“What do I gotta do to make you love me?

What do I gotta do to make you care?

What do I do when lightning strikes me?

And awake to find that you’re not there?

“Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word" ~ Elton John

Anya turned into a dragon slayer with her words that pierced my heart. As painful as her words were to read, I deserved them and the fear within them. I had become sensitive to everything now—even her house guests. She couldn’t win with me right now. Even if she did nothing—I would find fault in it. I had to defeat the enemy within before I could be the man she needed me to be. I wasn’t built to love a woman I had to share with someone—let alone a man of Jackson’s ilk. I knew I was the better man for Anya without a doubt, and timing seemed to be a huge issue. I just trusted Anya that timing would never be an issue if we agreed to take a chance on each other. This low self-esteem issue carried throughout my life that I thought died when I met Anya, but it now returned from the dead with a vengeance. I always believed when I met my true love, it would no longer exist, but I was only partially correct. When I realized that I morphed from a hopeless romantic to a person who pointed the finger—I knew I needed help.

Her love brought out the best in me, but whenever I feared I could lose it—it brought out a dragon that needed to be slayed. My outburst wasn’t her fault. She entertained Katie and Andrew’s aunt for a week—not only Jackson’s sister. I also hated to see her in a dishonest situation and nothing boiled me over more than the show she put on for family, friends, and neighbors about her marriage after she encouraged and allowed me to fall deeply in love with her—after all we had shared. I saw the house guest as an extension of the façade, and over time, the accumulation of these extensions took their toll on me to a point I felt betrayed. Although I was justified in some ways to be upset, I truly felt this particular incident was my fault—I misinterpreted the nature of the house guest. My accusations were off base as well—Anya didn’t want to lie to her sister in law as much as I didn’t want her to lie to her. Why should my heart be punished though when she allowed and encouraged me to fall so deeply in love with her? It only stung me badly because without a promise, I felt she was just fine to carry on this way forever. I trusted her that if I came into her life, she would have no reason to do this anymore—what she led me to believe even when she knew all along about the sacrifices mothers made for their children. A promise would keep the pressure off her from me. I knew her vows were golden unlike the ones made to her by her husband. As much as I blamed myself for this though, and believed she was justified enough to walk—I couldn’t help but feel betrayed because her marriage never changed while she encouraged my feelings to grow. It was also natural to feel even more betrayed when she chose to love me less after she had already shot me. When I woke up the next morning, after my attempt to wake up in another dimension failed, I composed and sent two texts to Anya—to try to win her back. The problem was I was at war with myself—the side who felt I had betrayed Anya with my words, and the side of me that felt she betrayed me by not making a promise she promised to make if she loved me.

ME: “Sorry babe. I can’t sleep. Do you honestly think I could ever just fall out of love with you? Was that what you mean by healing? Sweetheart, there’s no turning back for me. Like every star in the sky, I’m going to be here in love with you until the day I die.”

ME: “Nearly two years ago, you came up to me at Sonoma’s. You asked me for my phone number, you called me, you set up a date, you told me he cheated on you 4 times, we fell in love, and you loved me with all of you. When we reconnected, you asked me how come I left you that night. You told me I broke your heart and from that day on I swore I would never break it again. Your husband cheats on you so badly you felt compelled to talk the husband of the woman he cheated with. He put you in that situation, not me yet it feels I’m punished for the things he’s done. You begged me not to leave you. You told me kids were resilient, divorces happened all the time and that nothing was impossible. I never left you then—nor could I ever. You then gave me your heart and soul if not more. I’ve shared the most intimate moments of my life, and about myself, with you, something I had never done with anyone else. I waited 38 years for the best birthday of my life—you were the one who gave that to me. The best days of my life were all shared with you, and they were only the best because of you. You told me you hoped, you wished, and you dreamed about our love every day. I opened my heart, my soul and my complete self to you because of the ways you chose to love me. I’ve tried really hard to be nothing but thoughtful and understanding and I’m sorry I questioned your feelings when I sensed something felt different, but all I wanted to know, was for you to tell me so. Instead of giving me details of what I thought may be happening, you gave me details of what you wanted to happen when you shared that one of your sales reps just returned from Paris with her boyfriend—you wanted us. I have no doubt you wanted me to fall in love with you the first night we met. All I’m really trying to say to you is—here I am. Please don’t abandon me with all these feelings. Please don’t penalize me for only wanting to be with you. I know you have some stressful things coming up and I’m busy as well. Please let’s not make this our last memory together. I never meant to hurt you or anyone. I only want to love you.”

While I waited for her texts, I called in sick yet again. I now missed more workdays due to illness over the last week than I had in my entire tenure with the firm. It wasn’t long before I received a response from Anya, what did surprise me however was that twelve others would immediately follow.

ANYA: “I know you’d never hurt anyone. Your heart is pure. Yes, I walked up to you and called you and set up a time to meet but it takes two. You were a willing participant.”

ANYA: “You left me and we reconnected yes. I asked you to stay but I didn’t beg you. I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do and hope it wasn’t out of pity.”

ANYA: “I told you my situation and trusted you with my heart. I talked to the husband b/c he was a victim too. We were both in it together and we had to come up with a solution.”

ANYA: “You have some anger in you and I hope one day you can free yourself. I fell in love with you and no I can’t just fall out either. I’ve cried many tears over you.”

ANYA: “What happened at our last meeting was the last straw for me. It wasn’t just that incident. It’s been building for quite some time and you hurt me over and over and…”

ANYA: “You take my words and literally use them against me. I trust you when I tell you things or show you things. You’ve promised many times but I forgave over and over and…”

ANYA: “I never came into your life with the intent to hurt you. We both agreed we’ll give it a try and see what happens. I trusted your words.”

ANYA: “Don’t make me look like the bad guy here. I gave it my all. I gave you all my heart, soul and utmost respect. I don’t ignore you. I try to talk it over with you.”

ANYA: “I hate to text it but you’ve pushed me to this point. No, I’m not blaming you b/c it’s a unique situation and we’re both in it together. We both hurt.”

ANYA: “Part of me is telling me that the best way to handle this from now on is to stop communicating all together. It’s too painful to keep talking.”

ANYA: “What I meant by healing is to stop seeing each other. I’ve made up my mind and this is my wish for now. I will forever be in love with you too.”

ANYA: “I want to keep in touch for you are and have been my best friend for a long time. It hurts to not have you.”

ANYA: “Please don’t push me away as friends too. I really did give it my all. I can’t go through hurting you one more time. When you hurt, I hurt.”

The back end of her thirteen texts softened the blow of the first eleven she sent, but all thirteen of them were equally hard to read. I didn’t see things the way she did, but I really needed time to sort out my feelings before I responded to them.

ME: “Thank you for the texts. I just need a little time to absorb them.”

ANYA: “Don’t take every word and read into it.”

Her response brought a smile to my face—she knew me too well.

ME: “I don’t know what I could possibly read into. You’ve left nothing to the imagination.”

ANYA: “Have you told your mom? I’d hate to worry her. Breaks my heart.”

Anya’s text was very thoughtful, but if she didn’t want me to date her out of pity, I didn’t want the same from her as well.

ME: “I haven’t talked to my mom about this. It’s funny how my mom has told me the same thing before that sometimes I read into things too much.”

ANYA: “I think that’s what got us into trouble. Got to the point where I was afraid to say anything b/c you’d take it the wrong way.”

That was the nature of the texting world—it left a lot open to misinterpretation. Anya’s use of the word “us” was a kind gesture as she didn’t want to finger point, but the truth was, I began to lose trust in her. Why not use the word “ the kids Aunt” or “Sister-in-Law” instead of “House Guest” when she knew I read into things? She couldn’t love a man with her heart and soul, things she claimed, and be with another man without a reaction from me. She even admitted it herself—she would be in love with me forever too. That’s why I would always be hurt by the things she did whether we were together or not. As much as I didn’t blame Anya for feeling the way she did, I also didn’t think she played fair at all. If she couldn’t blame me, then how could she get mad at me for anything?

As the day turned into night, I felt like a newborn thrown in a dumpster. I thought she would text me during the day, but she never did. Although she feared to text me sometimes, I felt that same fear on some level too, and nothing scared me more than her silence—a stillness that never existed even in her “situation”. How could Anya trust me to respect her situation when she encouraged and allowed me to be such a huge part of it? As I sunk within a bed that rendered me immobile, the truth sunk within me—that without Anya, I would lose my career job. I couldn’t focus, and I couldn’t concentrate properly. I was no longer affable and approachable as I hid in my office all day, and at the offices of my clients. I was now behind on all of the jobs I oversaw and failed to meet budget constraints on most of them. To distract myself, I would come home to get on Facebook—just to see how happy everyone else was while I felt more removed from life than ever before. Social media seemed to be a great vehicle to use for the Caiaphas’s—an easy place to hide behind a picture. While all my friends posted pics of themselves with the woman they loved, I settled for true love and found a woman who loved me so much she couldn’t even make a promise to be with me. A secret life I chose to gift her because I trusted her reasons for our love. The reasons why she would visit me at four in the morning so we could wake up in each other’s arms. The reason she performed an intimate act in San Diego. She never told me she would need the permission of her children before we could be together. She wanted me here and she has that. She couldn’t allow me to go all in and pull the rug out from under me. Love always caught the ones who fell—it didn’t just let them fall. If she decided to cut off all contact or to just be a “friend”. Now, not only did I cling to Anya, I also clung to my career, my hopes, my wishes, my dreams, and my life as I laid it all on the line via electronic transmission.

ME: “Can’t sleep again. Ok, I have read into each and every text so here it goes.”

ME: “Let me correct you. I was “more” than a willing participant. I’ll never hide that fact, but I asked you what you needed from me to be with me. You told me that I would need to sweep you off your feet. Something you told me I did the night you asked me if I would fight for you. Yes, you’re right I was a willing participant, but only based on those conditions we agreed on. I have eighteen months’ worth of texts from you that prove I met your lone condition to leave him. I was never a willing participant if you had told me that mothers made sacrifices for kids the night we decided to give our love a try. You knew that from day one and you never mentioned it, so all I’m saying now is here I am.”

ME: “My texts weren’t meant to point the finger at you. I just wanted to show you that you’ve initiated our relationship regardless of your situation. Regardless of everything including the sacrifice “mothers make for their children”. In doing so, I felt you were telling me “here is my situation but it doesn’t matter to me”. I trusted what you told me the night we decided to give our love a try, not what you told me months later after I had already fallen in love with you.”

ME: “The actual words you texted were “Please don’t leave me” not “I beg of you”, but you’re kind of playing semantics, and I don’t see much of a difference there, but if you feel that way, I’m not going to argue with you. It doesn’t matter. For the record it wasn’t done out of pity, but out of a great deal of love and trust.”

ME: “Anya, you talked to the husband because you were angry. Even to this day, twelve years later, you’re still angry about it. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, and I don’t judge you for it. I’d be angry too, and I would have done the same thing. I just don’t think it’s fair to judge me for the way I feel when I’m certain you’d feel the same way I do if the roles were reversed.”

ME: “Anger resides in everyone. That’s an emotion people are entitled to have as long as they now how to manage it, and use it in a constructive manner instead of a destructive one. Anger resides in you too, Anya. I wouldn’t be in your life otherwise, and you would’ve never approached me at Sonoma’s if there was none there. If you think about it, you’re so blinded by it, you’re punishing the one who has never dishonored you or used you in any way—the man who truly loves you.”

ME: “You have told me many loving things. You have done many loving things for me. You have shared every detail of your life with me, even the lives of your children. So much so, I want to know them one day. You have loved me in a way that will affect me not just today, but forever.”

