning of the weekend, but compared to Anya’s life, it became the bleakest day of the week. At five minutes to midnight, while sitting in front of a computer screen, fully separated from the world, Anya sent me the most unexpected message of our relationship.
ANYA: “How r u these days?”
ME: “I’m ok. How r u these days? Still worried about me? 😊 ”
When I glanced at my IM screen, it indicated that she had logged off.
ME: “Where’d ya go? 😊”
ME: “Hope the kids are treating you well.”
Putting my phone down, I went back to typing in my journal—Jackson was probably around and she had to turn off her phone. Ten minutes later though, she logged back in.
ANYA: “Just got your messages. Yes I am.”
ME: “I guess my reassurances aren’t working, are they? You must think I’m really crazy.”
ANYA: “No”
ME: “Haha! Ok good! It’s really tough. I wouldn’t kill myself though. I don’t know if that’s what worries you.”
ANYA: “No I don’t worry about that. I worry about your depression and you not working and if that might add to your depression. I know you’re going to come out of it and I know you know it too, just concerned that’s all. You know there are 5 steps to grieving right.”
ME: “I do…what are they again?”
ANYA: “Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.”
When she texted this to me it broke me into pieces—like what she told me at dinner during San Francisco. If she thought I could go through the five stages of grief in a couple of weeks, she clearly didn’t know how much I loved her. Worst yet—she seemed to be in the acceptance stage and way ahead of schedule. While I was too depressed to find the strength to look for work—wanting to do nothing but sleep all day, unable to move—taking an opiate to cope. I didn’t want Anya to know about any of this, her sweet texts gave me hope and were the only thing getting me out of bed at all. Then, out of nowhere she reminded me why I needed a promise from her, hitting me with the five stages of grief. Fighting back negative emotions, I refused to allow her to make me feel obligated to reach the acceptance stage anytime soon.
ANYA: “U there?”
ME: “Yes. I know I’m depressed…that’s for sure. I know it’s hard for you to understand.”
ANYA: “It’s temporary. Yes it is. I’m depressed too but I don’t understand what you’re going through. Maybe because I have kids and I have to get myself up every day?”
When I read her words, there was no way she could’ve felt all the love for me that I did for her. For her to consider this as “temporary”, she never would be able to understand all I put into our relationship. I know she feels she put herself into our relationship too, but not nearly as much as I did— It wasn’t tit for tat, but a fact. She lost really nothing she didn’t have before we met, I lost all I ever built, even losing my belief in love forever. To Anya, love was a fairy tale—just like it was for Summer in “500 Days of Summer”. Money was real to Anya—love was an unrealistic belief that was more for fun than ever meant to be a reality. Her reputation what people thought of her was all too real to ever believe in love. Financial security was all she truly needed in life and the only reason she told me money and things didn’t lead to happiness was because she was never in danger of losing them. She was only willing to risk them, and never willing to lose. The only loser here was me--I lost my career job and much worse, my belief in love. I even lost my sense of self—no longer the Landyn Lastman I knew before I met her. All I had left was a damaged soul—the last thing I had to lose.
ME: “I think what’s hard is you have your everything and I don’t anymore.”
ANYA: “I don’t have my everything. Guess you’ll never understand.”
ME: “Your kids are your everything. You have them. They bring you happiness.”
ANYA: “Ok I guess”
Anya must have been drunk to message me such a thing. If I truly was her “everything”, she would’ve at least been willing to make a promise. She had her everything, and it wasn’t me.
ME: “Really? I didn’t know you felt that way. I’m dying to ask you this. Please don’t get mad at me but when you don’t use a period are you frustrated with me?”
ANYA: “No I’m just tired and fading 😊”
ME: “I’m better off being a priest. Not catholic though.”
ANYA: “Ha! Why do you say that?”
ME: “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at someone else and tell them I love them and I miss them. I can’t even imagine kissing another girl. It would always make me miss and think about you.”
ANYA: “You will. I hear the only way to truly forget your past love is by caring for someone new. At least you have a chance at love again. Maybe not forget but “get over”.
ME: “Ok I guess”
ANYA: “Hey you can’t use that!”
ME: “Sorry I was tired and fading! 😊”
ANYA: “Ha!”
ME: “If my past love wasn’t my true love or my soulmate it would be easier for me to look at things that way. That’s for sure.”
ANYA: “Ok you’ve got a point but it’s possible to care again.”
ME: “Haha! Sure.”
