“So how can it be true?

How can you just turn and let me go?

Let the story of your life with mine

Forever go untold?"

“Here with Me” ~ REO Speedwagon

ME: “Thank you for making time for me yesterday to tell you about what I’ve been holding inside for a year and a half. When you brought up “holding back” the other day I knew it was time to share what I did with you. It just had nothing to do with you. Hands down, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world to me. I know you’re not shallow but I was afraid you thought I was perfect, but I’m just not. When you don’t have love in your life and someone reinforcing that, it’s hard to get past things like this. It’s been that way for 6 years before I met you. You start to believe no one could love you for who you are. My mom used to always tell me that when someone loves you nothing like that is going to matter to them. She was right. I love you for that. Goodnight.”

After our meeting on Sunday, she said she could see me on Friday, and after I sent this midnight text to her, I stayed up to write in my journal to memorialize one of the best days of my life. I was certain she didn’t think much of her gesture, but it meant the world to me as she singlehandedly erased six years of ruthless derision inside my head. I couldn’t even go to sleep as it only brought more dreams of a knee taken under a Paris moon. She texted me early the next morning.

ANYA: “Good morning! Hope u got some sleep last night. I’m sorry this concern has haunted you all this time. I’m glad you told me but you could have a year and a half ago. It doesn’t matter to me. What I’m happy about is u don’t have this hanging over u and ur relieved u told me.”

When the word ‘good’ preceded ‘morning’, it was nice to see she seemed to have one as well. I was relieved it didn’t matter to her as I hoped it didn’t for all the right reasons, and not because she had no plans to leave Jackson. I couldn’t believe that though—not after she brought her lips to kiss my condition. In essence, her kiss took it away out of mind. I felt anxious to be able to feel her skin even more against mine than before—I didn’t have to shy my leg away from her ever again. Anya didn’t think much of it, but her acceptance was significant to my mind and heart. Anything she did that shut my mind off relieved the pressure we both faced from each other.

On this particular workweek, Clyde asked me to cover for Kevin on a review client near Los Angeles International Airport—a gourmet food company that farmed and sold imported artichokes from Peru. I had no idea the artichoke market was so big, and they were even packaged and sold in local supermarkets. Reviews were usually fairly simple and generally only required us to inquire of management about any material changes in their accounts from the prior period. However, this company had eleven subsidiaries and that made it not only more complicated, but also time consuming. As I sat down with the Company controller to go over the account variances over the last year, I couldn’t get Anya off my mind. The love she showed me yesterday inspired me enough to be productive, but I missed her so much that I missed half of the answers the Controller gave me. Her love consumed so much from the prior day; I was too full to focus. When I wrapped up my inquiries, I went to my workspace to see if she had texted me. When I saw she hadn’t, it made me a bit sad, so in an effort to regain my focus at a client’s place of business, I texted to see how her day was going just before my lunch break.

ANYA: “At Katie’s high school right now. Trying out for dance team. Sorry can’t talk.”

I had no one to blame but myself as I should have asked what she had on her plate before I texted her. Unable to talk to her, I skipped lunch to work through it so I could leave a little earlier and beat the airport freeway traffic. It wasn’t until around four that afternoon that I heard back from her.

ANYA: “Sooooo sorry! Just finished!”

It was sweet of her to apologize, but I felt like the one who should apologize for not asking her what her plans were for the day when she texted me early that morning. After a long day with Katie, I figured she would have a busy evening at home so I decided not to distract her with my neediness.

When the next day rolled around and I didn’t hear from her in the morning, but later that afternoon during my lunch hour, I texted to see how her day was going.

ANYA: “Good! Leaving soon to pick up Katie and friends. Will take them around 2:30 as registration opens 2:45. I miss you.”

ME: “Ok babe. I miss you too.”

When she informed me that she planned to pick up Katie and her friends, it sparked a new concern within me. Were these new friends being introduced to the façade of her marriage or were they old ones from her previous dance teams or school? Was she now being introduced to a completely new group of parents? It made me fear what she told him. Did she brag about who her husband was and what they did when she met new people? Did she enjoy being called Mrs. Caiaphas? I would think it would make her cringe if she didn’t love her husband. It was scary to wonder that much of a charade was going on. That she would talk of herself and Jackson in glowing terms to an entire new set of acquaintances she met through Katie’s love of dance. It worried me that this could pull her away at a time she pulled me in. As the day labored on, my worries and my missing of Anya only grew, as I tried to let her know I was thinking of her.

ME: “Hi babe! Have you ever purchased artichokes from the grocery store? I’m working for the company that grows and sells it. It’s called RTC Trading Company.”

ANYA: “Maybe! I don’t pay attention to the name but I’ve grabbed artichokes from Whole Foods many times! I love artichokes! Good in pasta!”

ME: “Yikes! Not the P word!”

ANYA: “Ha ha! I know! I’ll be sure to never ever make pasta for u!”

ME: “If you made me pasta, I’d devour it! Remember I love you!”

ANYA: “Hmmm I don’t know about that cuz I love u but I still wouldn’t eat your chicken or fish or meat dish! Ha!”

ME: “If I made you any of those dishes knowing you’re a vegetarian, I should be immediately dumped! I love your cooking. I’m sure I would love it.”

ANYA: “Keep in mind ur partial cuz ur in love with me!”

ME: “Babe, you’re a great cook! I make your rice dish all the time. You’re really doing an injustice to the world by only allowing a select group to enjoy your cooking! If I wasn’t in love with you, I’d tell you the same thing! I’m just lucky enough to taste your cooking b/c you’re in love with me!”

ANYA: “Awww that’s sweet babe. Thank u!”

If her cooking wasn’t good, I would talk about it once and she would never hear about the dish again. I loved her cooking so much, I mimicked it. The tomato soup and truffle rice were both restaurant worthy—her cooking was that good. To come home to her alone would be a dream come true in and of itself, but to come home to a great meal she made for me too? How could that not be heaven on earth? It made me more upset to think that Jackson had all of that, yet still cheated on her. He had a phenomenal cook and life partner and he chose to cheat on her? With another married woman? How arrogant could one be? How did he deserve her to begin with and how could she give herself to him still? It made me so sick to my stomach, I threw up my dinner that night.

Later that evening, I texted Anya to see how her day went.

ANYA: “Good day. Not too tired actually. Thought about u!”

ME: “I’m still really touched by all the loving things you said to me on Sunday. I thought of you too but I always do! I love you.”

ANYA: “I love you.”

I didn’t know what to make of her “thought about you” revelation. It made me wonder when she thought about me in what context she did. Did I just pop into her mind for a second or two? Was there something she saw that if she told me would break my heart? Just two days ago, she kissed my bone away, but now after seventeen months of missing and always thinking of me, it sounded as if I took up far less space in her head, and her heart.

Anya then texted me about an hour later.

ANYA: “15-1 Dodgers!”

ME: “Go Dodgers! Congrats on the title!”