ME: “Anya, let’s be fair here. I trusted you with my heart just as much as you trusted me with yours. You told me I broke your heart when we reconnected. I trusted your pain. You told me you don’t kiss him yet you still have sex with him? I put the ultimate trust in you that you would leave, and not leave me hurting—unable to get a promise from you. You’ve hurt me a number of times too. You even make promises to people as if I don’t exist in your life. As if we never shared a thing. As if my heart and even my life means nothing to you. You say I’ve hurt you many times, and it’s chipped you away from me yet every single day you break my heart with the things you do yet here I am fighting for you without taking any part of myself away from you. I try to understand you yet your love doesn’t offer me the same. I’m not going to get into details how you break my heart every day b/c I don’t have to tell you, but all because I don’t know about it, doesn’t mean you’re not doing anything to hurt me.”

ME: “I have to say there were times I felt betrayed and yes I got upset about some things you do that are inconsistent with your love for me. It hurts a lot especially when I’ve been nothing but faithful to you. During your trip to Cabo, you sent me pictures, told me romantic things, but the minute the weekend arrived, I hardly heard from you. What happened to your love? I think you need to really consider the things you do sometimes that would lead me to question it. Like I said before, love is a need, and sometimes you make me feel like the last thing you need.”

ME: “I need to make this perfectly clear. I don’t get upset just for the sake of getting upset. You have hurt me over and over too. Hurt is hurt whether it’s intentional or not because you always have a choice not to hurt someone. I would never hurt anyone preemptively, especially someone I love. It’s just a reaction to pain they caused me. If anything I tell you in self-defense is going to hurt you, then what doesn’t hurt you? I can’t even explain to you how I feel without you being hurt by it?”

ME: “I trusted you to be consistent with your feelings for me. My words are solid, but I wasn’t expecting if you fell in love with me that you would find ways to stay in your marriage and not be with me. I really thought you would do the right thing and choose to live an honest life and be with me. I know I said I would be a “big boy” but nothing could have prepared me for the inconsistency in your love for me. If you’re not proud of me, or willing to fight or vouch for me, then how could you say you truly love me? I’m not saying you don’t love me; this is probably how love feels to you, but I have to feel your love too for it to be love, Anya. It may be a strong physical attraction that feels like love to you but love comes with respect too. If you truly gave me your upmost respect, it wouldn’t be just to talk things out with me but you would’ve at least asked for a separation from your husband by now, don’t you think? When I told you I’d be a “big boy”, I meant if you didn’t fall in love with me and I’d move on. I never expected this.”

ME: “As I text these things to you, please know I think we are both guilty of hurting each other. It’s not one sided. Love is the strongest emotion any human being on this planet experiences and it is not easy to contain. It’s easy for you because your love isn’t as strong as mine. You have something to fall back on if this doesn’t work out so it’s easy for you to say good-bye. It took me six years to get over a six-month relationship and I was very careful with you because I didn’t want to go through that ever again. The truth is, I go through it again every day with you now and I can only imagine how many years it’s going to take me to get over you. The things we say and do resonate inside of us and really hurt. I really care about what you think about and of me, and I always take it in and reevaluate. I respect and care about your thoughts about me and that’s why I’ve responded to your texts. I really hope you can honestly do the same because I’m unsure if you can.

ME: “Idk. Maybe I just had to be there for you before you would let me be with you?”

ME: “I don’t believe in love anymore. I’m forever done with love. It doesn’t exist in a world where financial resources rule it when the man who has never dishonored you a day in his life, is the one who is punished as if I had. I guess it was nice to believe in, immature, but nice. I’m sure it exists for other, more mature, people though.”

Though unintentionally, but maybe poetically, I sent fourteen texts to meet Anya’s thirteen. I didn’t want to sound mean, but some of the things she texted me were really inconsiderate and narcissistic. I held back some things I wanted to tell her. For instance, if Jackson wasn’t a good provider, she would have left him a long time ago. The first night we met, I asked her if she was there for the money. She told me “no”. but if he didn’t make her kids feel secure where they were at, she wouldn’t have stayed. I’m not saying she loved Jackson—she used him as much as he used her now. I was just saying her love for me may have felt like love to her, but it only did because she had no clue what love was. She didn’t marry for it. She married for money. She married for popularity. She married for what her culture wanted for her. She married for lust and boats and whatever Jackson gave her. She was not honest with me from day one yet had the audacity to tell me I was the dishonest party. She told me I was “angry” yet it was her anger that allowed and encouraged me to approach me at Sonoma’s. When she failed to look inside, like a politician would, love and respect were the last two things her texts showed me.

Her texts spoke of things she wanted to believe, in the hope, I’d believe them too. I remember the night we first met however, and the night we agreed to see each other seriously. Why would it be unreasonable for me to expect her “situation” didn’t mean much to her if she pursued this relationship with me? After she pursued one with another man before me? If our love could never change her situation, why did she allow me into her life? If Anya was in her twenties, I may have cut her some slack, but she was older than I was, and she knew better. I started to sense; she knew exactly what she was doing. She knew her situation better than I did, and I trusted she would not use my blindness against me. I found it unbelievably self-centered for her to simply point to her situation and the little knowledge she gave me of it at the beginning and hold me responsible for my reactions. She lied to everyone around her. She lied to her husband, which I understood. But she lied to her friends. Her neighbors. Her co-workers. Her parents. Her family. And worse of all, she lied to her kids—even after they knew something wasn’t right. That to me was her greatest shame—she was prouder of the lies she made to all of those around her than her love for me. She seemed to lie so much, she believed herself, yet for some odd reason, I trusted she would never lie to me. If I asked, I felt confident Anya would tell me the truth, but if I didn’t ask because I didn’t sense I was being hurt, I had no faith now she would ever be honest about it—she was just like Jackson, a narcissist.

Anya seemed to forget she was the married person in our relationship—not me. She knew her situation much better than I did, and I trusted her to disclose all I needed to know so my caring heart had a chance to avoid what it went through now. She wanted to paint my love for her as something I recklessly jumped into—another lie she told herself evidenced after I walked away from her solely because of her marriage. If she truly respected her situation, she needed to respect my heart just as much. To allow me to fall in love with her without any fear and then pull the rug out from under me, was only respecting her situation and her lies to protect it. If what Katie wrote in her letter was true, about her mother always protecting the family name, that the Caiaphas name meant that much to her after Jackson’s infidelities, then I trusted her to never pursue a relationship with me. To never lead me to a place that would only lead to pain and suffering when my only crime was caring so much about hers.

As my phone vibrated and its screen indicated I had a message waiting for me, I held my breath that she took my texts well. I hope they didn’t hurt her, but I felt her texts painted a very biased and unfair picture of me that greatly discounted and minimized my feelings and emotions. I took the blame for my reaction to her “house guest”. I was wrong but at the same time she had to understand why I felt the way I did. If she couldn’t do that, after I accepted my role, how could she say she loved me at all?

ANYA: “Ok, I am so upset with your texts right now that I can’t even argue with them. I must look like the most terrible person to you. You will always blame me and that’s fine. Do what you must. It’s out of my control. Sorry we can’t be friends.”

ME: “I’m sorry they upset you. I was hoping you would see my side of things, but I guess that’s out of my control too. I’m in love with you Anya, and if you just want to be friends, then that doesn’t feel like you love me the same way. I can’t be a fake person. Sorry.”

ANYA: “I don’t want my love for you to be questioned one more time! That’s the biggest pain ever! I’m upset and am escalating and think it’s a good idea to stop talking for now.”

ME: “Ok.”

I didn’t want to argue with her and I wanted to respect the way she felt about my texts. I wanted her to understand although I got involved to save her from a life of unhappiness, our love was more than about just her. In all fairness, my low self-sense of worth was a challenge for her, and at times she was punished for that, but I trusted her love to eliminate feelings—not make them worse than ever before. Regardless of how perfect Anya thought I was, I spent an entire lifetime with people who didn’t think the way she did. Her sense of worth was never truly challenged—Jackson always came back when he cheated. In my life, not a single girl I cared about ever fought for me to be in their lives. Now, the one who not only claimed to love me, but also claimed to be my soulmate, just wanted to be my friend—an attempt to control and manipulate my feelings for her as if I didn’t have a right to feel so strongly about them. The things she did was similar to what an unscrupulous salesperson would do—a bait and switch. Anya believed all normal rational men were just like her husband. She knew I loved more deeply than he, but if I deviated from Jackson-like behavior, my love was immature, irrational and deemed crazy. Now, she wanted to manipulate and control my feelings for her—as if I had control over them. All she did was give me a death sentence. She treated me as if divorces never happened in life and that I was wrong to pursue a relationship with her and expect her to leave after she told me mothers made sacrifices for her kids. If Anya left me, not only would she now take my life, but if I survived, I’d be so traumatized by her decision, I’d feel just like a victim of rape. Anya worried I found her to be a “terrible person”. I wouldn’t have fallen in love with a terrible person, but the person I talked with now. The person who couldn’t make me a promise to do the right thing. The person who suddenly told me after two years that she didn’t want to lose fifty percent of her kids. The woman who told me she would have to wait to see if she wanted to be with me if she left Jackson. The person who needed the permission of her kids to be with me after she told me she was afraid no one would be with her because she had kids. The woman who asked me to fight for her then told me to man up after I did nothing but fight every single day. The woman who didn’t even want to talk to me while she partied in Cabo with her friends. That Anya, the one I didn’t know until now, the one still married to Jackson Caiaphas was not only possibly a terrible person, but a horrific one after she allowed and encouraged me to be in her life and feel as much as I did. This Anya didn’t understand, nor did she care, how high the stakes were for me.

As I sat at my desk, my face buried into my hands wondering how I would possibly get through this day—or this life without her, I agonized that it might be a while before she contacted me again. I then reached into my laptop carry and grabbed two Vicodin to steady my uneasy mind. I then saw my favorite pen there too, the one she gave me for my thirty-seventh birthday and put it against my cheek as it felt nice and cool. As I held it in my palm, I remembered all the times we spent together and how invincible I felt. I initially came into Anya’s life to save it, but now I needed her to save mine, but she made up her mind to walk. I know I carried anger in my heart at times, but this was why. Time and time again, the more I loved, the more I suffered. And it was men like Jackson, who loved themselves, and didn’t give a shit how people who loved him felt that were rewarded. They could cheat all they wanted and women like Anya wouldn’t leave because his wealth and the friends he purchased with it were more valuable than even love. Then women like Anya, sell themselves a lie, that the love she received from men like Jackson, was how all men were, at least the one who were good providers, and so love was unrealistic. Like a spider who weaves a thick web in the darkness to snag her prey, she loved me with a mission—to weaken me so she could manipulate and control me. I couldn’t deny it worked—I was helpless yet unwilling to give up on my dream of true love after I tasted it. More than anything, I felt too much love for her to not question my thoughts. How could I think so badly about a woman who kissed the bone on my leg? How could I question her love all because she felt the need to walk after I lost it over a visit from her kid’s auntie? If she accused me of the things, I accused her of, would you want to stay? I was angry—I was tired of going through this with women especially from the one who loved me more than all of them combined. Now, all because I wanted to be with the one I loved, the one who told me she would leave if she fell in love with me, I had never felt more alone. With these thoughts, I took the pen and flung it against the wall. The pen just bounced and rolled right back on my desk—strong and unbroken. When I walked out of my office to take my mind of the pure torture I felt, a couple of coworkers asked me if there was something wrong. After I told them I was “fine” and thanked them for their concern, I made a beeline for the door and slipped away in a hallway across from other businesses in the building. I then sat down alone as my shoulders, head and eyes sunk to the floor into all that seemed to go wrong.

Three hours passed when Anya sent me, what had to be the most surprising one, I ever received from her.

ANYA: “I know I said I didn’t want to talk to you right now. I haven’t stopped loving you and caring about you. I’ve been crying all day. Don’t text me back just hope ur ok.”

