If I could go back . . .

Just a little more than three years ago, my life fell apart because I discovered I was married to a sex offender. If I could go back to that day in ghost-like form, like Scrooge with the Ghost of Christmas Past in Dickens' A Christmas Carol, what would I whisper in the ear of my past self?

As a ghost, I would watch myself in the morning, caring for my 3-week-old, Sabrina, and my 2-year-old, Elise. I was happy that morning. It actually hurts to think how happy I was because so much pain was about to follow.

I can see myself making lunch and I know the phone is about to ring. Jake is about to call and tell me that he was sent home from work. He's going to come home. He's going to sit at the table and lie to me. For his sake, I will be calm. For his sake, I will hug and reassure him while he sobs over the injustice of it (as he makes it out to be).

But, no, the phone hasn't rung yet. I still see myself in calm, happy oblivion. I would like to stand close to that past self of mine and say,

 "A storm is coming, but you will be okay. 

Just be the honest and upstanding person you always aim to be. 

You will make it to the other side, I promise."

As the phone rings, as I watch myself reach out to pick up the receiver, I want to give myself permission,

"It is okay to doubt him. It is okay to question him. 

It is okay to be mad at him. 

Trust your gut that he is not innocent. 

You don't have to stand by him."

Mere hours after that phone rings, that past version of me will fear that she will lose her children. I want to reassure her,

"The few who doubt your good motherhood will quickly reverse their opinions. Everyone will agree that your babies belong to you and you to them." 

As she shivers in bed with one arm wrapped around each baby, afraid that if she lets them go or closes her eyes they might disappear, I'd like to say, 

"Sleep, sleep, you are safe, they are safe. Years of happy mothering are still ahead of you." 

As she finally falls into a restless sleep, I would like to send her one last message:

"You fear losing your partner in life, but he never was the man you hoped he was. You will suffer pain and loss, but the hidden blessings will outweigh it all. In return you will gain self-confidence and strength; you will see friends and community more clearly; your connection to your children will be amplified; and you will find second chances for career and for love. 

You will suffer and struggle, but you will also survive and thrive. 

Each year will bring a stronger sense of gratitude for the fruitless life you were rescued from and the amazing life you were gifted with. 

I just wish you could know this now and let it reassure you as the storm passes over."

Please share what you would like to whisper into the ear of your past self.  Comment below or email evie.pruett@gmail.com

Beautiful Innocence

Last night, as my kids and I were settling down in bed, we got to talking about families. My little one, Sabrina, said that families have mommies and daddies. I agreed that a lot of families have both mommies and daddies. Sometimes, there is just a mommy or just a daddy, like our family.

Elise, my 5-year-old, said, "I miss Daddy."

I nodded, "I know." She takes every opportunity to express this thought. It used to break my heart, but now it's fallen in the same category of "our dog died." Daddy and the dog are both things she brings up knowing that it will get an interesting emotional reaction from adults. My theory is that she's exploring that reaction. I'm not being callous, it's just the way it is with children.

My normal approach to any daddy conversation is just acceptance of whatever she feels and trying to answer her questions without getting too nitty gritty and without revealing my deep hatred for the man. I just don't think she's old enough to understand.

However, this time I decided to introduce a new dimension to the conversation. I said, "It's okay for you to miss Daddy. But you know what? I don't miss Daddy. And that's okay, too. We both have different feelings and that's okay."

I thought this would bring a torrent of questions from my verbal child, but instead it stumped her. She didn't seem distressed or upset, just quiet in deep thought. We will see what surfaces in a few days or weeks. It is amazing how things will seemingly be forgotten only to pop up at the weirdest times. With my luck, she will announce it during the children's message at church. After all, that's where she usually brings up our deceased dog.

It's funny how this conversation has been percolating in the back of my mind in the last day. I find myself wondering when I stopped missing him. Even when I moved here, I still missed the man I married. I hated him and missed him at the same time, you know? When I found myself missing him, I hated him even more. I still have those moments I suppose, but they are so very rare. I feel very content with him NOT BEING HERE.