ANYA: “Ok fading now. Bye byeeee”
ME: “Nite nite.”
Little did I know that she had morphed into Summer before my very eyes. There was no question she really liked me, but just like Summer, my heart was fun to her—that’s why the movie had “hit home” for her. She probably thought I was like all the rest, just like Jackson, only out to get laid—now I had to deal with that monster until the day I ended my life. I’ve felt too much for Anya to feel anything else for someone else. Nothing would top what I feel for her and I knew this was too rare to ever feel again. After thirty-eight years of letdowns, I knew this would be my last one. Sensing she had already moved on after nearly two years together, she gave up on us, while I resided in the denial stage—light years away from where she resided.
If I truly was Anya’s “everything” and she didn’t have that anymore too, then how come she didn’t make me a promise? A simple promise to leave one day soon so I could feel secure her feelings for me wouldn’t change the next morning—that her love existed beyond being a secret. I wanted her to have her everything because she was my everything too. She felt responsible for taking two years of my life, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her she took a lot more than that—I didn’t want anyone else and I could never be with anyone else. Never the divorcee, always the widower. I got upset and pressured her because I knew she was the only one I saw a future with. I needed her and it was that simple—the problem was she didn’t need me.
The next day, a Saturday, she messaged me in the middle of the afternoon.
ANYA: “Hi!”
ME: “Well good afternoon!”
When she texted me so late, it seemed she messaged me in a drunken stupor the night before, rendering her “I don’t have my everything” statement pretty much meaningless. Just like the time she asked me to fight for her, and not knowing she was drunk, rendering her words inconsequential.
ANYA: “Katie volunteered to work at the water station for the breast cancer walk this morning and I thought of your mom. How is she? One of my friends just got diagnosed with breast cancer so a group of us got together to make a thousand cranes. I guess in the Japanese culture if you gift a thousand cranes it represents good health.”
ME: “She’s doing pretty good, but of course we can’t get too excited because of where her cancer is. You’re so sweet. What’s a crane? I’m assuming it’s not heavy machinery you’re gifting over there but the only other crane I know is a bird.”
ANYA: “Yes a bird! Origami birds! Takes forever to make! So many steps! My cranes don’t look so healthy!”
ME: “Haha! Well, I’m sure if I was to make a crane it would look like a sidewalk. A thousand cranes? That’s a lot!”
ANYA: “A sidewalk? As in a flat sheet of paper w/no attempt? I’m not making a thousand. We are all putting ours together to make a thousand.”
ME: “Even for like ten people that’s still a hundred each! I’d struggle with crane number one! There would be an attempt but it would turn out looking like no attempt was made.”
ANYA: “Yea my first one looked like it was shot.”
ME: “Hahahahaha! You’re killing me over here!”
ANYA: “Like a sidewalk 😊”
ME: “Somehow I doubt that.”
I hadn’t truly laughed or smiled since she decided to break up with me to work on herself—giving me another a reminder why I loved her so much. During this very difficult time, I wanted to trust and believe in her love for me—that she always had true intentions to be with me one day. She then sent me a picture of one of her attempts at a crane.
ANYA: “The one that was shot!”
ME: “There should be a John Doe tag put on that one! JK! Well, I’m sure the other ones you made are all alive and well. 😊”
My phone then notified me of another pic she just sent over to me.
ANYA: “The one that made it alive!”
ME: “That one looks perfect!”
My phone notified me once more of a pic she sent.
ANYA: “Thanks. Get the picture? 😊”
ME: “Haha! The third one looks like a pterodactyl that survived extinction! Very cool!”
ANYA: “How do you even know how to spell that?”
ME: “I loved dinosaurs when I was a kid. I wanted to be a person who studied them and even knew how to spell paleontologist when I was 5 years old. I know crazy.”
I expected Anya to judge me for this, especially when she believed I was crazy for believing so strongly in love.
ANYA: “No not at all! Andrew was crazy about them too! He actually came up with a business idea when he was 7 which was very cute. Never told anyone about this. He wanted a store called “Dino-World”. It would be a toy store – everything about dinosaurs and its habitat. A toy store of course. He wanted a big huge T-Rex you could climb and slide down the tail. A hands on dino-world. A café w/dino shaped everything. That’s how crazy he was about dinosaurs. This came from a 7 year old so you would have to trust what kids that age would like. I thought it was a cute idea. He eventually grew out of dinosaurs thank god!”