When she told me not to text her back, I respected her wishes. I just couldn’t believe she could allow me into her life because she couldn’t help it yet ignore what she just texted me. To ignore her pain and suffering so her two kids could have horses and boats instead of knowing the truth where true happiness lied. One of the reasons I loved Anya was because she put her kids first. Anyone who criticized her love for me couldn’t walk a day in her shoes. She didn’t live the same simple lives most married couples did. If she were to jump ship, she took lives with her. Her kids and the people her husband employed. It wasn’t simple and it could be argued to leave wouldn’t be prudent. The problem was those people didn’t know her pain like I knew it. That I read in texts and even felt in person. She made a twenty-five-minute drive just to spend twenty minutes with the man who made her happy. How come she felt guilty about a true feeling? I took my role in her life seriously. She could’ve had a famous pop artist whisk her away to freedom, but she chose a normal man instead because I was her soulmate. Nothing could have ever been reciprocated in this life between two people the same way. Without a doubt, I knew what no one else but the universe did—Anya was made for me, and not for Jackson. My pain came because I wanted it to be real. Like Tony Montana did—I wanted the world too. I didn’t think it was much to ask for since my world also wanted me. This woman, my heartbeat, the personification of the love I believed in resided inside her. If I lost her, I not only failed her, but I failed myself—I was the loser my father always thought I was. Everything in my life—past, present and future were at stake. Her love made sense of the all the heartbreaks I ever faced in my life. Her sweet love had the power to destroy my past and reconstruct a new life in the present. With the promotion soon to come my way, she gave me a future too. We gave this to each other though. It’s what soulmates did—they erased the past, made the present, and carved a future. There was now a fine line between love and disgust between Anya and I. I didn’t want to cross the line of disgust but when she came through like she did in her message, I could go right back to the love. I wanted to be the Landyn she wanted me to be—patient, kind and understanding; the one she fell in love with. I understood her position and I didn’t want her kids to hate her, but I didn’t want her to put the burden of her happiness on them and be a fake person around them. I wanted her to stop running around like an immature adult behind another immature adult’s back, and show him she didn’t need him for anything anymore. The worst part is that he knew about us yet it still didn’t stop her from seeing me. I hated to see her live in that much denial, to even lie to herself. Anya would never understand the depth of my love for her. That it transcended beyond the physical and me wanting so badly to be with her. If the greatest love we’ve ever known only left us apart, I would have never been involved. I only got involved because I wanted to be with her forever; not only if she left him. If I ever thought or she led me to even slightly believe she would stay after all she initiated between us, there’s no way I would have risked my heart, let alone the fragile lives of her kids. I loved her too much to have wanted her to be in a position she is now. She convinced me enough to trust her that if she fell in love with me, she would be with me. That I wouldn’t have to argue with her about her true feelings—the ones I received in her text. I knew she couldn’t stop loving and caring about me—it’s all I’ve felt for eighteen months. I think we did reach a crossroad though and as angry as some of the things she said and did recently made me, this text put me back in the right state of mind. A state of mind that said I couldn’t stop loving or caring about her either. The state of mind that didn’t want to see her crying in front of her kids. If I could take those tears and make them mine—I would. I know she believed I loved her but she had no idea how much I did—that I even put my life on the line because I trusted her pain. Why she was unable to “help it” the night we met, the night we reconnected and through the text message she just sent me.

Three hours later, after my workday mercifully ended, I texted her.

ME: “I could never be ok without you in my life or if you’re sad. I hope ur ok too.”

ANYA: “Not ok”

I read her text and could tell she was in tears—why she didn’t add a “period”. I wanted to respect her feelings and not overwhelm her with my own emotions. I hit her with some heavy words this morning and she needed time to absorb them and give her the time she needed to do so—the same thing she did for me. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I didn’t make this right for her in some way. My thoughts then shifted to Katie and Andrew, and what I just put their mother through. Anya, Katie and Andrew were the only three people I wanted to share life with in the future, but that wouldn’t happen if I couldn’t sort my emotions out. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt Anya, but I never expected to be hurt by some of the things she did. The “house guest” issue was on me—I made an issue out of nothing and I had to look inside and take responsibility for how I reacted. Although I believed her texts were a bit inaccurate, I had to take responsibility for the way I responded to them. She didn’t have the time to provide a thoughtful analysis like I did because she had her kids in tow. I had to understand her situation at home with the kids better and keep my emotions in check so she would be able to—her pain and unhappiness always trumped my own. The only way I could make this right for her was if I took my own life.

ME: “Anya, I’m sorry for my texts. I was not questioning your love for me and I don’t doubt you do. Sometimes your love doesn’t feel as strong as mine and I don’t know how to handle it. I’m sorry my texts made you cry. That always breaks my heart.”

ME: “I know what I texted upset you, but I also know it’s due to the situation. I know how beautiful of a person you are. Your love means everything to me. You’ve accepted me even with my imperfections. I’ve been waiting a lifetime for you and losing you in any way is devastating to me.”

ME: “I think it’s best for now that we don’t talk until at least after Katie’s graduation festivities. We’re both hurting too much right now and the last thing I want to do is upset or hurt you. You’re my true love and soul mate and I don’t want to hurt you. This is a big moment for you and your daughter and I don’t want to take any of that joy away from you. She needs 100% of her mom and so I need to cut off contact with you right now. When the grad celebration is all done, let’s talk again and see where we stand.”

ME: “You’re not a terrible person. I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you and still be in love with you if you were. Take care of yourself. I love you.”

After I committed suicide by sending these four texts to her, she made me wait for less than a minute for her response.

ANYA: “Thank u. I appreciate that. Yes, I have to be there for her. I won’t get into what upset me so much. Just know that I love you very much and I know you’re my soulmate. Btw, you can buy Adam Lambert’s songs on iTunes now. I just bought “If I can’t have you”. You take care too. I love you forever.”

ME: “I love you forever.”

Adam Lambert was Anya’s favorite singer on “American Idol” but I didn’t know he did a cover of “If I can’t have you” by Yvonne Ellman. I then went online to read the lyrics to the song.

“Don’t know why

I’m survivin’ ev’ry lonely day

When there’s got to be no chance for me

My life would end.

And it doesn’t matter how I cry

My tears, so far, are a waste of time

If I turn away

Am I strong enough to see it through

Go crazy is what I will do

If I can’t have you

I don’t want nobody baby”

Feeling every bit like a captain that went down with his ship, I had to stop at this point because my heart couldn’t take it. She knew I would read into every word and I felt the same way she did. If I couldn’t have her, then I didn’t want anyone else either. After all I shared with her, there could be no one else to take her place in my heart. This was the part of Anya I knew that no one else did—why I fought for her. Her emotions she made me aware of through a cover song, spoke loudly of my disdain for Jackson Caiaphas. Why I felt she should leave him—so her life could begin and never end. I fought not only for my soul, but for Anya’s soul as well. I didn’t believe Anya’s life would end. She had her kids, Jackson’s money and all the friends it bought to fall back on—my life was the only one that would truly end. I didn’t need a song from someone with only a good voice, who didn’t feel anything close to what t I did, to tell me what I already knew.

After I set the stage and committed a form of suicide by cutting off communication with Anya until Katie graduated, I didn’t know how I’d handle it. For nearly eighteen months we’ve been in touch everyday, but now a tumbleweed moved across this desolate heart of mine. When she texted that I had a lot of anger in me, it made me believe she thought I was a loose cannon—incapable of controlling my emotions. She was right, I did, but it bothered me for two reasons. The first being how she encouraged me to fight and love her then failed to catch or vouch for me. How she told me there was a goodness to our love yet couldn’t be proud or vouch for me. She also seemed to fail to recognize her own anger that led me in her life. Her own disdain for her husband’s infidelities and the inequities their marriage created that she shared with only me—that encouraged and allowed me to be here. I never meant to throw anything in her face she shared, I only did as a reminder when she seemed to forget what brought us together—her memory was all I had. If she got Alzheimer’s, my reason for being in her life would end. How could she stay with this man after all the things we’ve shared? After all she told me about him that led me here? To keep this façade alive, she deserved an Oscar. How could she believe for a minute I wanted to fall in love with her if she could never be with me? What gave her the impression I would be okay if she ever left me if she loved me? Because I didn’t use her for sex? Because I truly loved her? Because I was “the nicest man” she ever knew? I felt betrayed by that alone. She needed to understand where I was coming from too. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I trusted she would catch me if I fell—the one she claimed to love.

After four days passed without a word from her, she seemed to be more than okay with the arrangement. This was the longest period of time, I hadn’t heard from her, since her trip to Spain—when she was on the islands of Tenerife with Jackson—pseudo Romeo. Although some of it was deserved, I hated this agony I felt. The silence was hard on me to understand even though I initiated it. When I made the suggestion however, I forgot June second fell within the same time period of my proposed silence—the day we met two years ago. If I didn’t break the silence and recognize the day, I feared she would feel the day meant nothing to me—when it meant everything. I didn’t want her to falsely perceive me as the guy who didn’t want to have a girlfriend on Valentine’s Day and other holidays. Mentally, the four days felt like a self-mutilation so I broke the silence to make sure she knew what this day meant to me—to see if it still meant anything to her.

ME: “Hello there, stranger. I know I told you I wasn’t going to contact you until Katie’s grad celebration but I miss my best friend.”

ME: “I can’t remember a time in my life where my days seemed so long. They just never seem to end and I can’t wait for them to. To add to it, it rained this morning.”

ME: “I know you’re unhappy with me right now which I understand. I hope you can see through all the pain I’ve caused you and that my love has only grown for you since we first met, even though you might have trouble believing that but it’s the truth.”

ME: “I love you much more than I did in our earlier stages. My feelings for you only got stronger. They just outgrew our contained relationship.”

ME: “I tried to fight it but, in the end, you loved me too well and it just got the best of me. As sad as this is for both of us it’s for the best. I just love you way too much now.”

ME: “I hope you’re doing ok. I think about you every second. I wish I could have made this a happier day for us than it is but I just wanted you to know this will always be a significant day for me. The day I met my soulmate.”

ME: “There’s just no other love like your love for me nor will there ever be. You’re simply the love of my lifetime and it’s why I have had a hard time. I love you forever.”

After I sent these texts, I could only wonder what her response would be. Ten minutes later, I had my answer.

ANYA: “Good morning. Thank u for the texts. It is very sad but for the best. I feel hollow.”

The same girl who told me she bought the song “If I Can’t Have You”, now answered seven texts from my heart in four short sentences and in one text. It seemed like the day meant nothing to her now all because I wanted her to be with the man she loved. I read my texts again and saw that maybe I confessed too much of how I felt. They did come off as there is no chance for us now because I love you too much to remain in the same kind of relationship. I then gave her response the benefit of the doubt and wished I had only sent her a reminder that today was the second of June. Instead, I sent her confirmation of the struggle that still existed within. I didn’t like the fact she felt hollow, but she definitely spoke for the both of us.

ME: “I stayed up until 2 last night to watch a movie just to feel close to you and to try to feel better, but all it did was make me feel the same emptiness.”

After I heard back from her, I felt a little better. I carried these good feelings when I got into the office, but just before I fired up my laptop to begin the day, I received an unexpected visitor. Drake Rendon, an equity partner at the firm—the “R” in KSR.

“Landyn. Good morning.”

“Drake! Good morning!” I said. “How are you?”

“Good!” He exclaimed. “Do you mind if I close the door?”

“Not at all. Please.”

Drake had a shooting guard’s height at six foot five inches. He had dark thick curly hair and eyes, and possessed a lean vegan type frame. He was the partner who interviewed me and recommended the firm to hire me, and without him, I wouldn’t have even been hired. Drake and I both connected on music and shared the same taste. He reminded me of my old manager at Frugals, Mark Warner, the kind of guy you wanted to work hard for. Drake was a manager at the time the firm hired me, but became partner a few years later. He was the one person I really looked forward to partnering with at the firm. I was also certain he was instrumental in locking me in as an equity partner. Drake rarely came to my office though, and hardly ran into each other because he was out selling the firm all day. So, when I saw him on this day, I feared something might be wrong as it seemed out of character.

“Just so you know, we’ve decided to let go of some the audit seniors and staff.” He told me as he sat down.

“I’m sorry to hear that. How many were let go?”

“Five audit seniors and five audit staff. Ten in total.” He informed me.

“That’s a shame. Can I ask why?”

