Status: TLO take 3
The Lucky Ones
Out
I come back to find my bags in front of the door, waiting. The message is pretty obvious, but I feign ignorance, and proceed to open the door and let myself in our apartment.
Sarah is waiting for me in the hallway. She looks angry.
I pretend that I don’t see the look on her face. “I’m home,” I say, forcing a smile on my face.
She doesn’t smile back. “Get out,” she says.
“Honey, I’m…”
“Oh, don’t you ‘honey me.”
“What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head. “Don’t you even try,” she warns, serious.
“Can we talk?”
“You’re a jerk!”
“Now, come on…”
“You cheated. You cheated on me. And everyone knows.”
“So it’s the fact that…” I try to argue, but she doesn’t even let me finish my sentence.
“You’re not even going to go that way,” she seethes, and now I can see the rage in her eyes. “You’re the worst.”
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, trying to dissimulate the anger that is slowly but surely boiling inside my chest. I’m not sure what angers me the most, the fact that she’s right, I guess, or the fact that I didn’t think about the consequences. Or maybe simply the fact that I was caught.
“You’re a jerk.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ve said that already. But you’re not exactly exempt of all faults…”
That’s perhaps the one thing that I should never have said. She whitens, and looks horrified for a moment. “I beg your pardon?” she eventually says in a voice that is strangely calm and composed. She’s truly angry this time, I can tell it. It’s worse when she’s calm than when she’s shouting. “And when exactly did I cheat on you? Because I seem to have forgotten about that episode, then.”
I shake my head. “That’s neither here nor there, Sarah,” I try to argue, even though – really – it is. And I suppose there was nothing I could say for my defense that would make sense. She was right, after all. I had cheated. I was a cheat now. “But hear me out…”
“I don’t want to hear you out.” Her voice is rising now, getting dangerously high-pitched.
“She didn’t mean anything. Just a stupid mistake, and last time I checked, everyone makes mistakes.”
“Just take your things and go, Thomas,” she says, contemptuously. “I’m done with you. This last year, you’ve done nothing but pull crap upon crap on me, and now it’s over. You got your fucking book out, well good for you. And since you’ve now decided that this makes you too good for us, you can leave. We’re done.”
It’s obvious that she is making an effort not to shout, but it is just as obvious that she is extremely angry. She has every intention to kick me out. My wife, apparently, hates me much more than I had thought. It seems that, after all, her patience – which is otherwise known as legendary – has its limits.
I, however, have absolutely no intention to leave. “You can’t draw a line on four years of marriage just like that,” I protest.
“I’m not the one who drew a line on four years of marriage, you are.” Her voice is rising again.
“Think about Katie.” It’s low, and mean, to bring our daughter into this. But I can’t help thinking that Sarah’s instincts as a mother will make her see that a divorce is not the better option. Apparently, I am wrong.
“I am thinking about her,” she screams, “believe me I am. And I think that it’s better for her to have no father at all than a rubbish one like you.”
It knocks the air out of my lungs. I’m willing to admit that I’m a rubbish husband, but I’m not rubbish as a father. That’s something that I refuse to believe. “I’m – I’m not,” I say, and, god, I almost sound like I’m pleading. “I’m not.”
She laughs, and it hurts. “You’re a rubbish person. How could you possibly be good at anything?”
“We need to talk this through,” is my vain attempt to justify myself.
“I don’t want to talk to you. Take your things and just go. I don’t want to see you, ever again.”
“This is ridiculous, you can’t just decide that on a whim, it’s –
“It’s not a whim,” she hisses. “You’re not capable of loving anyone else but yourself. You most certainly never loved me, so maybe you’re right, I’m not exempt of all faults in this. I should have seen it coming, and never have married you in the first place.”
“Now, that’s rubbish!” I shout, and somewhere in the house, Katie wakes up and starts crying. We both ignore her, and after a moment she just stops.
Sarah hesitates a moment, and smiles sadly. “You’re right, that’s rubbish. You love your fucking book and your stupid pathetic story. You’re unable to let go of something that happened to you ten years ago. That’s why I never stood a chance.”