Anya’s text provided me with information as to why she cut our conversation off short. It also marked the first time I was happy for the Dodgers since I was a kid—before the organization blew up its farm system and tried to win a title through free agency. These were Andrew’s Dodgers though and my heart exploded with joy inside for him as I remembered just a year ago he went from finishing in last place to getting a trophy for finishing in first. Of course, it also worried me that the lady at the game seemed to be a non-issue now. Not that hoped it would always be, but I wondered how it seemed to be resolved. She even threw a house party with the team as if that lady at the game never bothered her a day in her life. Or maybe it was a good sign, that she recognized she had me in her life, and it finally didn’t anger her anymore.

When the next day arrived, and still stuck on a stressful engagement near LAX as I covered for Kevin, I hoped to hear from her, but when I didn’t, I texted her that morning to see what her day entailed to better prepare myself for her silence.

ANYA: “Since we will go right into recital and competition after school is done, we only have the 1st weekend to go away. She wants to go to Cabo. Thinking about it.”

ME: “That sounds like fun!”

ANYA: “I think so too!”

Whenever Anya talked of taking trips to places, she would usually tell me she would love to go with me to the place we talked of one day. When I didn’t receive anything like I received in the past, I felt she tried to manipulate and control my feelings for her. That was fine to do when we first met, but after seventeen months? Just three days ago, I never felt so loved by anyone before, and I didn’t want to question it here, but she couldn’t pull the rug out from under me like this unless she explained to me her strategy, and not just let me wonder about it. I didn’t appreciate the mind game she seemed to play with me on this day, so I sent her a text to test her feelings for me.

ME: “I miss u.”

After an hour passed and she hadn’t responded to my “I miss u” text, I didn’t want to jump to conclusions in case she never received it. I then thought of her “I thought of you” text from the prior evening, and thought that was so unlike her. She would have told me she thought of me all day, and not leave it up to misinterpretation. I decided to send her another text to see how she would respond.

ME: “I’m near LAX and dreaming about getting lost with you somewhere.”

ANYA: “A trip sounds fun!”

When Anya texted me quickly back, I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t want to push the issue so I decided to let it go, although I found it to be bizarre. When she texted “a trip sounds fun”, something seemed off base to me with her. The Anya I knew would have sent me a text to say “I would love to get lost with you somewhere!”. This response came from the same woman, who no more than two months ago, would go anywhere with me and even dreamt of our wedding. Her inconsistency sent me down a portal of fear—fast and furiously. Did she just kiss my bone because she had no plans to be with me anyway? Is that why it didn’t matter to her? I knew any time she spent with Katie could pull her in that direction, but this wasn’t me versus her kids. Why did she need to be married to Jackson to have a good relationship with her kids? Anya’s texts, and lack thereof, hit me hard on this day as there seemed a coldness to them. After all I shared with her on Sunday, after all she told me, it didn’t make sense to me. I knew Anya was busy and had to be there for Katie, but she couldn’t lead someone to believe she loved them yet make them feel like a burden. That’s what I felt like—a burden and not the man she loved. I knew she was busy with Katie, and I didn’t want to take her away from what she needed to do. If Anya only loved me because I gave her the best of both worlds, I needed to know sooner, and not left to figure that out on my own. I started to feel the same way I did when Denise changed on me, but even worse because she never told me she loved me. if Anya’s love changed for me, and not just the way she loved me, she needed to tell me or to provide me clues. She wanted me to be a big boy, but she couldn’t even be a big girl and she was three years older than I was. What also made me a bit distraught was it seemed Anya looked to make new friends as Mrs. Caiaphas, and not as Mrs. Lastman. It burned me inside to think she introduced new people to the façade of her marriage after she allowed and encouraged me to feel so much for her after I walked away. I understood the kid thing, I really did. I know why she had a hard time, but she had to be super sensitive to my heart after I trusted to give it to her after I walked away from her to avoid all I experienced now. When Anya changed the way she loved me, she didn’t hope but demanded my feelings change for her in response. It only spoke volumes about the way she loved me—with a reckless abandon. She minimized my feelings to the point she felt I should be able to turn them off and on like a water faucet. That I knew her situation going in however she was the one who knew her situation going in. I only knew she was married and not all of these other things that are out of the ordinary that I couldn’t have possibly known unless she disclosed them to me. At times, I felt she had led me to a place where we could be alone, but instead brought me into the deepest part of a den filled with salivating lions. I loved her to death. I wanted to believe she wouldn’t do such a thing to me, especially after a day like Sunday. Her silence in Cabo and now just didn’t feel like love at all to me. If she complained about the way Jackson loved her, and she didn’t love him because of it, she seemed to be a hypocrite the way she now chose to love me. If she didn’t change the way she loved me soon, I would do everything in my power to avoid falling off the edge of the cliff she led me to. If she struggled for a minute that she betrayed her kids by connecting with me, after all she told me so I’d be here, I would’ve never felt more betrayed by anyone in my lifetime.

In an effort to stymie the fear I felt, I texted her again, to see if all these negative emotions were only an apparition brought on by the stress of my work.

ME: “Thinking of u. What r u up to?”

ANYA: “Thinking of u too! End of the year stuff! Katie leaves tomorrow morning trying to get stuff done and carpool finalized.”

ME: “Where is she leaving to?”

ANYA: “New York w/temple.”

ME: “Oh! I didn’t know she was leaving tomorrow.”

ANYA: “She goes to NY this month, possibly Cabo in June, Vegas in July and Malibu for 3 weeks in August.”

ME: “Do you usually help her pack?”

ANYA: “Sometimes. She comes to me for advice.”

I felt a little better as it seemed she was really tied up getting Katie ready for her trip. Her responses to my texts seemed to be consistent with those in line with someone who was running a mile a minute trying to get things done. I had to understand a mother’s position when her first born child, a daughter, went on a trip—let alone a cross country one. I wanted to be fair to Anya, and not judge every move she made. She had a right to not text me, and if she was really busy like it seemed she was, I understood. I have always been a no to low maintenance guy but my heart and mind were at war. She needed to give me details so my heart could absorb the punches my mind threw at it. When she didn’t consider how I felt that much to do so, it only confirmed what I thought could never be. That I loved her a lot more than she loved me, if she ever truly did at all.

The next day did not bring any good feelings with it as well; a replication of the entire week as I texted Anya that morning to see how she was.

ANYA: “Good just going to take KB!”

When she didn’t ask me how I was, and on top of that she was even ‘good’, I felt sick to my stomach as I had to leave the client’s office to spend some time alone in my car. I understood I had to finish second to her kids, but she now even put me behind kickboxing. All the things Jackson made Anya feel, I began to I feel as well—taken for granted, used and needed if it fit into her schedule. I didn’t even feel like a need anymore; not even a luxury item, but rather pure novelty—good to look at just not good enough to buy. How could she dive headfirst into a relationship outside her marriage, allow and encourage people to fall madly in love with her, and expect them to understand she stayed because she had kids? After all the love I gave her after all she told me, after all the lonely nights I endured after she asked me to fight for her while she slept next to another man. After all the times being there for her whenever she needed me, how could she treat me this way? I didn’t have her respect because I wasn’t the provider of her children’s security? Was that how she viewed me? She loved me so well, even better than any woman who was free to love me, but all along was it done behind a well-hidden agenda? Was there an ulterior motive behind her love I had yet to learn? Maybe she’s been unable to workout because she had been so busy with Katie and was off mentally? I sat in my car for an hour before I found the strength enough to return to the client’s office.