“The recession is affecting our mortgage banking audit business.” He said. “We’ve lost sixty percent of our mortgage banking clientele due to bankruptcies—we need to restructure a little bit.”

“Okay.” I said.

“Clyde sent me an email this morning—he wants you to CC your Going Concern evaluation memo to the entire audit team.”

“I’d be happy to do so.” I said. “In fact, I’ll do it right now.”

“Also, one other thing.” He said. “If you please could.”

“Okay?”

“We’re short on seniors so we need to send you to Hesperia again to wrap up the audit testwork.” He said. “We’ll set you up with a hotel so you won’t have to drive back home each night—you’ll be out there for the next two weeks though.”

“Sure, how soon do you need me out there?” I asked.

“They’re expecting you this afternoon.” He said. “Susan will get your room booked and email your itinerary before you head out there.

“Looks like I have to head out there in a few minutes then.”

Drake nodded and offered me a smile as he knew this wasn’t usual standard operating procedure.

“I guess we gotta get the job done.” I blurted, hoping it made Drake feel better.

“Thanks, Land. We really appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

I dreaded the drive to Hesperia along its indiscriminate, windy dreary desert landscape—why I referred to it as Despairia. I didn’t mind being out there for a day or two, but for ten days made it a tough assignment—even though I’d be back home on the weekends. We had two clients out in this neck of the woods, and now it seemed I picked up both of them. This was a different client, not the one that entertained me on the job, and that made it a challenge. After I stopped off at home so I could quickly pack, I tried to look at the bright side of things—it saved me from the fear of my sadness being exposed at the office, but it also made me feel that much lonelier.

When I arrived at one that afternoon, I met with the Company’s Controller, who then had the Company’s IT guy set me up in a small conference room where I could get started. It was a good thing I interacted with these people—it forced me to be more focused and took my mind off the emptiness I felt inside. I still needed to take a couple Vicodin however to have the strength to put a smile on my face and to carry on, at times, a stressful business conversation. At around four thirty, I was shocked to see my phone’s red light frantically blinking.

ANYA: “I miss you very much.”

After I read her text, I didn’t know whether to respond or not, but it meant everything for me to know she felt the way I did—that this silence was just as hard on me as it was on her. When my day ended at five and after I checked into my hotel, I texted Anya back.

ME: “I got assigned to another job in Hesperia this morning for the next two weeks. I’m staying at a Best Western out here. Just wanted you to know. I miss you very much too.”

I don’t know what else she expected from a deeply emotional and physical relationship. What she expected for me after she asked me to fight for her. Did she expect the man who loved her more than life itself to just go quietly into that good night? Did she expect the man who put her happiness above his own to never be affected when she made zero changes to her lifestyle after she changed his life forever? Did she really believe I agreed to this in the beginning? I didn’t want her to think she was a terrible person—she was big hearted person. She was the most loving person I knew, but as long as her last name was Caiaphas, she could never be the woman I thought she was—what I needed to change in order for me to trust in her love again. She needed to change her last name—an action consistent with her hopes, wishes and dreams. If she only had the bravery to take my heart, without the bravery to end her marriage, how could I ever trust her love? As long as she stayed with Jackson, she was no better than him, and even worse, just like him. That was where the true betrayal lied—the last thing I ever thought she would allow me to believe after she allowed me to feel so much for her.

The next day was long, lonely and drawn out. When you were by yourself on audits, they could be horrifically dull. To do audit testwork, you had to be enthralled by it—to see it on a grander scale beyond its tedious nature. It was an entirely different beast when your heart and mind we elsewhere—like nothing like when you suffered from a broken soul. It was the equivalent of a construction worker doing brickwork with two broken arms—you might be able to get it done but it would take forever. In this work environment, forever meant being over budget and that usually equated into employee turnover. With my mind on Anya, I now feared every day at work could be the one that got me called into Clyde’s office. In the past, when Anya’s love made me feel safe, I could get lost in my work even as I daydreamed. Now, under the cloud of loss, like a patient just given news they had days to live, I couldn’t think about nothing but what could’ve been and what was. I tried to listen to music but it only took me further away from my work. When Drake gave me the news this morning that I had to take on this audit client, through him the firm had issued me a challenge—they wanted to gauge where my mind was at. I didn’t find it coincidence this assignment came right after I threw Anya’s pen against the wall. That my office door, usually always open, was now often closed. The only thing that saved me from losing my career was Anya’s texts and the Vicodin I took—both gave me the focus I needed to finish the tasks at hand. When I got back to the hotel after a quick dinner, I saw the red light on my phone blinking once again.

ANYA: “It’s me. Just want to say hi and you’re in my thoughts 24/7. Don’t text me back – too hard.”

I wanted to text her back at that instant but I felt it could be held against me. It was comforting to know this moratorium I suggested was hard on her as it was on me. Her last two texts helped me to trust in her love again, and that’s what I hoped for. Just like a doctor who had just given me months to live—I could think of nothing else but Anya and what I stood to lose. I usually snuck in twenty minutes naps after work, but the mental and emotional exhaustion wiped me out so considerably I fell asleep for two hours. When I woke up well rested, I decided to watch some television, which I rarely did, but everything on reminded me of her. I then took another Vicodin to fight back my urge to text her back. When the little hand on the clock landed on the number two, still unable to sleep, I caved in.

ME: “Hi, it’s me. Having a hard time falling asleep in this bed. You’re always on my mind and always in my heart. There were always three words that meant more to me than “I don’t know” and those words were “I love you”. I just wanted you to know. You never leave my mind too. I miss you.”

I thought she might respond to me when the morning arrived for in only a couple of hours, but she chose not to. I then relied on a Vicodin to get me through the heart wrenching morning. When the Controller came to see the progress I’ve made, just before lunch time, he appeared to be disappointed I hadn’t gotten to some of the items yet. He felt pressure from the bank as their loan department wanted to know if they had met their covenants. In order to calculate the covenants correctly, I had to audit the numbers first, and that always took some time. All I could do was apologize and tell him I could calculate the covenants for him by early next week when I anticipated most of the testwork would be finished. If I was the Controller, I would have pushed me as well, but even if Anya hadn’t been on my mind, he asked for an impossible feat at this juncture of the audit process. As Anya’s silence continued to rule my mood, I took another Vicodin to make sure I made the timeline I gave him.

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Every ten minutes, my mind would draw my eyes to the phone I now lived through. Each time I hoped to see its red light blinking, it seemed my phone was uncharged. Even with all the loneliness I ever felt, I never felt like no one cared about me, but on this day it seemed that way. The turmoil I felt within brought me back to when I read an article over a year ago. A piece written by someone who had to have felt the same pain I did when he advised people in my situation to run—that I would eventually be blamed for the turmoil in their life. I criticized the opinion back then as just a guy who jumped into a relationship with both feet who didn’t think about the consequences. It seemed he knew more about it that I did—that even if you took precaution, these people would do the same thing to you. I began to learn something I denied I’d ever face—I was no longer the solution, or the cure, but the problem. Her duty to her children, and to Jackson’s wealth, had left her delusional enough to believe his abuse of her wasn’t a rational enough excuse to leave him for a man who truly loved her. The darkness of my phone was so bright even without the red light that I couldn’t ignore its truth. With every minute that passed Anya’s love seemed to show me I was the darkness in her life—no longer the light. At thirty-three minutes past three that afternoon, after I took a third Vicodin, she gave me a glimmer of hope.

ANYA: “Having a hard time.”

I didn’t wish for her to have a “hard time”, it was sadistic of me, but I needed to know she struggled like I did. That although I was lonely, I wasn’t alone in this battle for survival and my sanity. I had to be the solution and the cure though—not the burden or the problem. Her pain provided a spark, and I had to put my hands in the fire.

ME: “In my texts last night, I just wanted you to know I don’t question your love for me. I saw it in your eyes and heard it through your words the last day we were together.”

ME: “I felt it every day when I couldn’t touch you yet you found a way to touch me regardless of the distance. I know your love is true and real.”

ME: “I’m having a hard time too. I’ve spent most of my life alone but I’ve never felt this alone before. It is so hard not to text you. To find out how you’re doing and what you’re up to. You’re still everywhere around me and within.”

ME: “I know I’m making this hard on you and I promised I wouldn’t contact you until after Katie’s graduation. I’ll try it again. Just know I love you very much, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I care about you more than you could ever realize. I’m here for you if you need me.”

It sure felt I was losing my sanity—just seconds before I received her texts, I basically questioned her love. The minute I saw her text, I changed back to the man who wanted to believe she planned to be with me. The man who believed in her love because he wanted her to prove him wrong. If she didn’t prove me wrong, I had no reason to live. I didn’t make a life for myself because of a good paying job. That’s not how I ever believed life was made. I made a life for myself to love someone and to be loved—it’s what life was all about. If I lost who I knew without any uncertainty was my soulmate, I was certainly doomed. I would be thrown back into a world of insignificance no matter how much money I made. No matter if I proved to my father that I wasn’t a failure. He was right about me if I lost Anya—I didn’t amount to anything because I was nothing. That’s how I measured myself—to save her from the treachery that was her marriage and the man she married. I struggled back and forth with her betrayal of me but also my betrayal of her. I wasn’t thrilled or jubilant about her having a hard time. I trusted in her broken heart because I never wanted her to experience a hard time ever again. All I wanted to do was hold her in my arms and have her never leave them, and when she had to, kiss her on the head to tell her I can’t wait to have you back in them—where she belonged. She didn’t belong in Jackson’s bed—she belonged in my arms. I didn’t want to give her grief I couldn’t control if I lost it over her “house guest”. I didn’t want to risk stealing Katie’s mother away from her during such a great moment for even Jackson to experience with her. It was sure a good strong idea at the time! She was the second closest thing to oxygen—I needed her to live. Without her, if I failed to save her, to ignore the pain she spoke of in texts that she ignored, I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t be on this planet knowing she was still here also. I’d have to take it to another dimension and try my luck there. This world wasn’t big enough for me and Jackson, and since I knew “I’d lose two arms if I could change things” wouldn’t even be willing to part with a pinkie if he lost what I did, I’d have to leave to earth. The world I came from before I met Anya no longer existed for me. I couldn’t go back even if I tried. I didn’t prefer to enter a world without her—I’d have to choose one she wasn’t a part of. I was just happy to be on her mind—that all these feelings and emotions I felt had a reason for their existence. That I was entitled to feel all I did.

Anya never responded to my texts. If she had anything close to the difficult time that I did with no one around, I could only imagine the difficulty she had with her kids around—and a suspicious husband.

Later that morning, to my great surprise, Anya sent me a text,

ANYA: “Thank you. I appreciate that. Have a nice weekend.”

I guess my heart hoped for a little push back from her rather than a “thank you”, but my mind told me her response was for the best. Without her in my life, I could never have a nice weekend. Since she knew how much I hurt without her—she might as well had wished me to have a nice drowning too. As much as I knew she meant it in the best of ways, my greatest fears always interpreted her pleasantries another way. My heart feared in her silence, that her mission might be to fall out of love with me, and the texts she sent me were nothing but letters in a bottle thrown out to sea. This fear forced me to respond to let her know I refused to give up on us.

ME: “After Katie’s graduation, I would please like to know the things that upset you so much when I texted you. I don’t want you to hate me. I hope you have a nice weekend too.”

I didn’t hear back from her and I couldn’t deny it didn’t pain me when I didn’t. I tried not to take her silence personally and took another Vicodin to help me through the day. I remembered a time when Fridays were my favorite day of the week, but now I dreaded them as much as Mondays. The excitement of the love I shared with Anya seemed to be lost—replaced with unfulfilled expectations that rendered me hopeless. I couldn’t help but be worried that I gave my heart to someone who only wanted someone to help her get past the memory of Jackson’s infidelities—the same way I now used Vicodin to help me erase the pain I felt so I could continue with my life. The only difference was it seemed she didn’t need me after she escaped.