ME: “I was going to say what a great idea. I would have definitely been there if I was that age. The T-Rex idea is awesome! Like a Rain Forest café but with dinosaurs.”
ANYA: “Yup!”
How come she never shared his idea with Jackson? Did she see the significance in what she texted to me? She let me inside a world not even Jackson was allowed to be in. This seemed to confirm more how her own husband left her to raise his son. To hold that back from her husband seemed like something she believed he hadn’t earned. Andrew’s love for dinosaurs had to be much greater than mine to come up with that idea. The more things she told me about her son, the more I saw pieces of myself in him. Why wouldn’t we have a strong father/step son relationship? For Anya to share this story with me, essentially telling me the night before our love was her “everything”, and the cranes she “shot” or made, she had to be in the denial stage with me too. Our exchange lit a fire under me enough to get out of bed to try and resume my job search. For the first time in a month, I even didn’t feel the need to reach for a Vicodin to help me cope. Powering through brain shivers, I got showered and dressed, then headed to a nearby café to fire off some resumes. A couple of hours passed before I decided to check in with her.
ME: “Did u finish all your cranes?”
ANYA: “No way! Not even close! I have to make 200 and I have maybe 50?”
ME: “Oh wow!!!”
ANYA: “Yes, I need to get busy!”
ME: “By the time you get to number 200, it will be considered a masterpiece. I’m contacting the Smithsonian! 😊 ”
ANYA: “Yeah rt. 😊”
ME: “😊”
Her messages filled me with hope—a possible turning point in our relationship. The chance to see if we could find a way to see each other again—maybe even getting the promise I desperately needed from her. If she still loved me enough to hope—I’d catch her.
That same night, I got a phone call from an old friend who I’ve known for thirty years who wanted to visit with me. He ended up bringing a friend along and we all went out to dinner at a restaurant night club called Quantum in Newport Beach. By the time the night ended, they were both pretty drunk when we got back to my apartment at about midnight. Since they had a long drive home, I made them crash at my place. When they finally woke up the following afternoon, they hung out for a couple of hours before leaving. It was really nice catching up with them, but they got so wasted I had to stay sober so they wouldn’t do anything to get themselves in trouble. I hadn’t heard from Anya since we last spoke about her origami crane dilemma, so I sent her a message to see how she was doing.
ME: “How r u? Did you finish all those cranes?”
ANYA: “Hi! I’m good! Been running around with the kids and no not finished! Will work on them tonight! How r u?”
ME: “I’m good. I had two friends visit me last night. They stole my bed, and I had to sleep out in the living room. Didn’t sleep well. I should’ve known better.”
ANYA: “What??? Stole your bed???”
ME: “I had them all set up in the living room but after I got back from the bathroom to brush my teeth, they were in my bed! I finally fell asleep on my couch bed at 5:30 this morning. Then they woke me up at 9. Last time I invite them!”
ANYA: “Oh I see! Funny!”
ME: “Yea big longshoremen. They don’t move much!”
ANYA: “So what did you guys do? School friends?”
ME: “I’ve known one of the guys for over 30 years. He lived on the same block as me and we became good friends. He used to be my roommate years ago. He’s a really good guy. They came over my place at 4:30 and they started drinking. We went to a lounge/bar/restaurant called Quantum in Newport Beach. We had dinner and played pool and by midnight they were too drunk to drive home. They could barely walk straight. They drank all night.”
ANYA: “Did you have fun?”
ME: “It was really nice hanging out with them because it’s been a long time, but can’t say I had fun because when they got drunk, I had to play babysitter. They had fun.”
ANYA: “I bet!”
I loved the messages she sent me the previous day, but when she never reached out to me and I had to message her, I felt depressed once again. I then remembered that Yom Kippur, the “day of atonement” was the following day—more than likely the reason I didn’t hear from her. I then recalled her condescending tone from last year when I asked about it.
ANYA: “Uh day of atonement? Time to reflect and consider? It’s just a serious holy day that’s all.”