I then decided to do my best to focus on the artichoke business instead of the pain I felt in my heart and head. As much as it gored me inside, I couldn’t jump to conclusions, but I also couldn’t text her anymore. I needed to let her run the show entirely from here. Each time I text her, it would only break my soul. If that was her intention, what could I do about it? I wanted to believe she loved me, but no one who truly loved someone would choose a kickboxing class over them. As much as it hurt to acknowledge, her love seemed to be a lie more than a feeling.

A little after three p.m. that same day, she texted me.

ANYA: “How r u? Feels like Friday for some reason.”

My strategy not to text her seemed to pay off. She usually texted me after kickboxing, but I think she knew it bothered me when I didn’t text her during my lunch break. I couldn’t deny it was nice to hear from her, but at the same time I didn’t know who I heard from anymore or what her motive was. If it felt like Friday to her, an especially free day usually, why wouldn’t she have time to text me in the morning?

ME: “I’m hanging in there! It looks like I’m going to have to dump this work off to staff people. I hate to do that but I can’t do everything. I miss u.”

ANYA: “I bet but delegating is a good thing! That’s the way I do it – the best way! I miss u too.”

The way she left me to feel, it seemed her delegating remark was an admission she didn’t love me enough to leave her husband. It only left me to question if she delegated to others then how come she couldn’t see me or text me more often? Or maybe I’m losing my mind to think such a thing. She returned my “I miss u”, but after she chose her kickboxing over wishing me a good morning and to see how I was, it felt her text was sent only to pacify me. She probably hoped I was less than good so she could gauge if her tactic worked. I always did everything I could to make time for Anya, and I already finished last in her world, but to finish behind even kickboxing was tough. I knew she needed to work out, but I wasn’t asking her to not go but could you make about ten minutes of time for me before you do? When she reached out though, I felt better, but her sporadic obligatory texts and Cabo-like silence had traumatized me a bit. She didn’t have to text me all the time but after seventeen months together it felt like her love for me was really just small talk to her. I would never demand to be put on her “schedule” but I could have never dreamt after all we’ve shared—I’d only be a “break in her schedule” or just another direction she was being pulled in. I then asked a question I feared to ask when we made plans on Sunday to meet on Friday.

ME: “Will you have time to see me tomorrow?”

ANYA: “Well I have a parent lunch at school w/Andrew then I have to get the house ready for a house guest. Can I tell u later? Have to see how much I get done today.”

ME: “Of course!”

This was definitely not the Anya I knew. When Anya loved me, there would be no question, just a time given. I felt better when she didn’t shoot the idea completely down, but the “house guest” ambiguity created a virus that made me sick again. After I gave her seventeen months of my life, in a situation I trusted her to never hurt me in, I felt she owed me more than ambiguity when it came to her “house guest”. I didn’t want to be nosy, but why has she always been so open with everyone else in her life except the “house guest”? This provided me with yet another example of Anya’s “honesty” I had to take note of. “Yes, I’m having a house guest, but it will only upset you if I told you who it was”—just another half-truth, and that bothered me more than who it actually was.

Four hours later though, Anya sent me a text to let me know if she could see me the next day.

ANYA: “Looks like Andrew’s lunch goes till 12:40 so I can’t come by till 1ish. Ok w/u?”

ME: “Only if it’s ok with you. You know I’m always available whenever I get a chance to see you. When does your house guest arrive?”

ANYA: “Tomorrow night. Not really looking forward to it. Lots to do.”

I hated to read into every word she used but my heart and life were on the line in a way I could never have imagined when I fell in love with her. The word “really” in between “not” and “looking” seemed bizarre to me. Why would she just tell me she wasn’t looking forward to it instead? I believed what she told me was true but it only made me wonder even more who the house guest was and why there was “lots to do” for their arrival. As much grief as I felt over the last few days, I didn’t want her to feel it at all because she had so much going on.

ME: “It will be nice once everything is done and then you could look forward to spending time with the house guest.”

ANYA: “It’s nice to have u to look forward to!”

Her sweet words provided the antibody that fought back the virus that claimed me over the last few days. Her daily presence in my life helped smooth out the bumps in the day for me. When I didn’t hear from her the way I grew used to, it derailed me mentally. Now when she went silent on me, I felt she played a game with my emotions at this stage of our relationship. I should feel secure, but without a promise to leave Jackson, how could I? She could kiss the bone on my leg everyday but what would it mean without her next to me anytime I wanted her there? At this point, I felt like a dog begging at her dinner table for food scraps. The way she chose to love me made me dependent on her, and I found it impossible to pull away for reasons even beyond that. I knew her sadness, and that made it as hard to pull away from as my own. Her sadness was equally important to me as mine was. She told me they weren’t even a couple, and she was too damn beautiful to live that way. My success on the job was dependent on her love as well—without it I lost the ability to focus. I had a job that was dependent upon billing rates and if I couldn’t concentrate, I was doomed. I would lose the partnership promotion I worked nearly the last decade for. I had come a long way, and she was as much a part of me now as the bone on my leg was. She meant everything to me though, and if lost her, I’d lose so much more of all the things that made me; me. I came into this relationship for one purpose—to save her from a lifetime of unhappiness in an unloving marriage, but now I relied on her to save me too.

ME: “It’s been a long week for me. I can’t wait to see you!”

ANYA: “I can’t wait to see you too! Let’s have a liquid lunch – Coronas!”

ME: “I love the way you think, Beautiful!”

ANYA: “Cool!”

Although “cool” wasn’t her usual response to when I called her “beautiful”, I surmised something about her house guest stole the Anya I knew away. An hour later she sent me a “goodnight!” text which was nice as I felt our love was back in alignment. I didn’t want to be unfair to her. She had a busy week with the kids, and she made time to see me this week so I couldn’t hold those days against her. Every minute of the day now, my heart ached to be with her and at times, it was hard to understand her silence when I felt so much. I didn’t want to punish her for the times we couldn’t feel close. I didn’t want to penalize her for loving me, but her love felt like an infection when she acted differently and I had no antibody for it. I also didn’t know how to handle all my emotions in an environment that required my focus as stress compounded my reactions. Thankfully, she put me back on the right path later that day so I had a chance to feel right again with her in my arms.

There are days in our lives that come in which we have no idea of their significance, and the twenty second day in May 2009, was one of those days for me. It felt just like another day Anya visited me, but the day of her forty-sixth visit to my apartment, would be nothing like any of her prior visits. I decided to take the day off in an attempt to make it special for both of us, and I woke up early to inform her of this decision.

ME: “Good morning! I decided to take the day off. I might be a few Coronas ahead of you before you get here! JK! Excited to see you!”

ANYA: “Good morning! Well, I’m going to have to down my Corona in 2 seconds b/c I don’t have much time! Will leave lunch at 12:40ish and have to pick up at 2:20.”