My weekends now carried a dulled feeling but with a great uneasiness inside, like a tortured ghost on a ship that constantly relived the intense hopeless moments before it sank. My weekends were just another day during the week without Anya in my life. I no longer wanted to meet anyone else, or could accept love from another. Like the skin from a reptile after it shed—the Landyn I knew before I met Anya, was forever gone. Growing up, I never understood any of Air Supply’s songs, especially the song “I’m all Out of Love”, but I surely knew it now. I always wondered if I could ever relate to those songs I used to listen to when I dreamt of love, but now I did more than I ever wanted to. I was truly all out of love, and I could never give someone else what I already gave to her. I remember I laughed at a friend’s love sickness once day. When my friend, Mick aka “Sweetie”, told me he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat and he couldn’t even do number two. I could now attest it did exist, but he handled it much better than I could. I felt love sick several times with Anya, nothing more than the way I felt when she was with her husband for three days in Tenerife, but that was nothing but a small headache compared to the soul deadening pain I felt.

Early that Saturday morning, as I laid in my bed deeply depressed, and wondered how I could ever recover a small piece of my life it I lost her, the red light on my phone began to blink.

ANYA: “Sorry, turned my fone off—in Cabo. Hope you’re having a good weekend.”

With renewed life, I felt relieved she was now in Cabo with Katie. I then texted back to let her know this wasn’t about me, but about her time with Katie.

ME: “Thank you, have a good weekend. Enjoy your time with Katie.”

I found it funny she could ever believe, for a second, I could ever have a good weekend without hearing from her. I found her to be sincere though, and she didn’t mean anything by it to hurt me. She only texted me it because she knew how tough the silence was on her—she knew we were in this together. I would find it easier to ride a unicycle and balance a stack of tea cups on my head than to have a nice weekend. Anya was all I knew for the last eighteen months, and during that time she became all I ever wanted to know. Without her in my life, I was just like dark matter—nothing at all.

Since she was in Cabo, I had to stick to what I promised her. I found it odd she had her phone off though, but I then realized a possible reason for it—to help her get through the silence on the other end. She may had felt if she wouldn’t hear from me that she had no reason to keep it on as it tortured her—the same way it tortured me. But I was a glutton for punishment however, and remained. Over the next three days, my phone’s red light appeared to be as broken as my spirit until Anya reached out to me on the morning of June ninth, a Tuesday.

ANYA: “Hope ur doing well.”

ME: “I’m just really missing you. I hope ur doing well.”

ANYA: “I miss u very much.”

Although her text informed me that her daughter’s grad trip was over, Katie had not yet graduated—what I wanted to give Anya the time and space for. As terribly as I missed her, if she was in the same kind of fragile emotional state I was in, if I cracked, it would take her away from her daughter. I remembered the feelings she had with Andrew the day he graduated elementary school—how she felt she lied to him, a preemie who made it a long way as he wore nothing but smiles. I didn’t want her to have the same feelings when Katie graduated. I wanted her to be there for Katie in every way and to really enjoy the moment. I didn’t want her to look back years later and regret any feelings she had that day. That could only be possible if I left her alone, and stayed out of the way. On my lunch hour however, I just wanted her to know she was on my mind—I didn’t want her to think, after she reached out to me, that I wanted the same for her as well.

ME: “I hope you’re having a good day. Thinking of you.”

ANYA: “How r u?”

I didn’t know what to make of her response because I didn’t expect to hear from her. Her question worried me—she only asked me how I was and she usually told me she was thinking of me too. I didn’t know what to tell her. I didn’t want to make her feel bad if I told her the truth—that I died more each second without hearing from her. That I’d rather have the hair pulled out of my head than to go through the torturous thoughts that swirled inside of it.

ME: “I’m doing okay. Just keeping busy with work. I’m out in Hesperia again this week. How r u?”

ANYA: “I’m ok. Of course, I think about you constantly. Just hope ur doing well.”

ME: “I think about you constantly too. I even watched “The Bachelorette” last night and thought of you. There’s always something that reminds me of you. You’re my best friend, Anya.”

ANYA: “You’re my best friend too, it hurts.”

ME: “Do you shutoff your fone to deal with the silence?”

ANYA: “Yes I do.”

ME: “Not looking to start anything, but I just hope you know how much you mean to me. How much I miss you every day. This has been really hard but I need to do this for you. I don’t want you to feel the same thing during Katie’s graduation that you did at Andrew’s elementary school graduation. I just wanted you to know I’m aware more than ever that when I hurt, it hurts you too. From where we are, it’s equally hard for me to see your pain as it is for you to see mine. I just wanted to let you know I understand, and that’s why I thought the silence would be a good idea. It’s not done to hurt you babe, but to help you really enjoy Katie’s graduation without feeling you’re letting her down because I’m distracting you.”

What I shared shouldn’t have surprised her, but what she shared with me, hit me square in the gut, and my heart at the same time.

ANYA: “I asked Andrew what he wanted for his Bday and he said “my family” looking right at me w/big brown eyes. I don’t expect u to understand but what is a mother to do?”

Her text left me in pieces as I tried to put together a response. On the one hand, it broke my heart to read for her. It broke my heart too, but not as much as it tore into hers. I feared I may have caused his birthday wish to be requested with the tears I caused during her twenty-minute visit to my apartment. I then imagined her eyes filled with tears when she got home. I also couldn’t help but think how she either tried to avoid them altogether, or tried to act like nothing affected her while she integrated herself in their world with reddened eyes. I couldn’t imagine what it felt like when he looked up to her with his big brown eyes. Eyes that trusted her from the minute he vacated her womb, brought into this world months earlier than expected because of all the pain she carried in her heart.

There was also the part of me that struggled with why Andrew asked for his “family” for his birthday. He was far too young to sense something was wrong with his family, and for him to do so suggested he was on to her. It was not the first time he worried about her leaving. He also worried the night she was overwhelmed when no one helped her clean up after dinner. I never understood why Anya confided in a stranger more than her own kids about her disdain for Jackson. I guess in her mind being a great provider was more important than being a great husband. She felt to leave him for that was unfair to the kids, but it was also now unfair for her to stay because of what she confided in that stranger—a secret with great significance. Why did she tell me at all if she would never be brave enough to tell them? She didn’t even have to sell him out for his unfaithful heart. As much as I despised him for his cheating ways, I had no plans to reveal what she shared with me about the perfect father and husband portrait she painted for them. The thing that bothered me, was that they thought she was the problem in the marriage. That mom was the unloving and uncaring one especially when I knew there could be nothing further from the truth. Jackson brought out the worst in Anya. He only inspired her to teach her kids about the value of money, and not about true values. That was never more evident the day she told me his room had dollar bill wallpaper. I had posters of my favorite baseball players on the white painted walls in my bedroom. Money was important to have in life, no question, but something like that only inspired an idolization of it. What kind of security did Anya provide her children knowing all she truly felt inside? How much her heart belonged to someone else? How come it would be unreasonable to be open with Andrew about why it didn’t feel like a family at times? Anya was a people pleaser, and there were no two people she wanted to please more than her children. I honestly loved her for that, but at the same time, how could she bring me in her direction and then hit me with something like this without a belief in the goodness of our love? I didn’t want to minimize how she felt when her baby told her this. I surely wouldn’t want her to disappoint him, but why was she so fearful of her own children? How come she couldn’t sit down with him and ask him why he felt that way? What did it truly mean when he asked why he worried about losing his family? I tried to put myself in his soon to be eleven-year old shoes and I didn’t think I could ever be that fully aware of what a family represented enough to know what I stood to lose. Families had to be lost at a regular clip where he lived.

I understood Anya’s position, but I couldn’t say it didn’t scare the life out of me. If she were to give in to everything a ten-year old desired, then what stopped her from falling back in love with Jackson and trying again? It killed me to think selfishly but Andrew’s birthday wish represented a death sentence to the man his mother confided in. It bothered me that Anya made promises to him as if I didn’t exist in her life—that I had no right to feel this way about it. That if I did, I was a cold heartless piece of shit human being who cared less about her kids, or her. That I couldn’t have loved her if her kids would be hurt by her leaving their father. How could she punish the man who honored her, and not the one who dishonored her? Who used her to build his wealth while he played on the side? She knew all we shared was so special she referred to me as her soulmate. How could she cave in and then turn around to the man who endured so much just to see her twenty minutes every two weeks now? How could she forget there was another man in her life before me too? She had no business being married as much as she had making promises to stay for her son. I loved Anya with every fiber of my being, and I’d try to understand before I lost my wits about it all, but she had to show the same amount of fear with them as she did the day she approached me at Sonomas. If anything, that should scare her more than anything her kids asked her to promise them.

I didn’t want to criticize her, I loved her, but this hurt a lot. That she couldn’t sit down with Andrew and find a solution to make him feel safe within the truth he was even aware of. Even with Katie, it seemed she’d rather let her go to sleep at night carrying the problems of her marriage along with her—all because Anya wanted to keep them in a bubble that would only burst one day. It seemed she filled their world with sunshine and rainbows, and whatever they wanted under that same sky—even at the expense of others. I just couldn’t understand why she allowed and encouraged me to feel so much when her kids were the ultimate decision makers. That she took my heart and placed it in their hands, instead of her own. I didn’t understand how she could accuse me of not being the big boy I promised her I would be, when she allowed her children to make adult decisions for her. As much as I felt she owed me more than letting her kids make a decision I trusted was hers to make—it wasn’t right to make her feel guilty about it. I respected it wasn’t easy for a mother to hear, and I wanted to be on her side, not against her. I wanted to trust her, not question her. I wanted to believe in her love—it was the only thing that could save me…and us.

ME: “Thank you for sharing because it helps me understand better what you’re going through. I would love to sit down with you in person some time and talk to you about it. I love you and I know it’s hard on you. I know you feel your hands are tied.”

ME: “I think the saddest thing about Andrew’s request is knowing the reason he would be aware enough to ask for it. It’s the same reason he’s afraid you’re going to leave. It’s because he knows there’s something not right at home. I hate to say it but even though there’s peace he can sense the tension because he’s already experienced it.”

ME: “The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. I want to be on your side. I want to be there for you. Just know that I’m also an advocate for your happiness. I have to have the courage as your best friend to sometimes tell you things others won’t, and I can only hope you do the same for me.”

ME: “All I ever wanted from day one was to be with the greatest person that walked into my life. I could never hate you even if I tried, and I understand your struggles better than you think I do.”

ANYA: “Thank u I appreciate that. This is the Landyn I fell in love with.”

If I believed she didn’t truly love me, I would never make it out of life alive—I had to try and see her side or die. I never wanted to stray from the Landyn she fell in love with, and felt bad I did, but I fell in love for the sake of being with her—not for the sake of falling in love. I wanted to believe she truly loved me the same way I loved her. I knew if she loved me the way I loved her, there’s no way she would choose a dishonest life---she would break free and make the promises that brought the truth along with them.

Before I headed back to my hotel room that evening, Anya messaged me again after a longer than expected workday.

ANYA: “How’s work going? What do you do for dinner out there?”

ME: “I had a productive day today. I just grab a sandwich from Subway or something. They have an Applebee’s out here, but I don’t care for ribs. Are you ready for Katie’s grad festivities?”

ANYA: “I bet Applebee’s offers more than just ribs. I think they r like a Chili’s. You should go wild one night and check it out! Grad plans are coming along.”

ME: “I don’t know if I have it in me to be that wild.”

ANYA: “Ha ha! I’ve missed you.”

ME: “I’ve missed you too. It’s been really nice hearing from you today.”

