Back to Life Series Box Set

by Danielle Allen

  “Dr. Diaz has been here for three years and over this time, I’ve felt like you and I have become friends. I should’ve told you. I should’ve. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted. I need to leave,” I murmured before taking a step back. “Thank you and take care of yourself.”

  Turning sharply, I almost ran into an incoming patient and two well-behaved toddlers teetering behind him. I maneuvered around an exiting family of six before storming out of the building with my head held high.

  I am strong.

  I am courageous.

  With each step toward my blue, mid-sized sedan, I reminded myself of why I would survive the emptiness inside of my chest.

  I am a good person.

  I am a good wife.

  As I grew closer to my car, I reminded myself of why I would overcome the hurt that seemed to radiate through my body.

  I am beautiful.

  I am worthy.

  As I hit the unlock button on my keychain and pulled the car door open, I reminded myself that his cheating was not a reflection on me, but rather a reflection of him.

  I am angry.

  I am hurt.

  As I revved my engine and pulled out of the parking lot, the first and only tear made a slow, taunting descent down my face. I swiped it away and drove a little faster. Anger kept me from crying, even though my heart was shattered. Rage kept the tears at bay because he lied to me repeatedly. Hurt numbed me because I believed him and I believed in him. Disappointment crushed me because I trusted him. I’d never felt so betrayed in my life and irrevocable damage had been done.

  Our three-year anniversary was on New Year’s Eve—a few days ago. I spent three years honoring and supporting my husband while he disrespected me. I spent three years being a loyal wife to someone who wasn’t being loyal to me. There was a lot I could take and a lot I tolerated because that was the nature of marriage. But the only thing that could’ve broken what we had was cheating. The only thing that could’ve ended us was cheating.

  And he cheated.

  So it was over.

  It was definitely over.

  Chapter 2

  Thursday, January 12th – 5:51 p.m.

  “I’ve handled the contracts and I’ve rescheduled Friday’s meeting for Tuesday. Thank you for taking care of the studio, Abby. I’ll be back Monday, but if anyone asks, I’m—”

  “On vacation. I know,” Abigail cut in, finishing my sentence. “You deserve a break and now that the hormones are in you, I’m sure you and Anthony are busy.” She giggled.

  I didn’t have it in me to pretend. So I didn’t.

  I stared at the starless sky, void of any light, and I identified with it. My eyes watered, but I held it together as the awkwardness hung in the air. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know the situation. But I didn’t have it in me to smooth it over for her, to make things comfortable for her—or anyone else for that matter.

  Which is why I needed this alone time.

  “My mother will handle Saturday, so you can still be off.”

  “Oh wow, thanks Em, for everything. It means so much to me that you trust me to handle things here. I know Studio E is your baby.”

  We said our goodbyes and as I hit the button to disconnect the call, I thought about powering my phone off again. But one look at the total number of voicemails I’d received and I knew I needed to listen.

  For seven days, I hid out in a luxury hotel in downtown Atlanta. I dined on room service and tears as I tried to make sense of what had happened to my marriage. After I checked in, I’d called my support system—Mom and Dad, Manny, Sahara, and Monique—to let them know that I was going to be off the grid for a while and then I powered my phone off.

  Mom and Dad assumed it was to recover from surgery and my hormone shots. Manny assumed it was because I’d been working so hard on the winter recitals, followed by an active Christmas, and celebrated my wedding anniversary, all while recovering from surgery. But Sahara and Monique were not fooled.

  Monique Owens and I had been friends since freshmen year of college. But after Sahara disappeared, Monique became my surrogate best friend.

  In the thirteen years we’d known each other, she never failed to sense when something was off with my energy. She would make a joke, but she wouldn’t pry. She would just talk me into a good mood and then tell me she would be there for me when I felt like opening up.

  Sahara was my sister. Even for the years she dealt with the accident by pushing everyone away, she was still my sister. Almost a full decade apart couldn’t break our bond—and even if I wanted to, our parents would’ve never allowed it. Sahara knew me better than anyone and even though I used the good mood Monique put me in, she was not fooled.

  “What’s wrong?” Sahara had said with urgency in her tone.

  Ignoring her question, I made a request. “Put the phone to your belly so the babies can start learning my voice and referring to me as Auntie Em.”

  She giggled. “I don’t want them calling you Auntie Em like from The Wizard of Oz. What about Aunt Emily or just Emily—”

  “We are more than best friends. We grew up together. We’re sisters. I will not be reduced to just anything!”

  “Auntie Em in the movie did have grey eyes…” She considered before adding, “And grey hair and she hated the sound of laughter and joy so…”

  Hmmm. I forgot about that.

  “We’ll figure another name out. They won’t be here until June. I have time.”