For instance, tonight I watched Sabrina running around after using the potty (she just recently gave up diapers) with only a shirt on. Every time I told her to put on her panties, she would just squeal with giggles and run away. I was finishing my supper and didn't feel like chasing her yet, so I told her to go pull out that new package of panties we bought her. Predictably, she tore the package open so they flew all over the floor. Elise joined the chaos as they jokingly put the panties on their heads, on their toy dragon, on a pumpkin (yes, it's still sitting around from halloween) - everywhere accept on Sabrina. Finally, somehow, a pair went on her, but only after ten solid minutes of silly, innocent shrieking and giggling.

And I deeply enjoyed the whole scene because it was funny and cute . . . but mostly because it could happen safely. Without Jake, my children can run around naked in their own home and no one will look at them as potential sex partners. No one will see it as an opportunity to cop a feel or turn it into a sex game. Without Jake, they get to be safely innocent. That is enough reason to not miss him. Don't you think?

By the way, Sabrina is about to turn 3. She was born just three weeks before Jake was arrested. She doesn't know him, doesn't remember him, doesn't miss him. 

When your own life is the leading story

The following is a message I received by email from another woman who has gone through a very similar situation. She writes so well about something we will all understand:

"I think so many folks are inclined to think that stories like this only lie within the fringes of society, or are the makings of Jerry Springer spots.  It's so easy to flip on the news or read the paper and see the stories as distant, removed - the problems of all those "other people."  There really aren't words for the day when you find that your own life is the leading story on the 11 o'clock news and the front page of the newspaper. I don't have any friends that are divorced, much less have spouses or family members, or even distant acquaintances who have been convicted of felony crimes.  My husband and I were active in our community and church, good-standing members of society.  I find that my friends, family, and colleagues don't even know what to say and most have opted to simply ignore that anything has even happened.  It's as if even the mere reference to my husband will taint them in some foul, repulsive way.  To this day, I'm still greeted by many with looks of pity or masked sympathy, when I know that the unspoken question from so many is "how could she not have known? how could she have married such a monster?  what kind of issues does she have to have been attracted to someone like that?" I don't kid myself into thinking that people really don't make those kind of judgments. 

"I confide in you on these points not so much because I'm dwelling on what other people think, but because I find that other than through professional counseling, there is virtually no support for women in our circumstances. I'm not trying to play victim when I say that - I take full responsibility for who I married and chose to have children with.  I don't expect society to come running to my rescue.  But I do think it's helpful to connect with each other and others in similar circumstances from time to time. . . It's just comforting in some ways to know that there are others who have experienced similar experiences and truly understand the pain and trauma of something so devastating."

When I first received an email from this woman, I asked her if she would like to share on this blog. She declined, saying that she wasn't ready to talk about her story, but in that second email was also the message above. I thought it was worth sharing. If anyone else out there wants to share a message, you don't have to give personal details of your life story because sometimes a sympathetic message to others in your situation is enough.

The Hidden Blessings

So the guy I've been dating for three months just broke up with me on Sunday. Basically, he thought I was going to break up with him so he decided to preemptively strike out at me by picking on the things I'm most concerned and self-conscious about. He hurt me, he really did. Ironically, I wasn't planning on dumping him, that was just his mistake. Of course, after he made me feel like crap on the bottom of his shoe, I wasn't going to correct his bad assumption. I went right along with his script and I'm quickly recovering.

However, there is a weird sadness that lingers from all of this because he seemed like such a good guy right up until the break up. We had some disagreements before this stuff, but nothing that wasn't livable. He was great with the kids - really freaking great. I find myself sighing over how near-perfect he was . . . and then I remind myself how thankful I should be that he revealed his true colors before we got any more serious. There is a big blessing in finding out who someone really is. I am so glad that my ex-boyfriend volunteered this little scene to expand my awareness of his character.