ANYA: “Likewise”

Whenever she finished a message without a period, it seemed she experienced an emotional moment of some kind. I just hoped I didn’t text anything that upset her and if I did, she would be open about it. I began to regret when I texted her that my “feelings had outgrown our contained relationship”. I didn’t mean it in the sense I loved her any less or I was planning to confront her husband now that I knew he knew, but it was the furthest thing from my mind. I just can’t believe she’d ever put me in the position to feel the need to do that—that she’d protect me if it came down to it. I also didn’t want her to think I couldn’t go on anymore because my feelings outgrew our contained relationship. I loved this woman to death. Without killing another human being, I’d do anything for her and that included taking a bullet if I had to. I’d put my life on the line for her without a second’s hesitation. If Jackson threatened to kill her, I would take the bullet for her and all the blame for our love if it came down to it—even if I believed she was more at fault. We were here now. There was no turning back and no changing anything that has happened between us. I had no regrets for the way I loved her. I felt blessed to have shared all I have with the most beautiful person put on this earth in my eyes. How many people can truly say that? That they got to love and be loved by the most beautiful person both subjectively and objectively? Anya was beautiful to a lot of people, not just myself—I just knew her inner beauty more than most, if not all. Anya was my dream of true love realized. To lose her would be far worse than just losing her. She was not another fish in the sea, but the only fish in the sea. If she escaped my grasp back into the cold sea, I’d rather drown in it too. Not only did my career ride on Anya’s love for me, but all I ever hoped, wished and dreamt for since I was a kid. I’d lose the meaning in every love song ever written if I lost her. I couldn’t have been more a failure in this life if I did.

Although Andrew’s birthday request crushed me, I also knew he had nothing to fear—he would have his family for his birthday. Even if Anya wanted to run away with me on that very night, I would never deny him his wish. To fulfill his wish came a greater burden on my heart, that his mother would give back her heart to her abuser. How could that ever set well with me after all I put on the line for her? How could she ever do that to me? That was the kind of betrayal that would drive me over the edge, and confront Jackson. I just couldn’t believe for a second Anya’s love could lead me there. That all we shared meant something special to her. That she understood all I endured the nights I spent paralyzed in bed because I missed her so much. As unlikely that chance was, it worried me still because the unknown variable of our relationship, when she was at home and away from me, told me there was a chance especially after she rolled out a red carpet for her sister in law.

I began to feel back to normal after we talked and when the sun shone upon the next day, I felt courageous enough to reach out and see how she was doing.

ANYA: “Crazed! Katie’s recital is this weekend too! How r u?”

ME: “Not bad! Hang in there! It’ll be over before you know it so try to smell the roses and enjoy yourself! Just wanted to check in with you.”

ANYA: “Ha! U know me – stressed! Grad party and recital party at the house as well!”

When I learned she hosted the recital party as well at her house, it bummed me out to see more people around her would be exposed to her marriage with Jackson. Why did her house always have to be party central? Was it for networking purposes? She claimed to be in love with me yet she’s showing off the house she bought with Jackson and her marriage to him with others? Maybe I was just sensitive because I knew the weekend would be another hard one on my heart—spent in bed as if I was nailed down to it. It never bothered me when she did these things for her daughter, but it gave everyone around her the impression she had the perfect family and marriage. It seemed like so many people, even in her own neighborhood, left their spouses for much lesser reasons than Anya would. I worried the more parties she threw, the more she gave to her marriage, the more people who knew of them, the harder it would be for her to leave. The crazy thing about it all, was that Anya felt if she changed the way she loved me, then it gave her the right to do these things. She couldn’t go back and remove the bullet from my heart then tell me okay, you’re as good as new. The damage had already been inflicted—we’ve been together for eighteen months now, not just eighteen days. The recital party had to be for business, political or for tax purposes—it just seemed overkill to me. Then again, I was only sensitive to it because of my hope to be with her, and for a woman who told me she wanted to be with me—these actions spoke painfully louder than her words. When I focused my thoughts on Katie, certain the recital party meant the world to her, it made me feel selfish to think the way I did.

ME: “You’re amazing.”

ANYA: “Not amazing. Just being a mom.”

ME: “My mother is fantastic, but she never did things like that for me.”

ANYA: “Neither did mine, but she didn’t know how.”

ME: “Hence amazing.”

ANYA: “Thank you.”

I believed both Katie and Andrew deserved parties and everything else she gave them, but I never saw Anya deny her kids a single thing. They only seemed to learn the value of money and not anything about adversity or the word “no”. Maybe that’s what all parents wanted for their kids? To never say “no” to them if they had the money to do so? It only bothered me because she used Jackson’s money as if she never had any plans to leave him. I had to be honest with myself, without his money, the parties aren’t possible. In all fairness to Anya, she loved her kids and was an artistic person, and I’d view her recital party that way if my heart wasn’t so vested and I hadn’t trusted her as much as I did. Anya probably viewed the recital differently than I did—not an event to accentuate her marriage, but as an opportunity to utilize her creative side. I had to also understand she was a social person who loved gatherings and being around people. It’s what made her a great event planner for CPG. I just wish I could look at things differently but her inconsistency at times forced me to read into things—even those as benign as a recital party for her daughter.

Since Anya had a busy weekend, when Friday came around, I planned to leave her alone. I didn’t want to distract her from anything, and I promised her we would talk after Katie’s grad festivities. I strayed enough from my proposal, but I just wanted her to know how much she meant to me, and that she was on my mind the whole time. However, Anya surprisingly decided to break the silence.

ANYA: “Graduation went well.”

ME: “Congratulations! Very happy to hear that! Was her ceremony this morning?”

ANYA: “Yes this morning. I was sad.”

ME: “Why were you sad?”

ANYA: “Can’t believe I have a high schooler.”

ME: “Time sure flies, doesn’t it? Is her grad party tonight?”

ANYA: “Yes”

It must have felt just like yesterday when she dropped her daughter off at school for the first time, and now here Katie was—in high school. I wasn’t a parent though—I didn’t know exactly what Anya felt so I could offer the right words to comfort her. All I knew was how it made my day to hear from her. When I saw another period missing from her “Yes”, I could sense the whole day was emotional for her and wanted to respect that.

The Lakers were back in the NBA Finals against the Orlando Magic, and while Katie’s grad party took place, I decided to watch a pivotal Game four from my hotel room. The Lakers hadn’t been to the Finals since Shaq was with the team in 2004. Orlando was only 4.6 seconds away from tying up the series at two games each when Derek Fisher dribbled down the court unguarded and nailed a long clutch three pointer to tie up the game. The game went to overtime and Fish hit another big shot to pull out the win and put the Lakers up three games to one in the Finals. Even though he missed all five of his three pointers in the game, he still took a shot with everything on the line without thinking twice about it. I loved Derek Fisher as a basketball player, a pure professional his entire career who had the knack for hitting big shots—none bigger than the three-pointer to send the game into overtime in the NBA Finals. A few seconds after Fisher hit that shot, my mom called me. When I told her I saw it and how unbelievable it all was, we hung up the phone only to be back on the line fifteen minutes later when he hit another shot in overtime to seal the game. My mom and I bonded over the Lakers—she loved them more than my Dad did. After the Lakers won Game Four, on the same day Anya sent me a very sweet text, I slept well that night—a good night of rest I desperately needed and my final weeknight I had to spend in a hotel room.

When the next morning arrived, I provided the Company’s Controller with the bank loan covenants calculations I promised, and told him I’ll be out of his hair before noon. He thanked me for my time and for getting the things he needed from me done on time. When I returned to the client’s conference room, to wrap up the last of my audit test work, the red light on my phone blinked.

ANYA: “I miss u. Hope ur well. Good game last nite!”

ME: “Remarkable game! Work is going very well. I’m just wrapping up the final audit work now and then heading home. I’m doing ok. I miss u, too. How r u?”

ANYA: “Glad to hear work is going very well. I’m ok too.”

When I learned Anya watched the game too, or was aware what happened, I put my phone to my chest. I couldn’t help but dream of one day watching a game together with her and my mom. With my mother’s uncertain future, I couldn’t deny a little pressure began to build—If this event ever had a chance to take place.

The minute I walked inside my apartment—I immediately crashed. After four straight nights in a hotel, it felt good to be in my own bed. When I woke up at around six, I tried to come to my senses after an unexpected four-hour nap in the middle of the day while the red light on my phone told me I had a message.

ANYA: “How’s your mom?”

The Anya I fell in love with emerged from her cocoon the past two days, as I could feel the love, within each one she sent. That was the beauty of Anya’s heart I struggled the most with—the times she said “I love you” without telling me.

ME: “The chemo causes sores in her mouth. They burn so badly she has a hard time eating a salad. Each sore is small but she has quite a few of them. Other than that, she’s doing good. Thank you for asking.”

ANYA: “I’m sorry that’s rough. I think about her all the time. Watching the game with her this weekend?”

ME: “Very sweet of you. Thank you. Yes I am.”

Anya’s concern for my mother was genuine and heartfelt. A large part of the pressure behind my push for Anya to leave Jackson, and to live an honest life, was due to my mother’s battle with Cancer. I knew without a doubt they would hit it off if they met each other, and I really wanted Anya to know her. I would probably have to pry my mother away from her if they ever did get to know each other. Anya had a magnetic personality and their personality types were a perfect match for each other. My mother would be in her corner if she needed her to be, and would’ve disown me if I ever cheated on her like Jackson did. A big part of me couldn’t deny I wanted my mother to be a grandmother before she died too. Now though, that would only happen with Anya—I didn’t want children with anyone else but her. If I did meet someone else if Anya left me, I’d be way too old to even have kids because I wouldn’t get over her anytime soon. I also believed if she stayed, I feared she could be battling cancer too one day—the same way my mother did. My father was there for my mother, if she needed a ride to her chemo treatments or to the hospital, but not emotionally. My father checked out when my mother battled the mental aspect of her disease. Jackson would hire someone to take care of Anya if she got sick. How could she trust a man to care at her worst time when he left her hanging at her best times? Anya was pregnant, with her son while Jackson was out galivanting with another woman who was also married. At the time she needed his support the most, and all because she wasn’t in the mood for sex after she spent the day with her head in a toilet, Jackson made it about him instead and found it elsewhere. In his sick mind, since the woman was married too, he found the heart to arrange it with someone who had no plans to leave too—so Anya could feel safe he had no plans to leave her, just using the woman for sex until Anya could feel up for it again. I didn’t care if it happened fifty years ago to her—it should’ve never happened at all. Part of my anger was my disgust with Jackson—a man who would do the same kind of thing if she were to fall ill with Cancer. He wouldn’t be there for her, he’d make it about himself, and give a sob story to the next woman who was stupid enough to buy it because of his social status. I came into Anya’s life to save her from the rest of her life with Jackson. I had a right to have selfish reasons for Anya to leave—after all she allowed and encouraged me to feel for her. It wasn’t all about me though—I had valid thoughtful selfless reasons why I wanted her to leave. If Anya were to lose a breast like my mother did, there was zero doubt since Jackson cheated on her when she was pregnant, that he would’ve cheated on her if she lost a breast.

I hated that Anya was still with him since I came into her life to save her from him. He could be the Father of the year, but that’s not what this was about—he had to be the husband of the year too for me to see them as a “family”. When Anya shared with me that Andrew wanted his family for his birthday, it seemed more fantasy than reality. It was a nice Hallmark moment, but how could there be a family when there was no honor in the marriage? The only honorable thing about their marriage, the only thing that legitimized it was the accumulation over time of green paper. Andrew did not have a real “family” anymore, and it was sad she felt she had to make believe he did. He had four people who lived under the same roof who did family related things, but in my eyes and for anyone who knew their marital history, there was no family without two parents who honored each other. There was no communication, no trust and no love between them. Their marriage was riddled with deceit and knowing that, the family he wished for was a mirage. Anya did the right thing, and I didn’t expect her to tell the kids about the infidelities, nor would I want to. I just wanted her to not be so quick to believe that shielding them from the real world was the right and only thing she could do—if she truly believed in her heart that there was goodness in our love. I also knew a huge difference existed between my mother and Jackson’s own mother, her current mother-in-law who advised Anya to “suck it up” after Jackson cheated on her. I only hoped Anya didn’t raise Andrew the same way her husband’s mother raised Jackson to be—to absolve her perfect son of any wrongdoing because he at least provides for his family—something he shouldn’t have received a medal for. The way she raised Jackson only created a monster Anya had to deal with. All because a man was a good provider didn’t mean his philandering ways should simply be forgotten and tolerated. Would Jackson’s mother have told her son to “suck it up” if he was cheated on? In any relationship, loyalty and respect always held each other, and regardless of her mother in law’s version of it, Anya’s awareness of the bond between them was why I was in her life. I now had to find a way to get Anya to see how important this was for her kids to know as well, so one day they could avoid what she wasn’t able to—so that Anya’s grandchildren would never believe their parents were unloving too.