When I read her text, I didn’t know how much time this translated to, but it seemed like we had at least an hour together—what we usually had. Even if she could only stay for twenty minutes, I was just happy to see her. My only real concern was this being hard on her. If this visit put too much stress on her then I couldn’t feel right about it. If she were to get in accident trying to fit me in then I’d never forgive myself.

ME: “Please don’t stress. If it’s too much on you, just let me know. I’d totally understand. I’m just happy to see and spend some time with you.”

ANYA: “Sorry really pressed for time. Andrew gets out early and have to grocery shop b4 his practice at 4 pm and guest at 5 pm.”

ME: “I’m just really touched you would come see me. That means a lot more to me than how long you stay. Stop feeling guilty, babe. I love u, u know. I’d love you to stay longer, u know that, but it means a lot when u visit no matter how long. It tells me you love me.”

ANYA: “I do love u! Gtg! Enjoy ur morning! C u soon!”

The Anya I knew would have been excited to see me, but something didn’t feel right to me about her visit. It seemed I had become a burden in her life more than the man who came to save her from unhappiness—the disease; not the antidote. I only wanted her to come visit, only if she wanted to, and in the past, nothing stopped her. She would get things done early just to spend more time with me, but I felt like an obligation, loved but not needed. All week it felt like she was on a mission to fall out of love with me, and have me do the same.

I didn’t want to give her a hard time about it. I chose to be here and was a willing participant however if I knew I’d be in such torment, and mothers sacrificed their happiness for the sake of her husband’s money, even staying with successful men who abuse them emotionally afraid, I would have never been willing at all. I hated to say this but it seemed all she told me when we met was a lie to hook me in. Once she had me on her hook, she tried to throw me back in the water after I went brain dead due to a lack of oxygen. For me to end our relationship was to not only fail her but to commit suicide in many ways as well. I couldn’t help but feel I deserved more from her. She told me she risked “everything” to be with me, but what was everything? In my mind, “everything” couldn’t have been all it was cracked up to be if she was willing to risk it at all. After almost eighteen months together, she had changed nothing about her life—not one single thing. How could she tell me she risked “everything” yet never changed a thing? It was one thing to be willing to risk “everything” but another thing to lose everything. It seemed she was only willing to risk everything because the risk of losing everything never existed.

ANYA: “Here”

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I had extreme negative emotions about this visit when she arrived. I usually spent the time steeped in anticipation and thinking of creative ways to make it memorable for her before her arrival, but our eighty-eighth meeting carried a great deal of apprehension and anxiety for me. When I added up all the texts within the last eighteen months, and a couple weeks away from the night we met two years ago, her unwillingness to change anything about her life stung me more on this day than any other day before. I didn’t want to spend my lunch hours depressed with a silent phone in my hand ever again. I didn’t want to read into her texts anymore, and I surely didn’t want to question her love. I knew all my doubts couldn’t be instantly removed anyway, but I needed her to eliminate most of them to avoid any pressure she didn’t want from me. I knew my pressure not only affected her but also her kids, and it’s the last thing I wanted. At the same time, after all she ever led me to believe and trust in, and all she allowed me to feel, she owed it to me to make some changes, if she couldn’t give me promise and she loved me—to show she respected my heart, feelings and emotions. More than anything, I needed to know she wanted to be an honest person and not live a dishonest life. That she knew the benefits in that, and not the just the pain it could bring her kids. I felt her kids both knew something was wrong. Andrew asked Anya to promise him she wouldn’t leave him. Katie overheard Anya threaten to divorce Jackson. How could she continue to lie to them? She fell in love with another man because that man respected, loved, valued and honored their mother. Why couldn’t she vouch for me based on those things if she had come this far? Especially if she made a twenty-five-minute drive to see me for as little as thirty minutes? These were the things on my mind the minute she arrived—things I didn’t want to share with her on this visit. I feared if she mentioned one thing that made me feel unneeded in her life, I wouldn’t be able to hold this storm that brewed inside of me just before her visit. I had no Vicodin this time to turn to. I had to go into this with no feelings of euphoria but rather feelings of desperation.

Like every other visit before it, when she appeared at my gate, we were both ecstatic to see each other. She even snatched my hand in hers as we walked together, past the blooming Tiger Lilies, the white bottomed singing birds, and even the family of ducks that strode right before us. When we reached my apartment, I sprang into action to maximize the time we had together.

“I’m only one Corona ahead of you.” I said while retrieving two Coronas from my refrigerator. “You want a lime with yours, babe?”

“Yes, please.” she responded. “Only one? I thought for sure you’d be way ahead of me!”

“It’s no fun drinking without you.” I said as I put a lime on the rim of her bottle and handed it to her. “Cheers.”

“Cheers. Thank you.” she said, touching her glass bottle to mine. “I have to drink this pretty quick because I have to get back to pick up Andrew. I can only stay for about twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?” I responded, fighting to hide my disappointment. “Sweetheart, I’m happy to see you but I feel bad—I wouldn’t have made you drive all this way for just twenty minutes.”

“I wanted to have a Corona with you.” she said as she took a hearty drink of her beer. “I have to go shopping after I pick up Andrew from school. My sister-in-law is staying with us for a week.”

Even though I found it strange she never mentioned who her house guest was, I didn’t want to be nosy so I didn’t ask. When she told me, it was her sister-in-law, she was the last person I expected it to be. Each time she hurt me with the things she did, or failed to disclose, I dealt with my emotions from behind the comfort of my phone. I could hide them from her so it didn’t become an issue but this was the first time I felt this way with her in person. I took a few more sips of my Corona and tried to stave off the pain that built inside after. I then realized she made this trip just to tell me in person so she could see my reaction. She was looking for a way out and I’d be unable to hide my reaction over the phone from her. If she saw me in pain as she methodically extricated herself from me, she’d have a reason to leave me for good. That way she didn’t have to feel bad about betraying her kids—if that’s what she believed. My heart, all she did to bring me here no longer mattered—she wanted out. The kiss in the leg was meaningless. The bikini pictures in Cabo were sent to remember her by. She knew having her sister-in-law visit would break me and a liquid lunch to soften the blow made all the sense in the world. When my hand began to tremble, I quickly downed the beer I had—something she never saw me do before. I had to get it out of my grasp before she knew her mission was a success. She then looked in my eyes with concern—with the same sincerity in them when I told her about the bone on my leg. She then stoked the fire that now burned hot in the pit of my stomach.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked, knowing full well she did.

I tried to hold in all I felt. I didn’t want to pressure her. I didn’t want to give her grief after she drove twenty-five minutes to spend even less than that with me. I sincerely appreciated it and she was my guest. What she told me exacerbated all I felt over the last few days. I felt she wasn’t being honest with me about things, even her feelings for me as I didn’t feel love from a woman who claimed to love me. How could she make plans to entertain her sister-in-law after all we’ve shared? How could she live such a lie?

“Are you telling me all I need to know, Anya?” I asked as my voice trailed off in exasperation.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…what exactly is going on at your house?” I asked.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you told me your husband cheated on you several times and I’m in your life solely because of it? Yet you’re entertaining his sister after all we’ve shared?” I jabbed. “How are you able to do that? To look at her with a straight face? What’s going on over there that I’m not aware of that allows you to be okay with something like that.”