She wasn’t Jewish; Jackson was—she converted for him. For a woman who claimed she no longer loved him, that was a significant conversion to make. She had to understand when she defended his religion, no offense against Jewish people, that she defended the man who stalked me and went out of his way to destroy me as if I broke wedding vows to God and family. The fact she still slept next to him was ultra-tough on the heart and mind. Anyone in my position, knowing that would’ve questioned her love for me too—even her authenticity yet I fought for her love as if those things were hardly obstacles. Now, with her not being with me, I imagined on this particular Yom Kippur, Anya asking forgiveness from God for falling in love with me—nothing could’ve disturbed me more after all I lost for the chance at happiness. By her asking for forgiveness, it was a huge slap in my face—I would’ve never pushed her towards a quest to sin. If Anya viewed our love as something she should be repentant for, then it could never have been love, but rather lust. For her to reflect and consider, then ask for forgiveness, recognizing our love as a sin after I worked so hard holding back my sexual desires so our love was one of goodness and purity, would be the ultimate insult to me. If she were to feel that way and pay homage to Yom Kippur, she essentially agreed with Jackson and likely even conspired with him against me—the reason she decided not to contact me until I reached out to her. The man she claimed to be her everything and extremely worried about didn’t represent love, but the worst of all possible things. As crazy as it sounded, this Yom Kippur represented to me, not only where she stood on us, but where she always stood on us. Her silence on this Sunday left me unsettled after I learned the following day was Yom Kippur. After all we’ve shared, this day should have zero meaning to her—if our love meant anything to her—if she truly didn’t love Jackson. If she bought into a day of atonement instead of living every day in such a way, she also bought into Jackson and the sanctity of their marriage. After all I’ve lost, and all the sadness I felt. After the loss of self, I knew I’d never recover if she recognized this day for any reason, it would only confirm my life was truly over. If Anya bought into Yom Kippur, her love for me she would try to kill and she had no plans, if she ever did, to be with me.
All those instant messages Anya sent me each morning, worried about my grief, now faded away into non-existence—like I knew they eventually would. Surprisingly, on Yom Kippur, she tested me at a half hour past noon.
ANYA: “Have you recovered?”
ME: “Oh I didn’t get drunk at all on Saturday night. I was just tired. Went to the gym this morning and rested up. How are you? How are the cranes?
ANYA: “Oh that’s good. I’m good but the cranes are not doing so well! I just texted my friend to get the deadline.”
ME: “How many do you have left to go?”
ANYA: “About 50 but she said I have till the 10th! Yay!”
ME: “Plenty of time! 😊”
ANYA: “That’s what I say!!! How’s the job hunting?”
ME: “You mean how’s the movie watching? Just kidding! It’s a little slow right now. I really need to motivate myself to step it up a bit. I sent out a couple of resumes this weekend.”
ANYA: “That’s good.”
ME: “I’m disheartened about it.”
ANYA: “Disheartened?”
ME: “With how my job search is going.”
ANYA: “Well how can you change it? Is it a combo or your depression and not much out there b/c of the economy?”
ME: “I think so.”
ANYA: “Well don’t let the economy get you down. Things are starting to pick up and you will find something out there. Have you considered public accounting until you find something else? How about your friend’s dad? Any word? You will find something; you just have to keep working it. It’s not going to happen on its own. People are working twice as long and hard to make the same money they once did so know that it’s tough out there. You will land something. Just don’t stop. Make it your main focus and goal.”
Anya could not begin to realize how dark my thoughts had become. I put on a happy face so I wouldn’t lose her, but I was falling apart at the seams. The recession compounded things for me, making me feel even more worthless and unwanted. I knew she only tried to make me feel better, but any gains I made were eventually lost because my heart was in shambles over us. After becoming aware of Yom Kippur, it only nourished my disillusionment with the world. Even if I were to find another job, my relationship status with Anya would affect me from being successful.
ME: “I’ve considered a return to public accounting but I know I’ll get trapped. My friend admitted his dad’s business is slow right now. I’d be in the same boat there as well. I’d rather start my own practice which I’ve been writing a business plan for. Sometimes I feel I’m selling myself short by not starting up a CPA firm b/c my strengths aren’t really on full display in a typical job setting. I guess I’m weighing options still. This is a pivotal time in my career and have to make the best choice. I have options but I need to rediscover the drive I once had—I’m trying to get that back but I’m struggling.”
ANYA: “I see. I know you will. Do you feel better with each day?”
ME: “I feel a little better each day but then I have set backs.”
ANYA: “What brings on the setbacks?”
ME: “Just thoughts. I live alone. I spend a lot of time alone. Partly b/c of me whenever I’m down, I just want to be away from people.”
ANYA: “How about getting a roommate?”
ME: “Haha! Nooo way!”
ANYA: “You sure? Could be fun! What have you got to lose?”
ME: “Been there done that—I get screwed every time.”