This brings me to the hidden blessings of Jake's arrest and all the drama I endured because of it. It is a blessing that his true character was revealed. It is a blessing that someone reported him to the police. It is a blessing that I didn't have to figure these things out on my own and make the decision to turn him in. It is a blessing that I didn't get an STD from his extra-marital affairs. It is a blessing that my kids were not abused. In so many ways, I am relieved that everything happened when and how it did.

It is a tough road to find out that your spouse is a sex offender. It breaks your heart and tears up your family. But there is a second chance that is born out of it. The biggest blessing is being given choices. I had several wise people encourage me to start making decisions based on what is best for me and my children. It took a long time for me to grow into that idea, but it has served me well. My life is incredibly flawed right now, but I feel so free compared to the situation I left. I wouldn't go back for all the money in the world. And I won't settle for a flawed relationship, even with a near-perfect man. I like having my choices and I like having a second chance. I hope that every spouse of a sex offender finds this personal freedom. You don't have to choose to leave your spouse - just make sure your choice is really best for you and not just a guilt reflex from that "till death do us part" line. I'm guessing that vow was already broken by the sex offender and it isn't your job to fix it.

My Friend

Last time I blogged – you know, right after I googled the name of a new friend only to find out that he had recently gotten out of prison for killing a cyclist while driving drunk - I was freaking out a little. Let me update you about that freak out and about my friend, the ex-con.

I shouldn’t call him an ex-con. It’s accurate, but I think he deserves something kinder, something that reflects the fact that he paid the debt that society asked him to pay and he is rebuilding his life . . . As you can see, I’ve decided not to condemn him in my personal sphere.

Sure, I freaked out about his past. It hurt me that someone I already had accepted as a friend had such a dark history. It angered me that he had so recklessly taken the life of another person. And it scared me that he was likely an alcoholic because it brings this question to my mind: Do I gravitate toward addicts, like my husband? It seems that some women are drawn into abusive relationships over and over. Am I drawn to charming, manipulative, selfish men? It is a scary, scary thought that will keep me out of the dating realm for a long time . . . but I digress. [Note, this man was never a romantic interest to me]

It took me a few weeks to really process this new discovery a la google. I avoided him in the meantime. I let the news stories I had read online percolate in my head. His mug shot. The angry and mournful comments from the community that stretched out below each article. I was angry right along with them. But there was one comment that softened my thoughts:

I knew this man 20 years ago … what a terrible shock. . . . As a cyclist, I share the outrage of the community and am confused by his lenient sentence. As the old friend of a talented, but self-destructive artist, I can’t help but be saddened by all the wasted potential that this event represents – a tragedy in the true sense. My thoughts and prayers are with the victim’s friends and family – though I’ll save a few for my old friend, too.

I was relieved to see that someone else - someone who knew him once - believed in his value, even if he had disappointed them. It gave me leeway to start believing my own intuition about him. I went about my life without making an attempt to think about him, but in the background I knew my brain was merging the man I had befriended with the cold facts I had learned.

Something else was happening in my brain. More and more each day, I admitted to myself that I was having a problem separating my new friendship from the lingering pain created by my husband. These two men are very different. My husband has not yet served his time or done anything to repay society. I pray he will reach that point someday. I pray that he will exit the correctional system and find a place in the community where he can be useful, accepted, and even find healthy friendships and loving relationships – not from me, mind you, but I do want that for him. So if I want that for the man who has created such damage in my life . . . then I think it is okay to help someone else accomplish those same goals. Or, at the very least, not hinder him.

I finally  made two big decisions. First, I decided that I didn’t want to be the kind of person that couldn’t forgive, especially when the offense didn’t involve me. From the legal perspective, my friend had done his time and even been released early for good behavior. Second, I decided that I would never haunt a friend of mine with their past. I won’t confront him about it or question his personal penance. After all, I don’t want my own past haunting me.

