Chapter 3, 2003

Spring, 2003

My relationship with M really took off then.  We moved in together.  I told him I really wanted to make a go of this.  He was still blissfully unaware of FH's existence.  We lived together well, having fun, enjoying each other and creating a home together.  We got a puppy, a boxer named Bella who I now consider my firstborn child.  We were a little family.  But FH was on my mind always; I was finding that forgetting part difficult.  Occasionally I'd give in and we'd exchange an e-mail or two.  I had pictures and various mementos of our trips together heaped in a box that I rifled through occasionally and wept.  We may have even talked on the phone once or twice.  He knew I was living with M, had a dog and was content.  I tried, tried to forget.

One night, I was in bed and M walked into our bedroom and asked, "Who is (FH's full name)?"  I blanched and my mind raced.  "Ummm... someone... I used to date.  Before you."  M held out a magazine that FH had been featured in not two months before.  Yet I had been seeing M for a year and a half-- he knew something was amiss.  At his questioning about the chronology, I semi-confessed to having had a sporadic relationship during the times that M and I were "off," but it was now completely over.  Of course, this was not entirely true, and M probably smelled the lie since that first moment.  But I stuck to my story, the first threads of a sticky web of deception that lasted many years.

I managed to placate M, then immediately opened a P.O. box at the local post office so that I could still have some way to stay in touch with FH.  I felt as if I weren't in control of my actions; I was driven by a force I was unwilling to overpower, and couldn't cut the tie.  Shortly, a postcard from FH came to the PO box from China; I slipped it into my briefcase so that I could stare at his handwriting and try to hear his voice when I read the words.  Within a week, somehow M found it (at this point he was clearly looking for evidence), and I was once again caught red-handed.  I don't recall my explanation about that one or what I could have possibly said to M to prevent his walking out on me.  Miraculously, he stayed-- but the vicious circle of suspicion, sleuth and confirmation of betrayal had begun in force.  What an ugly dance, one I strongly recommend no one ever participate in.  I wish I hadn't.  I was caught next when M was working on my computer and it dutifully announced that there was a new message from FH in my inbox, and then with one click it helpfully led him straight to not only that new e-mail, but all the others that we had exchanged since our last goodbye.  I couldn't bring myself to delete them, but I made sure to log out of the inbox every time-- and clear the history.  Every time.   I thought I was safe.  But I was wrong... and oh dear God, some of those e-mails were x-rated.  It took hours of tears, days-- weeks of apologies, and a vehement promise to cut off contact, every form of it, this time for real.  We began couples counseling; any trust that had survived the previous betrayals had now been shattered.   I cannot imagine how he forgave me or simply didn't murder me.  But with time, forgive me he did, and I realized I did love him, wanted to be with him, and truly wanted to be better, make it work.  His divorce was finalized, and we began talking about having a baby.

Meanwhile, FH went back to his wife.  This broke my heart, even though I should have expected it.  Although that knowledge hurt, it also resigned me to making it work with M, fixing the trust, starting a family, being faithful.


It worked for a while.  Months passed.  Then, after an enormous fight between M and me about-- ahem-- me masturbating (he proclaimed that it was tantamount to cheating).  I packed a few things, took Bella and headed for a (always dog friendly, of course) hotel.  He said if I left not to bother coming back, which I didn't for four days.  I invited friends to the hotel room, partied and, of course, called FH.  Told him (probably in a drug induced state) that I was done with this guy and to come get me!  He was in Baltimore on business and flew down immediately.  He told me he had come to fight for me.  Then something happened:  We were sitting in my car, parked in a parking lot, talking, crying, drinking Starbucks coffee.  When his cup was empty, he opened the car door, placed it on the ground outside, and closed the door.  He had littered before-- it bothered me but everything else outweighed it, and he would stop if I asked him to.  But I suddenly realized that it wasn't even a matter of changing the behavior.  I felt that I couldn't possibly be with someone who would even do such a thing.  The switch had been flipped yet again.  Before the day was over, I essentially told him, "Never mind," without ever mentioning the cup incident, and sent him home.  He was frustrated, angry, perplexed... but did not, in the end, fight for me.  M never knew that I saw him, or even spoke to him.  I just came home, we made up and continued on with life.