ANYA: “Don’t you miss having people around though? I understand about not wanting a roommate.”
ME: “There’s this one person I miss having around. I’m pretty good on my own. I try to get out and do things.”
ANYA: “We had some good times. 😊”
ME: “Yes we did.”
The moments I shared with Anya were only the best moments of my life, by far. When she mentioned “what have you got to lose?”, it stung—she was definitely in the acceptance stage of the grief cycle. When it hit me that she could care less if we were alone together at my apartment ever again, it left me unsettled. If she believed our love represented a sin, after she had been cheated on several times by her husband. After having another relationship with another man that then led her to me, all was lost on the first day we met. Her “what have you got to lose” text nestled in uncomfortably in my head. What did I have to lose? Anya went from believing in our love to becoming Summer in “500 Days of Summer”. After getting on Facebook to clear my head, posting a message with the hope Jackson would read it, I sent Anya a message putting my worst fears on the line—what did I have to lose?
ME: “I have to admit I didn’t think I’d hear from you today because it’s Yom Kippur, the “Day of atonement”. I just wanted to be honest and tell you I posted a FB status that read “I’m not an anti-Semite but I’m not a fan of a religious holiday that enables people to sin again. Everyday should be Yom Kippur”. Obviously, I have strong feelings about this.
ME: I don’t know if you think you’ve sinned at all by being with me but just in case you do, I just want you to know this. I feel there are two kinds of sin in this world. Moral sin and social sin. I believe the only sin that matters in the end, is moral sin because those are the sins we are judged for by the Almighty. A social sin is something others, or this world, our society, may judge you for but it’s subjective, and mostly formed without complete knowledge of the facts. Moral sin is objective as stated in the Bible, determined by the just. I have to let this be known simply because if you believe you’ve committed a sin then you also believe I have as well. This is what I believe—marriage is a man made “legal” institution evidence by a contract. When God visualized marriage in the Bible, its beginning and its end was determined by the heart. There was no court process needed to end the marriage. Contracts are entered into and broken every day and no one is going to hell for what man created in the first place. Even the Bible, Matthew 32, Verse 5, allows for divorce in the case of “unchastity” or infidelity. Anyway, I’m only trying to tell you that you’re not a sinner and I don’t think you need to ask for forgiveness for anything.”
Jackson promised to honor and cherish her until death parted them and he didn’t come close to fulfilling that promise. I believed in the eyes of God, that the day she fell in love with me, was the day He chose to no longer recognize her union with Jackson after his deliberate breaking of his vows to her and to God. Without complete knowledge of the facts, society recognized it differently from God who saw and knew all. Why should Anya feel an ounce of guilt for being in love with someone who honored, truly loved and respected her? If Jackson had been faithful, then undoubtedly Anya committed a sin, but what I gave Anya was love. Wouldn’t God have wanted that for her after the great pain Jackson had caused her? The only way she could have sinned was if she lied to me about everything just so she could feel alive again. If she believed falling in love with me was a sin, I could only trust in her loyalty to Jackson after all I’ve done for her and all I’ve lost.
ANYA: “Thank you for that. Honestly. I’m not sure what to think. Yes, I feel as if I sinned. I feel I have betrayed my kids. I think that bothers me more than anything. Have you been reading the bible?”
Anya was a great mother and always put her kids first from day one. I suffered from it on a daily basis, so I know that much was true and I accepted my position as second to them as I should have. But after all the infidelities, after she shared so much of her kids’ lives with me, how could she tell me our love, and its goodness, all it ever stood for, was a betrayal of her kids? Only lust or a hidden agenda should’ve been viewed as a betrayal of her kids. As much as I tried to fight back how much this stung me, I realized at this point not only did I lose her, but she misled me to believe our love was special.
ME: “How do you feel you betrayed your kids? By choosing to be honest with them by falling in love with me?”
When I didn’t hear back from her for twenty minutes after I knew she read my message, I sent her three more responses.
ME: “I don’t get that because I’ve never heard of a husband who knew, let alone wanted to see, his wife be unhappy. I don’t think you should feel that way at all.”
ME: “That’s a shame.”
ME: “Last time I checked, 60 percent of all marriages end in divorce. If that’s the case, a lot of mothers are betraying and hurting their kids for only wanting to be happy and to feel loved, honored and respected.”
When I sent this text, the last thing I expected to see from her was all I ever feared.
ANYA: “Don’t classify me with the general public.”