Chapter 4; 2005

Spring, 2005

M and I lived happily together for quite some time.  Shortly after his divorce was final, he proposed to me and I accepted.  Soon after being married, we were pregnant after only trying for a couple of months.  We were blissfully happy as a pregnant couple.  I thought at the time that I had everything I ever wanted; I was with a man that I cared for very much-- even loved-- who took exceptionally tender care of me.  Despite that, FH was never, ever far from mind.  I dreamt of him ridiculously often and vividly--  the kind of dreams in which I would catch a glimpse of him, try to catch up to him and despite every desperate effort could never quite reach him.  Upon waking, I would attempt to cling to the feeling of seeing him, even from a distance, then obsess about what the dreams meant.  We would still exchange the occasional e-mail, never without a great deal of guilt on my part-- but now I made sure to delete them.  I had to tell him I was having a baby.  In my darker recesses, it was gratifying to know he'd be hurt at the news, after the pain I had endured while waiting for him and then upon learning that he'd reconciled with his wife.  

Then, almost to my second trimester, I miscarried.  Our baby was dead.  My emotions went haywire, I wept for weeks and though M was more caring and attentive than ever, there was a lot of tension in our relationship.  His jealousy reared its ugly head more often (no doubt exacerbated by previous events).  After a few months, I began to doubt my desire to be in my marriage and I ultimately, about four months after the miscarriage, decided to pack my belongings, file for divorce and move back to Maine.  The week before I left, M and I cried together, we held each other, we made love... but I still left, Bella with me as always.  She had become my one constant and accompanied me on every adventure.  I notified FH not five minutes after driving away, and it was instantly back on, both of us thrilled at the chance to be together after all.  Though he was still married, he once again said that he wanted to be with me and was ready to leave her.  I drove through Pennsylvania on my way to Maine and he met me at my hotel.  I hadn't seen him in over a year, and it was as if it had both been forever and no time at all.  He spent the night with me, our passion through the roof as always, and we were ecstatic to be getting our shot after all.  I continued on to Maine and was looking for a place to rent as he prepared to get things in order; i.e., get divorced.  Yet I began to hear the same type of talk that I was so familiar with from before; "I just have to get a few things taken care of: there are tax issues, etc."  I wasn't in Maine even a month before I started doubting the decision I'd made.  Suddenly, when I'd talk to FH, I would feel annoyed, and I kept getting the sense that I had made a terrible mistake; I was terrified and confused.  I didn't know why this was happening, but suddenly it all felt wrong.  I called M and we both wept on the phone; I told him I was afraid I'd ruined my life by leaving and asked if I could come home.  He said the door would be open.  Later that afternoon, when FH called, I coldly informed him that I was no longer going to move forward with this-- with us, and I was going back home.  He was beyond shocked and devastated.  I could not do this to him again.  He called me the antichrist.  

As I excitedly prepared to return to Florida, I realized that I hadn't had my period and mentioned it while on the phone with M.  I thought my body was still trying to get back to normal from the miscarriage, but M suggested I take a pregnancy test, and almost as a joke, I did.  Never did I expect to see the word "Pregnant" pop up on the stick-- I was on the phone giggling with a girlfriend when I saw the result and I almost hit the floor.  It was a sign from God, or the Universe, Someone!  One of our parting lovemaking sessions had resulted in conception, and it convinced me even further that I belonged with M, and I couldn't get home to him soon enough.  I dispassionately informed FH that not only was I going back to M, but I was pregnant with his baby.  He tried to make me admit that I had found out I was pregnant before deciding to go back; I swore that wasn't the case, but didn't really care if he believed it or not.  I'd made my decision to go home to M before I knew I was pregnant, which only confirmed to me that it was the right thing to do.  I had no desire to speak to FH further about it; all I cared about was getting home and starting my family.

Pregnant and blissful yet again, FH was further from my thoughts than he had been for years.  The pregnancy was heavenly; we safely passed the first trimester, my bump began to grow. I was happier than I'd ever been and M and I joyously prepared for the birth of our son.

Somehow, late in the pregnancy, there was contact from FH.  He was going to be in Ft Lauderdale, and my default, still, was to want to see him.  My heart pounded with the thought of it.  Belly huge with my husband's child, feeling happy and wanting FH to see it, I agreed to meet him, and we had lunch in a beach town far enough away to to feel safe in public.  Though a part of me was still in love with him, being together was no longer an option; and for the first time, my heart wasn't torn in two when we parted.  

Two weeks later, our son, Seth, was born, and the rest of the world was obliterated by the existence of this new person. M and I were starry-eyed parents, adored our son and each other, and were getting along better than we had in some time.  Life was grand, we worshipped our baby and each other and for the first two years, it was, for the most part, domestic bliss. However, my deepest truth was that I had chosen him for the life that he provided rather than the fact that I was in love with him.  I cared for him deeply, but the true, highest love that a husband and wife should share simply wasn't there, and slowly, almost indiscernibly, once again our relationship began to deteriorate as I became more and more aware of that fact.

Somewhere between Seth's infancy and toddlerhood, FH reached out to inform me that he had finally gotten divorced.  It threw a wrench into my emotions and the obsessive thoughts of him returned, while at the same time things at home grew more and more tense.  One can only speculate if one were the cause of the other.  It would be hard to deny that there was some connection.

When our beautiful baby son was two and a half, M and I, with hundreds of fights under our belts, finally came to the mutual conclusion that I wasn't happy, and he said to me more than once, "You're not stuck here."  As I continued to act the part of dutiful, if distant, wife, I began to envision a life with FH, my imagination running wild in its hopes and dreams for all we never had.  He was single now-- in my daydreams, it would be so easy.  Some moments I would feel complete conviction that we belonged together, and the very next minute feel the same confidence that I couldn't possibly leave my husband and son for this ridiculous infatuation that I once had with someone who had caused me a great deal of pain.  It was torturous-- I vacillated phenomenally and constantly.  I was a woman obsessed, and M could tell that I was "somewhere else," which is what he called it when he saw that look in my eyes, and I knew he knew exactly where I was.  He told me once that he realized I never loved him the way I loved FH; after having read e-mails between the two of us, it was obvious that the feelings in that relationship were far more extreme, more passionate, than the feelings I had ever expressed about him.  He hit the nail on the head.  But I was beyond confused:  Was such a passionate connection destined to be a transient experience, or was it an indicator of a powerful love?  Was the ardor between FH and me something so fervent that it couldn't last?  Was I actually considering breaking up my family for a true, lasting partner or for a juvenile infatuation?  I truly had no idea; FH and I had never had a chance to practice our love in any semblance of a "real" relationship.  Regardless, my preoccupation was driving a deeper wedge between M and me and finally, painfully, we chose once more to divorce.  He moved out within two days.

FH and I were going to have our first unencumbered chance to be together.  Our love would no longer have limitations.  He came to FL immediately, all past hurts were forgiven and we began anew, alive and ebullient with love.  And hope.