Anya stood up from her chair, and stared at me for what seemed like an eternity before she spoke.

“I don’t know what to say…” she softly spoke. “or do anymore.”

“I know what you should do, but if I express that, then I’m the bad guy and it’s pressure and everything else other than love to you.” I retorted, unable to look at her. “I understand it’s Katie’s and Andrew’s aunt too and I get that part, but that’s his sister. After all we’ve shared, whether we’re together or not, how could you? How are you able to look into everyone’s faces and lie so easily as if we never shared a single moment together? Now that’s pretty scary.”

“Scary?” she asked.

“What scares me about it is that you seem to trivialize heartbreaks.” I explained. “Like they’re nothing, and anyone who experiences them should be able to just get over them—just like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t minimize heartbreaks because I know what they feel like. The things you do and say sometimes though, it makes it seem like you’ve never had your heart broken before.” I continued. “Heartbreaks are different for me than for most people—I’m not Greg Laswell who can pick up a guitar and easily recover from his heartbreaks. Lance could pretty much do the same thing if he wanted to—all he has to do is sing one of his romantic songs and women swoon over him. I don’t have that gift. I don’t have the same opportunities to move on from heartbreak that these other guys do. They have no clue what love is let alone what a real heartbreak feels like. If my girlfriend left me the same way Greg’s did, I’d never see another one in my life for a decade. That’s real heartbreak. I’m a normal man, Anya—nothing special here. Heartbreaks last a lifetime for men like me—never a divorcee, always the widower. I only hurt people who hurt me.”

Anya looked at me in disbelief, unable to speak, so I continued.

“The night we reconnected you told me I broke your heart. I cared so much about breaking your heart, I came back into your life because I wanted to take care of it the way you always deserved, and what’s my reward? You breaking my heart. Something I can’t afford at this age.”

“I don’t minimize heartbreaks.” she said. “You’re wrong.”

“All you’ve ever done is break hearts.” I scolded. “You broke up with a guy that left him so broken—he moved to another state. You broke off your engagement to someone whose ring you accepted and then left him for your husband. Over the last eighteen months, you’ve left me pretty much convinced Lance never broke your heart—you broke his when you told him “Mothers sacrifice their happiness for the kids”—the perfect out. Just tell me you don’t love me anymore—that all I ever was is someone to have fun with. The only heart that is broken here is mine and it breaks every day with the things you do, like this.”

I tried to keep my voice down, but I lost a third of my hearing in my left ear and didn’t know how loud I was. She didn’t look fearful at all though, but when tears fell from her soft dark eyes like a waterfall, I immediately regretted my words.

“I have to walk, Landyn.” she said.

“Please don’t walk. I am so sorry.” I said, bringing her body into mine. “I know she’s Katie and Andrew’s aunt. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. It just caught me by surprise, and I had a hard week. I just never expected it to be your husband’s sister.”

All I could do was hold her as she wept on my shoulder. I didn’t know what I could do. I could say “I’m sorry” a million times over, but I had already pulled the trigger. All I could do was wait for her response, but I knew at that moment I had chipped away the last piece of her.

“I have to go.” she said as she slowly pulled herself away from me.

“Okay. Let me walk you out.” I reluctantly agreed, reaching for and handing her two tissues. “My emotions just got the best of me. I’m sorry for doing that to you.”

“I don’t want to walk.” She replied. “but I have to.”

“I’m too disgusted with myself to talk you out of it.” I answered, trying to hide my own tears from her. “I can’t blame you. I had a bad week, and it just got the best of me. I feel too much now…too much.”

Before we left my apartment, I dried her eyes with a tissue to make sure her kids would never know I just made their mother cry—something you never do to someone you; die for. I then held her and ran my hands through her beautiful dark hair for what I feared would be the last time. I then put my cheek to hers to feel her soft face before she departed from my life for good. I wanted to kiss her, to share oxygen with her, but feared it would disrespect her after my breakdown. In those brief two minutes before we left my place together, I revisited all the beautiful moments we ever had in the same entryway we now stood. I couldn’t control my emotions anymore, and had to face that reality. I didn’t know if this visit would be her last, but it certainly felt like it was. Her guarded stance and her silence would only be more pronounced.

I walked out with her beyond my gates, wanting to make sure she got in her car safely and her face looked the same way it arrived. She then drove slowly off and waved goodbye. I then sat down on a curb in the parking lot, hoping she might drive back. An hour passed before I would return to my apartment empty hearted. My mind replayed the barrage of tears that fell down her face and knowing I couldn’t contact her with Jackson’s sister there. It was too late to view the house guest as an aunt rather than her sister in law—I couldn’t take back the hurtful words. I couldn’t take back the painful reasons I concocted about her coming to see me to end us without realizing no one who wasn’t in love would drive twenty-five minutes to come see someone for just twenty minutes. The fear of losing her had turned me into damaged goods.

I wanted so badly for the dishonest nature of our love to change and I just couldn’t take another instance of it. If she couldn’t leave Jackson now, with Katie now going to high school, the dishonesty would spread to new friends of the family, and my heart couldn’t handle that. I gave my heart to her because I could’ve never foreseen these scenarios after all she told me. Why couldn’t she be proud of me? The harsh reality was this—if Jackson were broke, there’s no doubt she would have left him a long time ago. The man who loved her had become the monster. I was no longer an enigma to her, but the one who kept her from the better world.

I found myself on one of the two empty stools at my kitchen bar—my eyes unable to leave her unfinished Corona bottle, as if she was still there. I never cared much for Corona beer until I met Anya, and now it was my favorite. I always despised dark heavy rain clouds before I met her too and how they stole the sun away, but now I looked forward to the downpour. Before I met her, I only had an affinity for soft and hard rock music because it spoke to me, but she made me fall in love with a genre of music I used to greatly despise only because I it now spoke to me too. She brought out someone in me, I always was—I just locked that person away to deal with all the disappointments in my life. In the middle of my rant about her breaking the hearts of others, I broke her heart in the process after nearly a year and a half of believing I’d never do such a thing.

Her half full Corona bottle provided me with all the evidence I needed— to know this darkness was the greatest I had ever known. When I couldn’t distinguish the light of day from the darkest night, I knew I was in for the fight of my life. For the first time, I felt I needed a painkiller to get through this. And for the first time, ever, I decided to drive to my mother’s house for the most selfish of reasons—to see if I could bum a few Vicodin off a woman with Stage Four Cancer. On my way into town, I drove over the Vincent Thomas Bridge, and also for the first time ever, I really studied it. I observed all of its details to educate myself which route was best—to reach its highest point. If I lost Anya for good, and if I was about to lose my mother as well, the only two people I had on my side in this world—I simply couldn’t occupy this space anymore. It was time to leave this world as unceremoniously as I entered it.