Anya’s sweet words about my mother, made my Friday night much better, and when Saturday morning arrived, I sent her a text with memories of Katie’s last recital on my mind.

ME: “How r u? Does Katie’s recital start today?”

ANYA: “Yes 3 shows today. Just shoot me! I’m good – getting ready to head over. How r u?”

ME: “Aww babe. I’m good. Don’t stress out over there and enjoy yourself. I’m sure Katie will be great!”

ANYA: “Thank u.”

Katie’s recital jettisoned me right back to a little over a year ago—to her last recital and the night I learned her last name was Caiaphas—a significant detail about herself Anya believed I was still unaware of. Lance though not only knew who Jackson Caiaphas was, but also that he was married to Anya. She told me the reason Lance left her was because she had kids, but his knowledge of who her husband was seemed to be the much likelier reason why he ran. After Lance broke her heart, Anya’s strategy with me was if I didn’t know who her husband was, I could never use it as a reason to leave her too. She never really chose to tell me she was married—Mitch instead forced her to. But more importantly, I needed to know who she married to as well. I felt it was her responsibility to make that known to me, and not my responsibility to let her know I actually knew what she married into. I knew why she never planned to tell me though—it would obliterate her argument that she stayed solely for the kids. If she had told me who her husband was, she knew I would’ve never chosen to fall in love with her. She knew I would be up against his money, and that was the real reason why she never left the Goose who laid the golden eggs after he used them to cheat on her. It was Jackson’s wealth and status that gave him more opportunities than it did most men—not his looks and character. If she couldn’t help herself from being dishonest with me about her marriage and who she married so I would date her, then I couldn’t help but to hold her accountable for her belief in love. If she lied to someone so she could have love in her life, then she only lied to herself if she chose not to take the love I gave her. If she was willing to lie to me about Jackson, then she really wanted to be with me regardless of her two kids. That alone spoke loudly than when she told me “I love you forever” did. If I couldn’t fight for her to have love, and the things she purposely didn’t disclose, so she could have love, then I couldn’t fight for anything or anyone. The part of me that hurt because of her lack of disclosure was mad at her, but the larger part of me that loved her knew she deserved to have love.

I wished I could’ve been at Katie’s recital, but I had to understand why I wasn’t invited this time. Not to mention, if Jackson was there, it would be simple arithmetic for him. I never aspired to always be a stranger in the crowd anyway. I understood I had to be the stranger last year, but I knew so much about both Katie and Andrew now that it was painful to retain the “stranger” title. It was tough to know Anya was brave enough to share their everyday lives with me, even up to the minute, but wasn’t brave enough to know if she wanted me to meet them one day. After all we shared, every promise she made to Andrew to stay only crushed me inside—I fell in love with them too.

A little later that Saturday afternoon, I texted Anya again to see how things were going.

ME: “I hope the recital is going well. Thinking of you.”

ANYA: “You never leave my mind. Going well. Intermission of 2nd show now.”

ME: “You never leave my mind too.”

ANYA: “I remember how excited I was backstage around this time last year.”

ME: “. I was just excited to be that close to you. I remember how honored I felt just to be in the crowd. I remember feeling how proud you must have felt watching Katie perform. Believe me, there hasn’t been a minute that’s passed by today where I haven’t wished I could be there right now. I would’ve seen every show.”

ANYA: “I know you would but I have to talk to you about that. You told me I brought you too close to my kids and I’m trying to be sensitive to that.”

ME: “I just don’t think you realize for every dream I’ve had of us—I’ve also had a dream of knowing your kids. I won’t get into details but I fell in love with them too. I appreciate that you’re considering my sensitivity but I have to laugh because I already feel what I feel for them so it really doesn’t matter now.”

I couldn’t believe Anya texted me what she did. After she invited me to her daughter’s recital and said it meant a lot to her that I was there. After she shared with me the daily lives of her kids, so much so I grew to care for them. After she shared their lives with me, so much so, I even began to relive my youth vicariously through them—she now planned to be sensitive to “that”. Anya made it clear she shared their lives with me because she wanted to share them with the man she loved. Was it unreasonable for me to believe that if she withdrew them that she did so because she no longer felt the same way? I saw this as an attempt to manipulate and control my feelings, and after all we’ve shared and all I’ve felt, after eighteen months it felt wrong for her to do. She already shot me, and she couldn’t remove the bullets and I’d be like new again—it was too late to be sensitive to my feelings. Now, if she were to be sensitive to my feelings, it felt like she could care less for them. Although I didn’t feel loved by her through that text—I didn’t want to feel like a stranger in the crowd again. I did that to show her I was for real, that I loved Anya even with her “baggage”. I did it to prove I was nothing like Lance, who she claimed left her because she had kids. When Anya told me, she wanted to be “sensitive” to me with her kids—it felt the invite to Katie’s recital was a test rather than an act of love for me. The only reason I wouldn’t have gone to the recital was because I would feel awkward not knowing Katie. When Anya communicated to me that it meant a lot to her for me to be there—I was all in. If it made Anya happy; I’d do anything for her—even feel like a creep. Her text only made me question why she shared so much of them with me in the first place? For any man in my position, I would think it was a great thing, even an honor, for a woman to share the lives of her kids for me. And it indeed was an honor, but wouldn’t most people in my position believe that she wanted me to eventually meet them one day? Anya shared so much of Katie’s life with me that she even told me I knew Katie more than any man ever had—even her own father. Yet, why would she ever pull them away from me all because I wanted to meet them after she shared their lives with me in such detail nearly every day? Did she do it because she planned to be with me or did she do it for a cause she purposely made me unaware of? Did she bring me close to her kids as a political move? That if I knew all about them that I’d be inclined to understand if Anya completely pulled the rug out from under me after all we’ve shared? I hated to think she would do something like that to me, but the fear was there. All along, I thought she wanted me to know about them because she wanted me to be a part of their lives one day. Consistent with the times she told me she fantasized of having a kid with me and wanting to wear my ring. Why would I not be allowed to think she wanted me to know them one day after she told me those things—after all we’ve shared together? Without a promise, who’s to say she didn’t play a game with my heart if she tried to manipulate and control my feelings? I know Anya didn’t want to hurt me—because when I hurt, she hurt, but if she truly cared about my feelings and my sensitivity to things, why couldn’t she also find a way to leave Jackson and be honest with them about her unhappiness with the marriage? She knew I was most sensitive to her sleeping next to Jackson than anything she could possibly share about her kids yet she never cared doing anything about that. These were the kind of inconsistencies that led me to question her love—why I teetered on the edge of insanity.

As these thoughts flew around in my head with the precision of a thousand aimless asteroids, I hoped to hear back from her. When I learned my Saturday night would be as quiet as the red light on my phone, I had a hard time falling asleep. Regardless of my negative feelings from Anya’s gesture to my sensitivity, I was genuinely happy for her daughter. Although she had a recital, her grad and recital parties, it was important for her to play hard before she would be sent off to work harder. I really hoped she enjoyed herself because it was a weekend she would one day reflect on and say “gosh, I really miss those days”. It’s what I would’ve told my daughter, anyway.

When the next morning arrived, I grabbed my phone and noticed its red message indicator light was on.

ANYA: “Sorry, got busy and didn’t get home until after midnight. Wiped out. I didn’t realize u felt that way about my kids. You love the complete me. You’re a special man.”

ME: “I don’t know if that makes me special but I do love the complete you.”

ANYA: “I love u, u know.”

ME: “I love you too.”

When Anya told me, she didn’t know I felt that way about her kids and that I loved the complete her, I felt left for dead. I know she loved me, but it didn’t feel the same. She had to have known I loved the complete her. I always cared about her kids. Each time they were sick, I’d always ask how they were. Even when Anya sent me Katie’s letter—it bothered me that she went to bed at night blaming herself for Anya’s marriage to Jackson. For the last eighteen months I fought for her to have love yet I wasn’t even worthy of a text during a break in the recital? She seemed to care about what others thought more than she could have loved me. I knew she loved me over Jackson, but it didn’t give me comfort that she didn’t love him at all. How could she sleep in the same bed after all we’ve shared if she didn’t? If she truly cared about my sensitivity to anything, why did she still share a bed with him? I couldn’t say “I know” you love me anymore. If she had to follow “I love you” with “you know”, how did that not bring her love for me into question? I would leave her with zero doubt if she ever questioned my love for her. I knew her hands were tied, but I went off my prior experiences with her love for me to question it a bit—why it felt different. I had to be honest with myself. If she loved me differently it was for only two reasons—to fall out of love with me or she had already fallen out of love with me.

After our exchange, I felt a little better and decided to watch Game Five of the NBA Finals with my mother. When I arrived at my parent’s house, my father was home as well and offered to order a pizza, so we took him up on the offer. When the pizza arrived and my father and I were seated at the table, my bald mother bounded into the kitchen from her room with a huge smile as she took her seat to eat with us. She usually walked around the house without her wig on but she looked just fine without her hair—or maybe because it never seemed to bother her, it felt that way. It even felt as if my mother was not a Cancer patient, and only decided to cut her hair off in support of one. When she sat down excited to eat, my father put a slice of pizza on a plate and brought it to her.

“Did you want a salad?” he asked her. “I ordered enough for two.”

“Oh no. I can’t eat salad.” She replied.

“But you can eat pizza?” I asked wide-eyed in disbelief.

“Yes.” she said as she took a bite of her pizza then started to fan at her mouth wildly. “It doesn’t burn as much.”

“I would’ve thought a salad would be easier for you.” I wondered aloud.

“I find it strange, too.” she answered before taking a hefty drink from a glass of water.

“Did you return your wig?” I asked.

“I decided to keep it.”

“You don’t wear it around the house?”

“I don’t.” She replied through a napkin. “You can call me Kojak, Honey.”

“You look good without hair, Mom.” My Father said to her.

“Doesn’t she?” I agreed. “Her head is symmetrically perfect.”

“Some lady really ticked me off at Foodco the other day.” My mother blurted out. “Your father was there.”

“What happened?”

“I won’t be going back there ever again.” she continued. “I won’t even buy my coffin from them now.”

“Please stop talkin’ like that.” My father said to her.

“They sell coffins there?” I asked. “They really do sell everything there.”

“They’re nice too, Honey! I wanted to see how much they were.”

“No, they’re not.” My father retorted, annoyed by my mother’s interest.

“What did they do to upset you?” I asked.

“It’s not what they did.” She corrected. “It’s always packed and the people there are so rude. They take their shopping carts and bump into you without even watching where they’re going.”

It’s the reason I hated Foodco—it always seemed people grabbed their shopping carts and then ran amok inside. I had been hit by people who made you question how they even got a driver license if they couldn’t maneuver a shopping cart properly. My mother never left the house anymore. She used to drive me all around town, and always wanted to be out and about. I now better understood her reason why—the world had turned mad and cold on her. People weren’t as kind and courteous as they used to be. Everyone seemed to think they were entitled to whatever they wanted to do at any time they wanted to do it—without a regard for anyone but their own self. They didn’t play by any set of rules yet complained whenever their lack of consideration was returned. It had to be hard for my parents to understand how the times changed on them. To be thrusted into this new world, where people generally didn’t care about others. The only people you could trust seemed to be the ones you’ve grown up with.

My mother at times could be unreasonable in her thought process. There were things that irritated her that I found to be non-irritating and she had a tendency to overreact. I couldn’t judge her for it, I know I’ve done the same before, but she could make mountains out of mole hills. Before she started to share this particular incident, I felt it would probably garner responses from me like “if you would’ve just” and “why did you do that”.

“What did you do this time, mom?” I asked.

