Return to Sender

Nobody ever gets married and looks excitedly toward their divorce. You fall in love, you marry, and you plan a future together, because that’s how it’s supposed to work. That’s what everyone tells you is supposed to happen.

For us, it started with a car. But, not really a car, because like so many things, the car was really just a symbol.

Weeks ago, my husband said he wanted to look at a car. I OK’d it, because I thought we had talked and agreed that we had significant expenses coming up, what with a baby and we have to find a new apartment, and we’re selling our old house. Too many expenses, I said, to go buying a car that we don’t really need because we live within walking distance of the city and major transport. He agreed. Or so I thought.

He looked at the car.

He liked the car.

It reminded him so much of the old car we used to have.

I said that I understood, but there would always be other cars. And besides, he hadn’t paid the mortgage on our old house for 3 months. I had trusted him to do it, but he hadn’t. I had finally figured it all out, and gotten in touch with the mortgage company to ensure we didn’t go into foreclosure. I told him, without judgment, that while that incident was upsetting, we needed to focus our priorities on our expenses. Get our debts settled, first, then look to things like cars and trips.

I got a call from his mother. Then an email. Did I not understand that a car was a NECESSITY?! But they’re not, I tried to explain through rapidly rising blood pressure, when you don’t have the money for one. His mom wanted to help pay for it… but I told her we had a TON of other expenses, and by the way: I’m the only one taking care of the finances now, AND I’m 7 months pregnant, AND we have to find a new place to live. I didn’t have bandwidth for a FUCKING CAR….

She had already sent him the money.

He had already used it to buy a car. Behind my back. Without going over the pros and cons.

I nearly had a meltdown. I sent a text to Special K, crying and trying to keep it together at work. I begged to meet him just after 5PM, and he did. We talked. We came up with a plan of approach for how to deal with this. Maybe talk to an accountant? Someone else who could show my husband that this was a poor financial decision, and how all the stress wasn’t good for me or the baby. But, when I got home, my husband said he had “put his foot down on the matter.”

Which, by the way, is the WRONG FUCKING THING TO SAY TO A DOMME. Fuck you, this isn’t 1953!

It was that last line that started the contractions. They were light and erratic, but at 7 months, I don’t really feel like taking a fucking chance on a 2lb baby. We put our son to bed, and I told husband to stay with him; I would hail a cab and high-tail it to the hospital. He said, “Ok. Let me know how you are…”

I made it to the hospital, where they were able to verify that everything was ok. The baby was fine, and my blood pressure was lowering. Whatever it was, I was ok now. I sent husband a text.

Nothing.

I updated him as I began seeing other doctors and they verified my medical history.

Nothing.

My Dominant (“R”) sent me a text to see how my night was going. I updated him. He stayed up and talked to me through the entire process, sending me jokes and making me laugh and calming me down.

I updated the husband.

Nothing.

The doctor came back in and told me I was ok, baby was fine, and I was free to go home. They would call a cab for me. “R” told me to text him the minute I got home, so he knew I was ok.

Husband was asleep, in bed. He had turned off his ringer, plugged in his phone, and gone to sleep after I had left.

The next day, I was talking to R on my way to work.

“Thank you for staying up.”

“Not a problem,” he says.

“Actually, there is a problem.”

“Oh?” he asks, in his very reserved manner.

“Those things you said, the care you took of me, even though we’re long distance… it should have been my husband saying those things and taking care of me.”

“Yes,” says R, “it should have been.”

Special K was livid when he found out.

“Does your husband not understand that his son could have died last night? That you could have had a premature baby, and, best case scenario, you would have been alone all night, until he woke up?? Where are you right now?! I’m coming to pick you up, and you’re going home to bed!”

And there you have it, class of 2014. Two men in my life, who I’ve known for less than a year, cared more for me and my welfare than the man I married… who went to sleep because, well, “it’ll all be ok.”

“It’ll all be ok,” is how he tried to placate me into buying the car, with tens of thousands of dollars of debt over our heads. I asked him “how?!” and he didn’t have a plan. “It’ll all be ok,” is why he didn’t stay up to make sure his pregnant wife was alright. Because, why wouldn’t I be?

After nearly 10 years of being together, I stood in shock as I told Special K that I was alright. I calmed HIM down, and I realised…

There are men like this out there.

Yes, Disney is full of shit, and maybe marriage isn’t for everyone… but I deserve better than someone who can’t be bothered to check in on his pregnant wife. I deserve more, and so do my sons. Even if “more” is just me as a single mother. I told him I want a separation, and so far, he’s agreed. We can’t afford to live apart for a while, and I think it’s best to stay physically together since we have a baby coming and our son loves his father. But my husband’s mother raised a selfish child, and no matter how hard I’ve worked in therapy and trying out techniques with him, at the end of the day, it’s all been one-sided. He’s like a parcel that wasn’t quite what I wanted. His mother can keep him; return to sender.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s