When I got to the house, I noticed my father’s truck wasn’t in the driveway. I soon also learned once I stepped inside, my mother wasn’t there either—it was her chemo treatment day. When I went inside the bedroom to seek her pill bottle, I didn’t have to look hard as it stood ostentatiously upon my mother’s dresser. Without her there, I took more than I ever did before—by at least twenty-five pills. I immediately popped three in my mouth to combat the horrific emptiness I felt. I then went to the kitchen and stared out of the window over the kitchen sink as I waited for their effect on me. When I caught a blue-sky moon on the horizon, I tried to recapture the magic I felt on my way to meet Anya at Maestros—a time we had trouble before. I caused this pain though, and had no idea how to repair it. Somewhere beyond the blue-sky moon, the Universe listened—in the form of a red light that blinked on my phone.

ANYA: “Sick to my stomach. Hope ur ok.”

I knew that sick to my stomach feeling so well, I knew she could never fake it. I then desperately tried to make her feel better. As she tried to make the man, who didn’t deserve to feel better, feel better.

ME: “Sick to my stomach too. I’ve failed you. All I ever wanted to do was make you happy, but all I did was fail you. Beside myself with sadness. I’m sorry for hurting you today. I’m sorry for hurting you and your kids by hurting their mother. You’re the only reason I look forward to my next breath. I’m sorry you have to hurt right now and I hate that I’m the reason for that. I’m sorry for being at the mercy of love. I’m sorry you’re sick to your stomach. I’m sorry for being less than a man and breaking your heart. I’m sorry I accused you of breaking the hearts of others. I’m so terribly sorry to do this to you when you had to pick up Andrew and you have your sister-in-law visiting. It was extremely selfish of me. I feel just awful after all you did just to come see me. Breaks my heart to do that to you. I don’t blame you for walking. I’ve never had anyone love me so much, be so kind and care so much about me. I want to believe it’s real. I just hope you don’t get too upset with me for wanting to have that every day. Just know I love you with every piece of my heart.”

After I sent this text off to her, I read it a couple of times—I hoped to not sound too pathetic. As the effects of the Vicodin began to kick in, I hoped she texted me again to build some positive energy. When she did, under the blue-sky moon, it caught me by surprise.

ANYA: “I really really tried.”

ME: “You really tried today, and I hurt you over something so senseless. It was so nothing. I think I need help. You’re in love with me, I have you right in front of me and I act that way? I don’t even understand myself anymore. I hope you’re ok. I feel so bad for you. I’m here in any way you need me. You did nothing wrong, everything right and I punished you for it. I feel sick to my stomach for you, not for me.”

ANYA: “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re in love with me that’s why. Felt like a liar even though I didn’t lie about my house guest. I just don’t know what to say anymore.”

ME: “I know. I’m fed up with me. Period. I have an issue I need to get straightened out. I’m stressed. I’m fatigued. I’m in love. I need to seek help when it hurts someone I love. There’s just no excuse for it.”

ANYA: “Please don’t be so hard on yourself. I love u.”

ME: “No. I have to, babe. It was way out of line, and I wasted your time. I’m not deserving of your love right now. You did nothing to deserve my tirade. On a day you should have only been smiling about, I instead brought tears to your beautiful face. I’m so sorry for letting you down. I love you.”

ANYA: “I love you too.”

I felt at a loss for words as Anya was so distraught, she broke away from her house guest to text me. When I considered all I told her, even though part of it might have been justified, it didn’t make it right. I always prided myself on being a gentleman—always the man women missed out on. It was the first time I was no better than Jackson. A real man doesn’t make the woman he loves drive all that way just to spend time with him then send her back home to her own kids an emotional wreck. Her inconsistent communication hurt me, but I had no right to accuse her of the things I did. I could ask her about it, but to go off the way I did after she drove all the way over to spend time with me—there was just no right in that.

I then decided to drive home as I didn’t want my mother to see me this way when she had her own struggle. I also had to explain to her why I took so many of her pills and had to come up with a good reason besides “I was desperate”. During the drive home, I began to talk to myself in disgust which prompted me to take another Vicodin, the fourth one I took in less than an hour. When I got home, I walked through my apartment like a it was a morgue—caught up in its nostalgia. As I walked in the entry way, I imagined her purse on the counter. All the times she couldn’t wait to be in arms that ached to have her in them. We spent so much time in the entryway showing our affection for each other, we barely had enough time to spend in the bedroom. I’d never forget the time she went through the entry way with her hair in a pony tail that moved with excitement and in perfect tune with the beat of my heart. The living room was also full of memories. The time she spoke the words of “Una Toda Vida” to me with all the love in the world in her eyes. Our slow sensual dance that made me never want to dance with anyone else ever again. The time she stood there in tears only to show me the greatest love I’ve ever felt in my life. The time I picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. The two pictures and candle holders I got for my bathroom to make it feel more comfortable. I then fixated on the bottles of her perfume which stood proudly next to my bottle of cologne on my dresser. The bed had the most memories. How we always threw our clothes on the floor then met in the middle of it. I lost count of all the times I anticipated her soft skin touching mine—rubbing her breasts upon my chest when we embraced. All the times she laid down on a pillow, her beautiful dark hair strewn upon it perfectly. The many times we inhaled each other, exhaling only to say “I love you”. I then stumbled upon all the candles I planned to burn for future visits that now seemed unlikely to ever meet a flame. She was in every part of my apartment and in every breath I took. When I finally laid on the right side of my bed, the only side I ever slept on since I met her, all I could do was wonder if she would ever lie to my left again.

When the next day arrived, May 23rd, a Saturday, I remained in my bed—a state of paralysis. I tried not to think, because if I did, she would dominate my mind and I couldn’t imagine a world without her in it. My mother left me a message on my phone wondering why she was missing so many pills and to call her back. All I could do was reach for another Vicodin to not only make the silence around me tolerable, but to try and recapture the time when I deserved her love. Although Anya understood why I cracked, I couldn’t find any solace in it. Like a galaxy on a natural collision course with another, my mind only knew self-destruction. I thought love could change that, but even with all this love I had for Anya, I was still unable to use reason. If I could’ve just focused on my heart and the “aunt” role of her house guest, I would have been just fine. My mind thwarted my heart and the role of Jackson’s sister instead. Her silence during the week and in Cabo that weekend left my mind to its own devices. I couldn’t see past her accommodating nature for his sister’s visit—an extension of her love and respect for the man she told me she didn’t have feelings for. I knew she didn’t love him the same way she loved me. She told me she didn’t love him at all though because of the things he did to her, and I trusted that with my life. I even trusted with my life she would be true to all those around her—if she fell in love with me. I had endured too much heartbreak before I met her to ever risk putting myself in a position of heartbreak again—especially one that on a surface level would only lead to heartbreak. That is what broke me down.

I hated to see a single tear fall from her eyes. Even though I felt wronged, I betrayed her when a single tear fell from them. I remembered all the times my father’s words made my mother cry, and how it made me vow to never allow a tear to fall from the eyes of someone I loved. Anya had a very busy week, and her silence over those days hurt. I even believed she loved me differently because her feelings had changed, and not because she feared I’d pressure her. Although she could’ve reached out more than she did, she still found a way to come see me. For her to make a twenty-five-minute drive just to spend twenty minutes with me—while she had to race back to pick up her son and get the house ready for her sister-in-law, was a subtle admission and apology to me for the silence during the week. If she wanted to lose me. If she didn’t love me—she would’ve never showed up. I then thought about the pain, the sadness I rewarded her with that she carried home to her kids and how it affected them. It broke my heart she had to step away from all she had to get done, not just to visit me, but so she could feel better after I tore into her. Especially when I knew my love got her through her days, like her love got me through mine. I just couldn’t get my mind off the tears I caused to fall down her cheeks. This convinced me I needed help to fight back what threatened to take the only thing I ever truly loved in life away from me.