“Well, I was walking down this really wide aisle, and this big woman bumps right into my hip and my hand with her shopping cart.” She illustrated. “We had just gotten back from my treatments and they had to give me a shot in my hip because they couldn’t find a vein. I have arthritis in my hand so It hurt really bad. So, I waited for an apology but she didn’t say a word. I then turned to the lady and told her to please watch where she was going. She then called me a “fucking bitch”, and told me to watch where I was going. She then told me “your hair looks horrible and ridiculous” and that she would bump into me again if I didn’t watch my mouth.”

Although I doubted my mother used the word “please” with her request, the lady had to be aware the thing she was given the privilege to use at the store hurt if it hit you square in the bone—especially a sixty-year-old woman with arthritis undergoing chemo. In the lady’s defense, my mother doesn’t look sick at all, but she could’ve said “excuse me” or “pardon me” or “I’m sorry.” In the past this kind of story would’ve made me laugh, but with all I was going through personally, I didn’t find any humor in it.

“Did you say anything to her, Dad?” I asked my father.

“I was on another aisle” he said. “I wasn’t around to hear what was said.”

“Your father didn’t want to ask for help looking for ice cream—I then left him behind to track someone down, but I ran into the ice cream section and got sidetracked.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t there.” I said, putting the pizza slice back on my plate. “I would’ve said something.”

“Oh, honey, she was an overweight miserable person—not even worth the breath.” She countered. “She didn’t know what I was goin’ through—she was probably havin’ a bad day herself.”

“I’m sick and tired of people being so inconsiderate of others.” I retorted.

“It’s better to let God handle things like that—she’s not goin’ to change anyway no matter what you, I or anyone else would’ve told her.” she said. “I want to leave this world in a better place. It doesn’t matter.”

This was a first for me—a story my mother shared that I took her side on. I wanted this woman to know about my mother’s pain and struggle. How what she said about someone’s hair looking “horrible” and “ridiculous” after they lost it fighting a disease was absolutely disgusting. My mother was right though—this woman wouldn’t have cared either way. She didn’t even apologize when she bumped into her. My anger with God and my mother’s love for Him is why I saw things differently. How could God give my mother Cancer while this selfish careless woman, who could care less about her own health was given His favor? Why did God play favorites with the one who clearly didn’t believe in Him? This was the reason why I rebelled against God—the reason behind my agnosticism. Not just for my past bad luck with love, but for the disparity that existed between my mother and people like this woman. It came to the point, I distrusted people so much, I highly doubted this woman would have shown any compassion if she actually knew the reason my mother was self-conscious of her wig. A disease stole a symbol of my mother’s beauty, and this woman rubbed it in.

“If you say so.” I said. “but I find it hard to believe this didn’t make you really angry.”

“Oh, believe me I was angry, Honey.” she said as she raised her tiny fist at me. “I could’ve inflicted some damage.”

I then flashbacked to those times my mom hit me—when I used to pop off when I was younger. How she would hit me as hard as she could in my shoulder and how I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You sure about that, Mom?”

“Well, she was a pretty big woman. She could’ve sat on me and I’d turn blue.”

My parents and I laughed at the visual, and even though my mother was feisty, she knew her limitations. She then looked at her plate—defeated.

“It burns too much to finish this slice.” she said as she waved her hands in front of her mouth. “I’ll try again later.”

“Did you want me to go get you something else?” My Father asked.

“No, I’m fine.” she reiterated, standing up. “I had a late lunch.”

“I can grab you two tacos if you want?” I asked.

“No, Landy Joe. I’m okay.”

“Well, if you get hungry later, I’ll pick them up for you before I go home.”

“Thank you—I should be fine though.” She answered as she started to walk away from the table. “Do you think my wig looks horrible and ridiculous on me? Do you think that’s what most people think? Should I just wear a beanie or turban instead?”

“I think the wig you picked looks pretty close to your original hair.” I said.

“Stop it, Suzanne.” Responded my father. “Your wig looks fine.”

“That lady was just trying to get under your skin, Mom.” I reminded her. “She has the mentality of a second grader. You called her out on her rudeness and just like a second grader would, she threw a temper tantrum.”

“I think your wig looks pretty, mom.” My father said as he stood up from the table and planted a kiss on the top of her bare head.

As kids we see our parents as unbreakable people, then one day, we learn they’re just like us. It seemed my mother lost so much already in life—her mother and father, her best friend, the teeth in the top front row of her mouth, a breast, her hair, and now her sense of beauty. I hadn’t come close to losing anyone of those things yet when she seemed to lose her sense of worth, even with God in her heart, it broke mine. I then thought of Anya and wondered if her husband would ever plant a kiss on her bald head if she lost all her hair. If Jackson would have been half as supportive of Anya if she experienced what my Mother did. My father never cheated on my mother however and that’s when I knew Jackson would only put on a show for their kids if Anya had Cancer. Jackson would only play politics and treat her just well enough so people would see him as a supportive caring husband—the only way he knew how to love was through his popularity. As much as I felt betrayed at times, it also wrecked my heart to think Anya would surely betray herself, and possibly her health, if she stayed with Jackson. That her decision to stay for her kids and got sick, could even jeopardize enjoying her grandchildren one day and other great moments in the lives of her children. That if she stayed and got sick, she would never be loved the way she needed to be loved. That if she stayed and fell ill, her husband would only immerse himself in work—not into her pain and fight. I wanted Anya to have everything she deserved in life and to live long enough to watch not only her children grow, but their children as well. I fought with her on this because I knew she possessed the two things cancer thrived off of—unhappiness and stress. True love kissed her bald head as easily as her lips—my love for her. When I fought for Anya, or those times I fought with her—I fought back the heartache of my mother’s cancer too. At times I found it difficult to communicate the anger I felt about my mother’s cancer and the fear of Anya getting stricken with Cancer one day made this inferno I felt inside even hotter. I’m sure my words were lost in translation at times, why she thought I had anger inside of me, but my mother’s illness was why my words were strong. I would pull out all stops, every single one I had, to make her see how much I loved her, how much I feared to lose her, and how much she meant to me. I wanted to make her see past the present—to a time when she would really need love in her life, because her kids weren’t going to be at home with her forever. I hoped she understood all I fought for her to have and the passion behind my words—that I believed she risked breaking the hearts of her kids one day even if she stayed too.

My father had to go into work at the park, but I stayed with my mother long enough to watch the Lakers claim their 15th NBA Championship on the television in her bedroom. When the final second ticked away, my mother jumped off her bed while I clapped then high fived her.

“Yeah!!!!” she yelled as she crashed into me as we hugged each other. “Kobe!!!”

“Kobe?” I said. “He missed like thirteen shots!”

“Lamar!!!” she exclaimed. “He’s my favorite, you know!”

“He’s only your favorite because of Khloe!” I teased.

“Khloe!!!”

“Mom! She’s not even on the team!” I reminded her. “What about Fisher? What about Gasol?”

“I guess, they’re okay.”

“Without Fisher we wouldn’t have won it all!”

“Shannon Brown!!!” she exclaimed.

“Shannon Brown? Why?” I asked.

“He’s so cute!!! If I was single, I’d marry him!”

“Tooo much info. Way too much info” I said, shaking my head.

“All this excitement makes me want to go pee.” She exclaimed before leaving her room to relieve herself.

As I waited for my mother to return, I noticed my cell phone’s red message indicator light was on.

ANYA: “Wow! Go Lakers! Ur mom must be happy!”

ME: “Go Lakers! Like you wouldn’t believe! Miss you.”

ANYA: “Miss you too.”

After I texted Anya, I sought out another reason for my visit—my mother’s Vicodin container so I could restock. I had taken all of the twenty-five pills over the last two weeks, but the dull orange bottle was not in its usual spots. Just as I closed her dresser drawer, she reentered her room.

“A-ha! Gotcha!” she announced in a sinister tone.

“I was just looking for a couple.” I said. “My back’s been really botherin’ me.”

“It doesn’t look like your back is bothering you at all.” She told me.

“All because I’m not walking sideways doesn’t mean my back doesn’t hurt.” I informed her. “Where’d you put the bottle?”

“Can’t find it?” She mocked.

“Nope—that’s why I’m askin’ you where it is.”

“That’s because I hid it.”

“You what?”

“What part of “I hid them” did you not understand?” She struck back.

“Why would you do that?” I

“Because you took a lot without asking me.” she said. “At least twenty pills.”

“Are you sure I did?” I told her. “You might have taken them yourself.”

“I told you I don’t take really take them—they don’t help me much anymore. I get them filled just in case.”

“How do you know I took twenty pills?”

“Uh because it was a full bottle and it looks like a third of it was missing. Duh?” she said. “Now it looks like I have to hide it from you because you’re addicted.”

“Addicted?!” I laughed. “That’s ridiculous! I’m not addicted.”

“Why’d you take so much then?” She demanded.

“I pulled my back out at the gym really bad. When I came by you weren’t home. I didn’t know what time you were comin’ home.”

“Why didn’t you tell me how many you took?”

“I didn’t think you’d care since you told me you don’t really need them.” I replied.

“When you take that many, I do care.” she said. “They’re no joke, Landy—you can die if you take too much. You can build such a high tolerance for them that over time you can overdose without realizin’ because takin’ five feels the same as taking one and then you lose count.”

“Do you think I want to die, Mom? My life isn’t perfect but I’m the happiest I’ve ever been—I just hurt my back really bad.”

“Why don’t you go see a doctor and have them prescribed to you?” She reasoned.

“I don’t have time—I can’t afford to miss any work right now.” I told her. “They just laid off a few employees because of the economy.”

“They did?”

“That’s why I was out in Hesperia the last two weeks.”

“That’s awful, Honey. Are you afraid you’re gonna lose your job?” She inquired; a look of deep concern formed on her face.

“Not at all. They are promoting me to partner in less than two months now and even announced it to the entire firm. They do a really good job of resource planning. I’ve been with them too long—they wouldn’t do that to me. Without me they would’ve never gotten CPG.”

“What’s a CPG?” She asked. “You got them a new car?”

“It’s MPG, Mom.” I corrected her. “It’s the firm’s largest client—the reason why they’ve grown so much. I’m too valuable for them to lose—like Kobe.”

“But you told me Kobe didn’t do anything tonight.”

“I’m sorry, I’m their Lamar.” I corrected.

“You’re just like Khloe then.”

“Nevermind.” I told her as I needed a Vicodin just to continue this conversation.

“Are you sure, Landy?”

“Sure? Sure of what?”

“That you won’t lose you job?”

“I’m positive.”

“I can give you a few pills.”

“Can I get five, please?” I asked.

“Five? What happened to the twenty-five?” She asked with incredulity in her voice.

“I still have five left over from the twenty I took.” I lied. “I just need five more and I should be okay. I won’t bug you again for them—at least for a while.”

“Okay—turn your back.” She directed.

“Turn my back?” I snapped. “Why?”

“I don’t want you to know where I hid them.”

“You know me better than this. I’m not addicted—I refuse to turn around!”

“Well then I refuse to give you any!” She snapped back.

When I realized she held the upper hand, I turned around and made a mental note—like a person who lived in the same house all their life who just went blind.

“Wow. After all these years.” she muttered.

“After all these years?” I shook my head unable to understand the meaning behind her words.

“That’s all it took to get you to finally listen to me and do what I want you to do.” she said as she stuffed a pill laden Kleenex in my jeans pocket. “That’s it, Landy—I can’t get this refilled for another sixty days. If your back is bothering you that much—you need to see a doctor and get the pills that way.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I said as I hugged her. “I think my back will be back to normal now. Get it? My back will be back to normal? Clever, huh?”

“Remember—that’s all you’re getting so don’t come over here for them. You won’t be able to find them either.”

“I’m not addicted, okay?” I reiterated again. “I don’t crave them at all—I just needed it for my back and that’s it.”

The minute I got inside my car before I drove away, I opened up the bottle of water I picked up before I visited to wash down one of the five Vicodin she gave me. On the drive home under a vigilant moon and a healthy back, I wondered how I’d ever get through the week with only four left. I just had a bad feeling about the week-- a real bad feeling.