  “Yes. We have time. So what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  “Okay… I get that. But I’m worried. You sound off. Where’s Anthony?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know and I wish I didn’t care. I packed a bag and told him it was over. He wanted me to wait around until he got back from work, but I just needed time and space to think.” I’d fought back tears as I told my best friend the heartbreaking truth about the man I married. “He asked me to just think about it before making any rash decisions. I told him again, it was over. I was out. It was done. After I hung up, I wrote a note letting him know that we weren’t ever getting back together and I left my rings there. I let the drugging thing slide and I shouldn’t have. I should’ve trusted my gut. I should’ve left sooner. But to answer your question, he’s probably with that bitch from work.”

  “Oh shit…”

  We were both quiet for a minute.

  “I’m sorry. You deserve better than what he gave you. You deserve more than what you got. Whatever you decide to do, I’ll support you. But fuck him. Seriously. And you know that if you take him back, I’ll smile in his face as long as you need me to… But fuck him.”

  She’d stopped speaking and sounded like she was choking back tears—which only made it harder for me to keep my own at bay.

  With a smile, I’d swiped at my eyes. “Thanks.”

  “Do you want to talk about how you’re feeling now or do you want to wait until I get there tomorrow? I just pulled up the flight information. I have a meeting tomorrow and then I could clear the rest of my schedule. With the early afternoon flight, I could be there in two hours. We could have dinner and drinks by tomorrow night.”

  I laughed weepily. “No, I’m fine. Well, I’m not fine, but I need to be by myself. I need the solitude to think things through before I can even attempt to process it. And you’re pregnant with triplets; you don’t need to be flying around. You need to keep my little ones safe. But thank you for thinking about coming. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. I’m serious though, Em. I’m this close to hitting submit and buying this ticket. I just want to be there for you. The babies and I will be fine. Doctor said all three of them have strong heartbeats so flying shouldn’t be a problem. Right now anyway. Have you talked to your parents? Have you talked to…” She lowered her voice. “Emanuel?”

  “No one knows what happened, but you. If anyone asks you, please keep it quiet. I need some time to think. I want
to talk to Anthony and tell him my decision before I tell the family.”

  “Well, you know I won’t say anything. And if you don’t want me to come tomorrow, I’ll respect your space since you respected mine when I asked you to. But, understand that I know that I was being idiotic. The last thing I needed to do was distance myself from you.”

  “That sounds so familiar. I think I read that before in an email,” I had joked, trying to keep the conversation from getting too heavy. I needed to keep it together.

  Sahara’s laugh was throaty and deep. “My best friend may have told me that a time or two while I was in the midst of my hiatus. And three years of therapy helped.” She paused until all of the lingering laughter vanished. “Em, I was hurting. I was not in a good headspace and I needed help. I wallowed in my pain until it consumed me. I know you’re hurting. I know you’re feeling the pain of it all. And that’s okay. He hurt you and you did nothing to deserve it so of course you’re hurting. If you need a few days, take a few days. But know that I’m not going to let you wallow in your hurt. I’m not going to let that happen to you. I won’t let you drown in your pain. I won’t let you stop living your life.” Her voice hitched as she openly wept on the other end of the phone. “It’s okay to not be strong all the time. It’s okay to breakdown.”

  The tears had poured down my cheeks as soon as the words left her mouth. Without knowing it, Sahara had said exactly what I didn’t know I needed to hear. We’d hung up the phone moments later and I sobbed.

  I felt safe to let the hurt wash over me. I felt safe to let the pain grip me. I felt safe because I knew there would be someone who understood. Even with the circumstances being completely different, I knew Sahara got my pain. She didn’t understand exactly what I’d gone through because the type of pain and the type of loss and the type of wound that betrayal inflicts is unlike anything else. But she knew pain and she knew hurt and she knew not to let me lose myself in it. From that moment forward, the tears leak from my eyes like a faucet.

  For an entire week, I let it out. When I woke up on the seventh day, I was able to separate myself from the hurt long enough to look at the situation for what it was. My options were to either go back to my lying, cheating husband, choosing to believe he wouldn’t hurt me again or move forward with my decision to file for divorce and start over.

  In theory, it was a no brainer. I always said I’d leave if my husband cheated. I’d left boyfriends for a lot less. But in actuality, when faced with the gravity of ending my marriage, it was a heartbreaking choice to make. Leaving a man who was lying, cheating, drugging, and manipulating me wasn’t a difficult decision, but mentally preparing for the fallout of divorce was emotionally draining.

  In the hotel room, I didn’t have to deal with the hurt; I could just exist in it. Hidden away where no one could find me, I didn’t have to be anything but what I was. And in the freedom of that space, I was able to be sure of the fate of my marriage.

  Once I felt confident in what I was going to do, I’d spent my entire day crying as I came to terms with my decision. I was heartbroken and in a state of misery. But as I stared at the twenty-seven voicemail messages waiting to be played, I knew it was time to get back to reality.

  Listening to the messages from my friends and family first, I only returned my parents’ call. I sent text messages to my brother and my friends. The remaining fourteen messages were from Anthony. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply as I prepared to listen to the collection of voicemails I’d gotten over the last week. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sat on the edge of the bed and braced myself for the bullshit.