The decision I hadn’t made was whether or not I was going to continue a friendship with him. It was easy to avoid him, so I gave myself permission to take as long as I wanted with it.

One morning I was sitting at Starbucks, typing away at my email. At a table very close to me sat two women. They were trendy, polished ladies, each staring at their smart phones even while they talked to each other. I was trying to tune their voices out while I worked, but little bits would slip through. One of them was talking about a high school friend that she had reconnected with over facebook. I tuned her out for a moment until she said, “He’s been in prison for the last fifteen years!” That’s when I very actively started listening. She sounded offended at his past, of which all she seemed to know about was his incarceration, but not the reason for it.

Her friend sympathetically replied, “You unfriended him, right?”

“Oh yeah,” she said.

That burned me to the core. Neither of them had stopped to contemplate what his crime was or whether he had changed his ways. Neither of them thought about what he was trying to do with his life now or what kind of grace they could offer him. I felt so strongly offended by their quick condemnation that I almost told them what cold bitches I thought they were. Instead, I packed up my stuff and paid my friend a visit. e’sHhhHhhh

That visit was a delight. In his office, where we were chatting, I suddenly was very aware of all the clips of articles, poetry, and handwritten notes he had pinned to his wall. They had to do with faith, resilience, following one’s passion, being optimistic, and seeking peace. He’s in the business of helping people, so I had always thought those clippings were there to motivate others, but now I hope it reflects his own journey, as well. He was happy to see me and I was happy to see him. We talked away for an hour. It was nice. I was sure then that I can be his friend.

One last thing . . .

Yesterday, I was at Walmart in the auto garage to get a tire fixed and my overdue oil change done. The rough-looking men who work there usually make me feel like I need to keep a wide birth. When I act that way, they respond in kind. This time, though, I felt like I should treat each of them like a member of my family - dad, son, brother. We chatted and joked and laughed. As I left, the men all gave me a cheerful goodbye, just like I was a friend who always visits. I can’t help but feel like this new ability to befriend unknown - and somewhat threatening looking - people stemmed from the whole dilemma above. I think maybe all the crap I’ve gone through and all the damage I’ve suffered might actually make me a better person! Go figure.

New Year, New Ways

I am one of those people who likes new year's resolutions. I made some great ones last year. I didn't achieve all of them, but I worked on each a bit, which makes me proud. This year, I decided to renew a few of last year's resolutions - do more yoga and learn spanish - plus, I've been forming some rather unique new ones. One of the most important is that I won't beat myself up for being a good person. It sounds silly, I know, but my last post was full of detest for my "good" self, so I felt that I had to decide whether I would hate myself, change myself, or accept myself. I decided that being a good person was not something that I should be fighting. The real problem is that I need to be smarter and safer.

That leads to the second resolution: I will google people more. You might be laughing, but as I'm building a new life for myself I am letting new people into it, rapidly. If I have a tool in my hand that will give me some background about those that I am befriending then I should use it! This is a big deal to me because I am also a polite person and "googling" someone feels impolite. It even feels a little sneaky. It feels so strange, in fact, that it took me the first 20 days into the new year before I decided to do it.

Drumroll for my first google project . . . I made a new friend, a man quite a bit older than myself. I enjoy his company. He seems smart and kind. He flatters me to a ridiculous extent, which made me question whether he is flirting with me. I feel a mix of pleasure and discomfort in his presence. It bothered me to the point that he became my first google project. I sighed as I pulled up an old news article from the google list with his mug shot on it. Several years ago he killed a cyclist while drunk driving. The article pointed out that it was not his first incident of drunk driving. He went to prison for several years.

Lord almighty, a felon and possible alcoholic. Just my luck.

This brings me to my third resolution: don't hide significant things from the people who matter. Like anyone else, I have a tendency to glaze over information that I believe my family and friends will criticize. It might be a natural and normal habit, but I've decided it is immature and sometimes harmful. The people who have proven their love for me in the last few years are exactly the people I should be sharing the story of my life with and trusting them to help me form a healthier, safer existence.

