How did I get here?

You may find yourself...

Here.

And ask yourself, how did I get here?

Simple… college, marriage, kids, beautiful house, work.

Then,

Divorce...

I know for sure my path. It's the same as it ever was. But I look back now and have to sort of chuckle. I knew deep in the darkest part of my ugly intestines that I would end up here. It was the moment I sat on a bench outside my office talking to one of my now, estranged bridesmaids, when I said what do I do?

I can't remember her advice, but I know my stubborn, optimistic, perservering person I am... oh, that's not a real word... ah well, but I did perservere with everything. I knew that I would go forth, even though my brain, my guts said "run."

It was a day or so after my then fiancee didn't come home. That day was normal. We both went to work. Me one direction, him another. But we returned home at normal five thirty, six o clock ish hour and we were standing in our then small, yucky apartment kitchen in the ‘not so nice’ part of our county. Something transpired, a very vague argument. Actually, it all took me by surprise. I remember just having a normal conversation, then it suddenly turned bad, he got mad, and left.

I was so bewildered. I remember the sudden shock feeling. He just up and left. I remember thinking, ‘oh, he'll be right back.’ But I was still questioning, what the heck just happened? He never acts like that. In fact, my gut was screaming, something is not right.

A few weeks before, he had vaguely mentioned that 'some old friends' were coming to town soon and that he wanted to meet out with them in city. I asked to join him... oh, how nice to meet old friends. I don't recall but the conversation just died then. And he never specified the date. That’s just for context…

So back to that night. The bewilderment grew... and the anxiety came in. I was literally just there wandering around in our crappy apartment dumbfounded. I dialed his cell. No answer. And again. The anxiety rose through the next hours. It grew, and grew, and grew like a damn high grade, metastatic tumor of epic proportions. It had to be about 10 or 11 pm. No answer, again and again, even after futile messages of me even begging for a response. Saying, I don’t care if hates me, let me know you are okay.

I couldn't sleep, I could't eat. I was an all out mess. Our wedding was in a month, what does this show a sign of? Who am I marrying? It’s dark, late and rainy and now I'm in the car, and I'm driving to his parents. And that is after calling them asking if they had seen him. I recall asking through tears to my soon to be MIL when I told her he just left, why would he do that? I remember her response, "out of spite?" I didn't even know what that meant. What is spite? Why would he spite me? She was never one of my favorite people.

I drove 30 minutes to his old neighborhood, where his parents lived, just to see if his car was there. Just in case his mother wasn't keen on telling me what the F*** was going on. He wasn't there.

I returned to the small, smelly, overly expensive apartment alone. Crying and crying. Confused and crying. I felt like something happened and I wasn't told what. I called one local hospital. No, no, no sign of a man fitting his description.

The next morning.

I am not sure what time it was... before work for sure... so maybe 7am.

The sun is out already. It's one of the longest days of the year.

He graces me with his presence.

And he's smiling. From ear to ear. I’m so confused. Why is he smiling? My face is sticky, puffy..... I feel like a train hit me. I'm woozy even from just being dehydrated. Unfortunately, not hung over. I am sure I didn't touch a drop of alcohol back then.

I am on the bed, asking, why, what, you scared me, what was the deal, why did you do that, where you been....

He tells me he was just mad and went to the office where he worked to stay the night. I KNOW HE LYING. I can see it all over his face. I know as true to everything in the world he is lying. I tell him so. I say, ‘well, you have to park in the garage if you went to work, where's the parking ticket. ‘ He says he doesn't have it. I tell him, ‘no problem, I'll request one from the garage.; everything is tracked there,’ I say confidently.

The lie changes. ‘No, actually I stayed at my boss's house.’ He and little old, fat, jerk bossy-boy are buds. I say, ‘oh, okay, well then prove it. Call him!’ He knows at this point, I am sleep deprived and ready to cancel a wedding. So, he calls his boss and after a few quick words passes the phone to me where his boss says... ‘oh, yes, Laurel, he stayed here last night.’

While that should have been the biggest relief of my life. While that should have at least removed all the fear of what I knew DEEP down he was really doing, it didn't. I thanked him and clicked the end button of the big bulky cordless phone and rested it back down. I might have taken a breath or two before the phone rang right back.

I grabbed it without hesitation and on the line was fat scum boss's wife. Her tone was that of empathy... ‘Laurel, dear, I couldn't help overhear that call. I just wanted to set this straight. Your fiancee did not stay here last night. I'm sorry...’

I called in sick to work. And how sick I felt seeing his disgusting, lying, grinning face in front of me. I don't remember what else happened. I just knew that that should have have been the moment I said we were over.