I didn’t expect to hear from her at all the day after my tirade, and refused to text her—I wanted to respect her feelings and space. She had her sister-in-law over and didn’t need me distracting her. There were times when I never expected to hear from her, I did, and these were one of those rare times.

ANYA: “Hope ur ok.”

After I took my third Vicodin of the day, I couldn’t give her any assurances I was. I could only hope I was too.

ME: “Other than missing you to death. I just hope ur ok. I love you.”

ANYA: “I love you.”

I respected the fact Anya didn’t miss me to death too—I didn’t deserve to be missed. All I could do was reiterate how awful I felt about all I said. You don’t invite a guest to your home and then send them off in tears—especially when that guest is a mother who has to go home to her kids.

ME: “The hardest part for me was seeing the look in your eyes yesterday. Seeing the tears, and all I can think about was all the tears I haven’t seen from the other times I’ve hurt you. It just tears me apart to even imagine how your drive home felt when you left here yesterday, but I’m also sorry for every tear that has ever touched your cheeks because of me. Yesterday was definitely the saddest, most painful moment of my life. I just hope you’re ok. I don’t deserve to be ok for putting you through that.

ANYA: “It’s ok.”

ME: “No, it’s not.”

Strong emotions of anger, sadness, and fear left me with an uneasy feeling in my stomach—my past the catalyst to all of them but never to this extreme before. Saturday nights were the hardest nights for me as I faded into the darkness on this particular one, bound to a bed and four walls that felt much more like a prison than a room named for its comfort. I set my alarm for six the following Sunday morning—an attempt to get physically stronger at the gym. I only felt strong enough however to turn off my alarm when it broke the morning silence. I didn’t know what to expect on this day as it was easier to expect nothing, confined to my bed yet another day—not even inspired enough to eat for a second straight day. I had never experienced the dark like this before—a darkness that existed even in the light of day. Even after each torturous night, with my vivid imagination after Denise left me for someone else, I still found the strength to leave my bed the next day. On a mentally debilitating Sunday, at about a half hour past three, I texted Anya just to see if she was okay.

ME: “I hope ur ok. Just thinking of you.”

ANYA: “Been at a funeral and reception all day. I’m very sad. Overwhelmed with losses.”

When I learned of the funeral and reception, it seemed to suggest the reason for the house guest—a piece of information that would’ve helped me to understand better. Information that could’ve stopped my tirade in its tracks. It appeared someone from Jackson’s side of the family had passed away, and I don’t know why she hid that from me. I guess it was for the best because she knew anything, she did for Jackson annoyed me, but a death in the family was something entirely different—she had to know I made an exception for that.

ME: “I’m sorry for your loss. You didn’t lose me, u know. I’m the one who lost you with the way I handled things. I’m the loser here. I’m very sad too and I’m still sick to my stomach. I lost the most important thing in my life. You still have both of those things; Katie and Andrew. You didn’t lose babe. I’m sorry you’re so sad. I wish I could be there for you.”

Of the twenty-five Vicodin I took from my mom’s bottle; I had already taken sixteen of them in two days as I tried to mask the sadness I felt. Although they helped me feel better, I still couldn’t escape from my bed. All I could do was fade in and out of the light, with memories of being unable to distinguish a rainy day from a sunny one with her in my life. I failed her and had to find a way to right this ship for her before it sank, if it still even had a life preserver on board. How could I punish someone who loved me like no one ever did before? If something inside me wasn’t broken, it surely was damaged. How could I be so emotionally abusive towards her? How could I berate the only woman who has ever loved me? How could I stop this from every happening again?

At about a half hour past eight that Sunday evening, I reached out to her one last time.

ME: “Thinking of you. Hope you’re doing ok.”

Twenty-six minutes later, she responded.

ANYA: “I’m ok. Hope u r too.”

It was nice to hear she was ok, and not sad. I understood she would be sad, but felt that should be reserved for the fool who made her feel such. As much as the things she did got my wheels spinning, whether necessarily or unnecessarily, I loved her to death. To see her in any pain or sadness, the very reason why I chose to be in her life, killed me inside. I never wanted to win an argument, if it caused her tears to fall—I only wanted to be wrong about the things I feared I might be right about. If Anya and I argued, I contended with no desire to win but with only a wish to lose—for her to prove me wrong.

On this particular Sunday evening, I finally extracted myself from bed to transfer my dead weight to my desk chair. I then took another Vicodin and planned to reread my daily journals from the time we first met all the way up until the time she left my apartment in tears. I wanted to feel all the emotions I ever felt, especially the laughs and all the “feel good” moments, but when I got to my “All I Know” texts I sent, the ones she saved, fear and sadness consumed me. I then realized my poor decision to tear her down would only lead her to delete the only texts she ever saved, and my heart and soul at the same time. Tears began to stream down my own face when I considered she may never wear the necklace I got for her ever again, and that’s when I had to send her another text before I could return to bed.

ME: “Sorry for the late text. As you can probably tell from the texts, I’ve sent you over the weekend I’m having a hard time. I just can’t get the image of you hurting on Friday out of my mind. I saw how much I mean to you. I have always known you as a person who hides things at times and to see that come out of you was heart wrenching to me. Like I said, all I can think about are all the times I’ve hurt you and all the tears you’ve cried because of me, and I wasn’t there to hold you. To tell you I’m sorry. You will tell me it’s ok but I know it’s not.”

ME: “I made a foolish, hurtful, blanket statement when I said “I only hurt people if they hurt me” and that was spoken completely out of context, but that was my fault for not clarifying. I hope you don’t think all because someone hurts me, that I would feel justified to go out and hurt them. I meant it in the context that I would have to feel it was intentional. For example, when that woman at your son’s games cheated on her husband with your husband. You recognized someone intentionally hurt you, and you told her husband. That’s just human nature to defend yourself and that’s all I meant by it. Your reaction to the pain caused you fit the crime. I would never go out and just hurt anyone who hurt me. It would first have to be unprovoked and instigated by the other party and then have to also be intentionally done with the sole purpose to hurt me, and even then, I’d still probably turn the other cheek when it’s all said and done. I’m not a vengeful person, but I also can’t let people walk all over me and take advantage of my giving nature. I don’t think there’s anything wrong to stand up for yourself. That’s all I meant by that. I hope it makes better sense now.”