My google project is a good example because, even as I read the article, I knew that I would probably still give him a chance at friendship. My instinct was to not mention any of this to my mother, who I feared would judge me as a fool for being kind to a convict. However, I was true to my resolution and told her about the story. I shared it in a black humor tone, starting with "Do you want to hear something awful?" After the story, she just looked sad and shook her head, but didn't say anything harsh. I figure I'll give her a day to soak it in and then ask her what she thinks about it tomorrow.

And if my mother suggests that I stay away from the convicted drunk driving murderer? Well, that makes sense. I'll be glad that my mother wants me safe. And I might even listen to her . . . But he did serve his time and has been "rehabilitated". He is probably sober. He might be terribly repentent and needs the world to give him a chance . . . Or he is a manipulative addict looking for a good person to be his patsy.

Well, this debate could go on a while, so I'm going to set it on the shelf for a week or so . . . In the meantime, I will just be satisfied that I am keeping to my new resolutions.

Oh yeah, Jake was sentenced to 8 years in prison for combined counts of sexual assault and attempted sexual assault on a minor by a person in a position of trust. This news is still soaking into my head and heart. I'm not exactly disappointed or upset by it. I figure I can take my time in forming my opinion and reaction on this news.

The Sunny State

The last time I posted was in June. I made a big decision around that time: to leave. I decided to get out of Colorado and return to my hometown in California. The move happened the first week of August. I would have left sooner than that, but arrangements took a while. Right before the move, I had become really scared. I wasn't sleeping out of fear. My in-laws could sense something happening and they started sneaking around behind my back. I believe they thought I was going to sell my husband's possessions, so they were taking them. Whatever they were thinking, they just ramped up my paranoia. The move itself took a big toll on me, the kids, and my immediate family members, but the shear happiness of knowing I was out - wow! I had reclaimed my life! I slept like a log for almost 12 hours the first night in California. I have had some emotional days since then - regrets, ideas on how I could have done things differently, fear of the future - but the happiness and relief have always won out. I'm really truncating this story to get back to my point . . . 

I could say that I stopped posting in June because I was spending all my time and energy planning a move, which was true . . . But really, I stopped posting because I thought this story was over. However, I just got a few reminders that this story never ends.

First, I had a visitor to my blog. It was woman who I believe recently became aware that her husband is a sex offender. She left some sympathetic and passionate statements that reminded me of comments I left on some other blogs when I first entered this arena. I remember searching the internet for other women like me. Were other women feeling the same emotions? Were they struggling with love in the midst of betrayal? How did they make decisions about their marriage? How did they face their community? How did they raise their children? What did they see when they looked in the mirror? A "co-dependent"? A "co-addict"? A victim?

Her presence, reminding me of myself about a year ago, made me want to stay active on this blog for the sake of other women.We have a lot in common and a lot to learn from each other. I hope other women will start their own blogs or volunteer or share their stories in whatever way they are inspired. Keeping the conversation going is important.

The second thing that brought me back was a mild panic attack over the safety of some children that I suddenly feared were being left in the company of a sex offender. I was relieved to learn later that they were with someone safe and measures are being taken to keep them that way. There is more to that story and maybe I'll tell it someday, but my point tonight is that there is an ongoing problem beyond my family and my marriage and my children.

 I think many wives (and other non-victim family members) of sex offenders hide themselves out of shame, and yet we have some valuable insight that could help others. My story is mine, but it echoes so many . . . if the many would connect, share, and learn from each other than we would feel less shame and start having the courage to say, "Hey, I know something about this problem. I know the warning signs. I know how to prevent this." Or, "I know how to help a family that is broken by this." If the presence of my blog helps a woman step away from her shame (undeserved shame, by the way), inspire her to reclaim her life (whether or not it includes the offender), and spread a little awareness then I'm here to stay.