And then she cries, and no matter what just happened, it still breaks my heart.
Sarah is waiting for me in the hallway. She looks angry.
I pretend that I don’t see the look on her face. “I’m home,” I say, forcing a smile on my face.
She doesn’t smile back. “Get out,” she says.
“Honey, I’m…”
“Oh, don’t you ‘honey me.”
“What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head. “Don’t you even try,” she warns, serious.
“Can we talk?”
“You’re a jerk!”
“Now, come on…”
“You cheated. You cheated on me. And everyone knows.”
“So it’s the fact that…” I try to argue, but she doesn’t even let me finish my sentence.
“You’re not even going to go that way,” she seethes, and now I can see the rage in her eyes. “You’re the worst.”
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, trying to dissimulate the anger that is slowly but surely boiling inside my chest. I’m not sure what angers me the most, the fact that she’s right, I guess, or the fact that I didn’t think about the consequences. Or maybe simply the fact that I was caught.
“You’re a jerk.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ve said that already. But you’re not exactly exempt of all faults…”
That’s perhaps the one thing that I should never have said. She whitens, and looks horrified for a moment. “I beg your pardon?” she eventually says in a voice that is strangely calm and composed. She’s truly angry this time, I can tell it. It’s worse when she’s calm than when she’s shouting. “And when exactly did I cheat on you? Because I seem to have forgotten about that episode, then.”
I shake my head. “That’s neither here nor there, Sarah,” I try to argue, even though – really – it is. And I suppose there was nothing I could say for my defense that would make sense. She was right, after all. I had cheated. I was a cheat now. “But hear me out…”
“I don’t want to hear you out.” Her voice is rising now, getting dangerously high-pitched.
“She didn’t mean anything. Just a stupid mistake, and last time I checked, everyone makes mistakes.”
“Just take your things and go, Thomas,” she says, contemptuously. “I’m done with you. This last year, you’ve done nothing but pull crap upon crap on me, and now it’s over. You got your fucking book out, well good for you. And since you’ve now decided that this makes you too good for us, you can leave. We’re done.”
It’s obvious that she is making an effort not to shout, but it is just as obvious that she is extremely angry. She has every intention to kick me out. My wife, apparently, hates me much more than I had thought. It seems that, after all, her patience – which is otherwise known as legendary – has its limits.
I, however, have absolutely no intention to leave. “You can’t draw a line on four years of marriage just like that,” I protest.
“I’m not the one who drew a line on four years of marriage, you are.” Her voice is rising again.
“Think about Katie.” It’s low, and mean, to bring our daughter into this. But I can’t help thinking that Sarah’s instincts as a mother will make her see that a divorce is not the better option. Apparently, I am wrong.
“I am thinking about her,” she screams, “believe me I am. And I think that it’s better for her to have no father at all than a rubbish one like you.”
It knocks the air out of my lungs. I’m willing to admit that I’m a rubbish husband, but I’m not rubbish as a father. That’s something that I refuse to believe. “I’m – I’m not,” I say, and, god, I almost sound like I’m pleading. “I’m not.”
She laughs, and it hurts. “You’re a rubbish person. How could you possibly be good at anything?”
“We need to talk this through,” is my vain attempt to justify myself.
“I don’t want to talk to you. Take your things and just go. I don’t want to see you, ever again.”
“This is ridiculous, you can’t just decide that on a whim, it’s –
“It’s not a whim,” she hisses. “You’re not capable of loving anyone else but yourself. You most certainly never loved me, so maybe you’re right, I’m not exempt of all faults in this. I should have seen it coming, and never have married you in the first place.”
“Now, that’s rubbish!” I shout, and somewhere in the house, Katie wakes up and starts crying. We both ignore her, and after a moment she just stops.
Sarah hesitates a moment, and smiles sadly. “You’re right, that’s rubbish. You love your fucking book and your stupid pathetic story. You’re unable to let go of something that happened to you ten years ago. That’s why I never stood a chance.”
And then she cries, and no matter what just happened, it still breaks my heart.