I had a woman approach me, ask me for my number, call me, set up a date with me, tell me her husband cheated on her, then loved me with her heart and soul. It broke down my walls enough to love her back just as deeply and to trust someone like never before. It led me believe I had found the love I always believed in and waited for. If she told me the first night we met, that even if I gave her all of me, she would still find reasons to stay in her marriage rather than reasons to be with me—I would’ve been fine with the sacrifices a mother made. It didn’t seem Anya even tried, at times, to understand why I felt the way I did. If she stayed in her marriage after the second man in her life—she would make a horrible mistake unless she enjoyed being able to date men in her marriage. That this arrangement was predetermined to stay married for the sake of the kids. In that case, if that was agreed to, how could all the pain I felt be perceived as anything else but intentional? Staying only for the sake of the kids was a vicious cycle passed down from one generation to the next—a dilution of happiness. Anya knew better than anyone that having money didn’t lead to happiness. Was having a successful career more important than having a successful life? She couldn’t tell me she and Jackson were happy about this marriage at all. Underneath the surface, he had to be as unhappy as she was. How could the kids possibly benefit from their parent’s false union? Was it better for them to find out their parents cheated on each other than to get a divorce for other viable reasons? How could I support a marriage’s existence that not only hurt the people within it, but those outside of it as well?

By the grace of a higher power, Monday was Memorial Day and a needed day off for me. I felt out of sorts that morning before I threw the eighteenth Vicodin over the last three days down my throat—the only chance to disguise the sadness that paralyzed me. In response to the texts I sent her the previous night, Anya sent me a text that morning.

ANYA: “Hope u have a nice Memorial Day.”

Although it was just a one sentence text that ignored the last two, I sent—I was happy to hear from her, but it broke me down. Especially when I remembered the last Memorial Day she spent surrounded by friends while I wished I could be with her. When I imagined her in between neighbor parties while I remained tied down to my bed, unable to move, I felt emotionally distraught.

ME: “This won’t be an easy day for me. I’m having a hard time. Lost without you. I hope ur ok.”

ANYA: “I feel empty.”

ME: “I keep hearing over and over again in my mind “I’m feeling sick to my stomach”. I keep seeing your tears. I know u told me it’s ok but I know it’s not acceptable and I have to be a better man. I’m just so sad. I never want to hurt you. I only want to love you. I just hope you know that.”

Anya never responded to my text, but at this point no response necessary—I was just happy she read it. I realized how I couldn’t afford to lose her this way—or any other way. I wanted to apologize to Katie and Andrew for hurting their mother, but I truly loved her—a lot more than their father did. To know I couldn’t talk to them after I knew so much about them was the hardest thing for me—that in their eyes I was the villain, because their mother refused to let them know I was her hero. The hardest part about it though, at their age, they wouldn’t have cared what I was as my feelings had outgrown our contained relationship.

Last Memorial Day, I remembered she was with neighbors, and she asked me to share a fantasy with her, and I did—but never heard back from her. She claimed she couldn’t get away and in a perfect world she could have responded—but why did she ask me to share? It was times like those that left me to wonder about her intentions and why she allowed me to fall so in love with her. She apologized the following day for it, and it was water under the bridge but on this Memorial Day, I wondered how she spent it. With a house guest and after she attended a funeral service, she could’ve spent it at home this year and not with neighbors. Regardless, I had never spent a paid day off in such a somber fashion, and it made me feel that much lonelier. I then sent her a text to see if she would respond.

ME: “Thinking of you.”

ANYA: “U haven’t left my mind.”

When she responded to my text within a minute, it shot me with so much life I jumped out of bed and into the shower. I didn’t know if I still had her heart, but I at least knew I was still on her mind—so I could rest mine.

When the next day arrived, a Tuesday, I couldn’t face the day as again—immobilized in bed. I left a message with the receptionist to let them know I would not be in. I was allowed to work remotely from home at certain times, and I did that even when I was sick. On this day, I found myself lost in a mental fog unable to focus on nothing but my sorrow. Later that morning, Anya sent me a text as I remained holed up in bed—my room in complete darkness as the sun shone brightly outside.

ANYA: “How r u?”

ME: “I’m hanging in there. How r u?”

ANYA: “Ok. Glad weekend is over. Just taking one day at a time.”

ME: “I’m an emotional mess right now.”

ANYA: “I know what you mean.”

Anya’s texts seemed to suggest she had as hard a time as I did this weekend—and I believed her. I saw the tears when she left, and there was no faking them. When I thought about how it was much worse for her with people around her, and I was lucky I could escape to a bed, I felt even worse about what I did. The last three days were the most brutal of my life. I never felt more disconnected from the world—a domain I’d have to find a way to embrace again without her. Her texts did motivate me enough to vacate my bed and inhabit my shower. I felt better when I got out and even inspired enough to put on some clothes. I then made my bed as I hoped I could change her mind about things. This last visit couldn’t be our last memory together as I hoped for a chance to love her the way I knew I could love her. The love she not only missed but also needed—evidenced by the tears that fell from her eyes. I didn’t want to pressure her. I only wanted to give her what she needed from me. After I had lunch, only the second meal I had over the weekend, I bravely texted her.

ME: “Thinking of you.”

ANYA: “Thinking of you too. How was your weekend?”

ME: “What weekend? It wasn’t much of one to be honest. How was your weekend? Did your daughter come back from NYC yet? Will the house guest be there until Sunday?”

ANYA: “It was hard. I understand. Katie got home late last night. Yes she will be here till Sunday.”

Her texts helped me to get through the rest of the afternoon, and although I felt Anya might give me a chance to mend what I’ve done, I may have given myself false hope. I’d take any kind of hope at this point—if it got me out of bed in the morning. At about seven that evening, I had another chance to see where I stood when she texted me.

ANYA: “U holding up?”

ME: “Barely. Still mad at myself for hurting you.”

ANYA: “Landyn, please stop beating urself up. I want us to heal and be able to talk again as mature grownups and friends.”

When I read her texts, I focused on “mature grownups and friends”—a double uppercut punch to the heart. I guess she viewed my texts as an act of immaturity and that’s why she never responded. I didn’t know how else to feel—embarrassed for the tears I caused her. She told me she felt empty and I wanted her to know the details behind my emptiness. That seemed to be the difference in our love—I provided details behind the emotions I felt and she provided a word or two to convey her feelings. To her, more than a word conveyed a sign of immaturity and that stung me deeply—if she viewed my emotions as an act of immaturity, she viewed our love the same way. I guess in her mind, a sign of a mature love was one that cheated on you several times instead of letting that person know how you felt. When she used the word “immature” to what I deemed to be how Friday left me to feel, I felt she abandoned me long before Friday. When she included the word “friends” at the end of it, I knew I stood in a place I didn’t want to be with her. I caused her tears though and I needed to give her the time to heal from this. I couldn’t expect her to want to be with me after my meltdown—I had to accept that. This was a bad thing to happen to my heart, but maybe it needed to happen so I could make certain it didn’t happen again. Her text suggested she wanted to just be friends and nothing more after she healed, so I replied to ask for clarification—so I could drive the stake in my own heart.

ME: “Is it safe to say that you don’t want to be with me anymore?’

ANYA: “That’s not what I wanted, but I think it’s for the best.”

As much as it hurt, I couldn’t blame her one bit. Even though I felt her different way of loving me prompted my emotional response, she couldn’t be an emotional wreck around her children—I had no one to blame but myself. Upon reading this, over the next two hours, I took the remaining six Vicodin I had. I then went to bed, hoping to wake up in another dimension.