California, by the way, is perfectly sunny. Colorado meanwhile is having a cold snap. I am very happy to be here despite my unemployment, impending divorce, and financial dependency on my parents. You'll hear about those stories another day, I'm sure! Anyhow, I'm thinking that I'll be a sporadic blogger, but I hope that anyone who comes across this blog will feel free to comment. All comments end up in my inbox, so you aren't talking to yourself!

On the path to divorce

Lately, as I explain to my closest family and friends that I am planning to divorce Jake and move away from here, they tend to say something like, "It sounds like you are on the right path."

My response to that is, "Sure, I'm on the path, but I have no idea where it is going or how to take the first step." But I guess it's good that I'm on the path.

This path is really freaking steep and rocky and you wouldn't believe what they charge at the toll booth . . .

Anyhow, I'm taking this divorce idea very seriously now. I talked to my lawyer about it. (By the way, every time I say "my lawyer" I squirm a little. I still haven't got used to the fact that there is a lawyer that I have paid enough money in the past that I actually call her "my lawyer"). She thinks it will be fairly easy, given the criminal position my husband is in.

I talked to a friend of mine that recently divorced her abusive husband. She was reassuring and full of advice. She also thinks this will be easy.

Easy or not, I'm still terrified of going through with this divorce. The worst part, I think, will be breaking the news to Jake and his family. I'm nervous about how Jake will take the news. I've never seen him act out in a violent way, but I'm still scared. Even now, he has no idea that I'm planning to divorce him, but he knows I'm mad at him and he knows that I don't think he's fit to be a father . . . and that's enough to keep me awake at night, scared he's going to snap and come kill us. I try to tell myself that we're safe because he has the ankle monitor on, but the ankle monitor will just alert the sheriff that he's left the property. It doesn't physically stop him. So, in theory, he could get in a car, drive the two miles of gravel road (straight shot to our house) and do damage before the police even get in their cars ten miles away in town.

It's paranoia, I'm sure. Again, I've never seen him be violent - self-centered, greedy, insensitive, but not violent. But just in case, I had a friend of our family remove Jake's guns and ammo from our house. To be extra safe, I'm keeping this divorce hush-hush until the day I file. That same day, I'm going to say good-bye to this house and drive off in a moving van.

It get's tricky after that because a person filing for divorce can't leave the state without the permission of the court. So I'll be in limbo for a little while. I'll stay at a local hotel or a friends' house - just as long as I'm closer to the police than Jake. That's okay, though, because I want a little time to tell my friends what's happening and say good-bye. I want Elise to be able to say good-bye to her friends, too. And I really want to tell Jake's parents in person about the divorce. My own mother cringes at that idea because she knows, as I know, that they won't understand. I am pretty sure they will only tell me I'm doing the wrong thing and think the worst of me. It's going to be tough.

It's also going to be expensive. My friend who divorced her abusive husband spent $3500 on the divorce. I have $4500 in savings. That money was intended for the move and living expenses when I get there. I'm just holding my breath that the judge lets me move sooner than later so I can find a job before the lawyer's bill rolls in!

The D-word

Divorce.

When Jake was arrested for the first time in 2011, I felt like everyone automatically assumed that I was going to leave him. I am very sensitive to the expectations of others, so this tore me to pieces. I didn't want a divorce then. I wanted to hold my family together, solve the problems and heal the wounds. I wanted to shovel the shit into my garden to grow flowers. Apparently I'm an optimist.

Now, I'm in such a different place. I really want to leave. I look at all the damage that's been done and I'm ready to walk away. My soul feels bruised. I think about having a second chance away from here and it makes me smile.

But still, as much as I want to leave, I don't want to go through a divorce. I know in my mind and heart that this marriage is done, but I can't get myself to move forward. I've been using that d-word more often in conversation with certain people I trust, partially because I need to try the idea on and exercise it a little. For so long, I've cringed at the word that it is hard to turn around and embrace it. I even find myself trying to puzzle out a way to avoid a divorce . . . but that would be cowardly and downright dishonest to myself and my kids.

I've also realized that I'm scared of what Jake will do when he finds out. I've never seen him violent and I've never worried about it before, but suddenly I'm obsessing over whether the doors and windows are all locked at night. I reassure myself that he's wearing an ankle monitor, but then I lie awake thinking about how it would take him less than five minutes to get here while the police would likely take longer. My fears got bad enough that I called a family friend and asked that she remove the guns from my house (two pistols, a rifle, and a shotgun that all belonged to Jake, although I only ever saw him shoot the shotgun and then it was at prowling coyotes) just to limit the weapons that could be used in a moment of anger. I'm also thinking that I won't file for divorce until I'm physically out of our house and staying somewhere closer to the police than Jake.

I have lingering guilt, too, like I'm breaking my holy marriage vows. Sure, he broke them first, but I'm a "turn the other cheek" kind of girl.  I never in a million years could have imagined that I'd be contemplating divorce. But here I am. 

Sick Family, Sick Dog

After that phone call with Jake, I didn't talk to him for more than a week and intended that to last longer. Life went on. He called me a few times and I let it go to voicemail. I realized that I could request a "no contact" situation again, but I kinda liked that he knew that I was ignoring him. Immature? Sure, but I think I deserve to be the one in control for a while - visibly in control. Jake's parents came over a few times for supper. They brought the food. I never asked who cooked the food and they never said, but I'm sure we all know. If I didn't really need a break from cooking I would have complained.

Everything was going pretty well until Sabrina got sick. I took a day off work. Then I got sick and spent the whole weekend on the sofa plus took another day off work. Then Elise got sick and I took three days off work. Altogether I worked 25 hours in two weeks. Paying the bills is going to be tight this month

In the midst of all our own sickness, I noticed that our dog, Barkey, was not looking so good. I took him to the vet only to find out that he was suffering from complications due to cancer. The vet said there was really no treatment that would improve his situation and it was already quite advanced, so he recommended euthanasia. It was a tough week, trying to plan our dog's last moments. I had it planned so that I would take Barkey over to my in-law's house while the kids were at daycare so that Jake and I could both be with Barkey as he died. I truly believe that it's a blessing to be with someone as they die, so it was important to me to be there with Barkey. Unfortunately, that was the day Elise vomited at daycare, so I had to stay home with her. I gave Barkey a big hug and watched him ride off, never to come home again.

I let down my guard during the whole Barkey situation and talked to Jake in person a few times. We both cried and sobbed while making arrangements. He made a motion to hug me, but I snapped, "I don't want to hug you!" He really started crying then. I felt like a monster.

On Friday, I received a letter from Jake. It mostly reminisced about Barkey. He had added a drawing of a punch-tin design to replace a missing window in our china hutch. The design featured a pair of love birds. My letter back to him started with "I don't want love birds in the hutch. Do you understand how mad I am at you? There may be no coming back from this. "  I didn't rant much more in the letter - not that I didn't want to, but I didn't have the energy.

I decided to throw an odd request into the letter. I asked him to give the names of all his victims to the court. He'll think it's a crazy idea and refuse to do it, I'm sure. I just explained that I couldn't support him or have any kind of relationship with him as long as I know that there are other victims out there who have yet to press charges. If he could sacrifice his future by giving up those names I know I would sleep better at night for the sake of those victims, but also because I would finally know that Jake CAN do the right thing instead of the selfish thing. But since I doubt that he'll ever do that . . .

I'm starting to plan my move. I wanted to move to the city my parents live in, but the housing costs are ridiculous. So now I'm researching the city that my brother lives in, just two hours' drive from my parents. I'm excited to live near my own family and be in a place where no one knows my husband. But I'm already mourning this house and this community and the lifestyle we live here.