  “I’m sorry. Please, come home. I made a mistake,” Anthony begged. His voice broke as if he were on the brink of tears. “I’m holding your ring in my hand and it is killing me that you aren’t here and that you aren’t wearing your wedding rings. I’m sorry, Em. I’m so sorry. It was a one-time mistake that won’t ever happen again. Please. Just come home. Please. I don’t know where you are and I’m worried. You can’t just leave a note saying our marriage is over and you’ll be back without leaving a way for me to contact you. Please, Emily. I’m sorry. I’ve learned my lesson. Please.”

  Lying to me while you’re begging for forgiveness really drives home the sincerity. Idiot.

  Delete.

  “Mi amor. Mi sol. Mi vida.” Anthony’s Spanish accent was thickest when he’d been drinking. “It was one-time. Una vez. Please. Perdóname. Please. Please forgive me. Por favor. Te amo. Te amo, mi amor. Eres mi todo.”

  Under normal circumstances, I melted when he called me his love, his sun, and his life. I used to swoon when he’d say ‘I love you, my love’ in Spanish. My heart skipped a beat each and every time he would tell me that I was his everything in Spanish. His accent was always so sexy to me. But, as I heard him drunkenly beg me to forgive him, I had the visual image of him kissing me and telling me he loved me before heading to work to fuck the nurses and I felt numb.

  If I was your everything, why would you jeopardize our relationship and your job for random fucks with the nurses at work? What type of man does that? Delete, I thought angrily as I deleted the message.

  “I love you, Emily.” His voice was low, crisp and professional as if he were calling from his office. “I know you told me that cheating was the ultimate deal breaker, but I’m hoping you will forgive me since it was only the one time. You can’t just do this. You can’t just leave me. Don’t mess this up over something so small. We all make mistakes. You make mistakes too. Come home and talk to me. Let me explain. Let me apologize. Let me make this up to you. I ordered something for you so you’ll know how sorry I am. Just call me back. Please. We can work this out. You’re my wife! I need you to come back to me. I love you. I’m sorry.”

  I’m your wife? You’re reminding me that I’m your wife? After fucking at least two, but more than likely several different women at your job, you have the audacity to remind me that I’m your wife? Get the fuck out of here. De-fucking-lete!

  I rolled my watery eyes as I deleted message after message of lengthy pseudo-apologies for his “one-time” transgression against the marriage. There was no remorse in his apology and he sounded almost condescending as he offered excuse after excuse. I knew he had no idea I’d found out the truth; however, if he was trying to be open and honest, he would’ve confessed to everything. I was already hurt so there was no reason for him to keep the lie going. But he did—which told me everything I needed to know about his character.

  With the maximum being three messages, he’d left at least one message a day every day that I was gone. But after the first few days, the messages took a marked turn.

  “You need to get over this…”

  I need to just get over the fact that you lied and cheated. Repeatedly.

  Delete.

  “What type of wife gets this mad over this one indiscretion? Unconditional love means that there are no conditions. What happened to unconditional love, Emily? You’re acting like I’ve never done anything for you. You’re acting like this one thing, this one time, defines me. This doesn’t define me. Don’t be like this. You’re so unforgiving…”

  I’m unforgiving? I’m unforgiving because I didn’t forgive you for your numerous infidelities? I rolled my eyes. Right.

  Delete.

  “Emily, you know how it is. I’m a successful man. Temptation is always there and sometimes things happen. I was weak. I allowed myself to get caught up this one time. But don’t be crazy. This is no reason for you to completely abandon the marriage. I’m good to you. I support you, I’m there for you. You act like I’m not a good husband because of this one thing. I’m a good man and I take good care of you. Why can’t you just let this go so we can move forward?”

  Unfaithful, unapologetic and unbelievable. Great. Was that supposed to sway me to forgive him? Has he lost his mind? I mean seriously, what the hell?

  Delete.

  “You’ve been in so much pain lately. Between the surgery and your legs, yo
u were in pain and I was weak. I made a mistake. I fucked up, Emily. I get it. But what am I supposed to do when my wife is unable to walk and is in pain at random? What am I supposed to do when my wife spends weeks in recovery from surgery? What am I supposed to do with that, Em? I said I was sorry. But you have to admit, I’ve been under a lot of pressure. I’ve been stressed at work and I needed some relief. And I couldn’t get it from you since you were recovering. Just…come home. Come back, put your rings back on, and let’s move on from this. How long are you going to be mad about this? It’s time to get over it.”

  Who is this? I looked at my phone with my mouth agape. I couldn’t believe that the sweet man that I married had not only revealed himself to be a liar, cheater, and manipulator, but he was actually trying to make himself the victim.

  I was fuming.

  Who the fuck do you think you are, Anthony? My medical issues? My medical issues?! You met me at the hospital as I was getting the rods in my legs checked on. You inserted yourself into my medical issues from day one. You knew what the situation was when we met so you knew what you signed up for! And this most recent surgery was your idea! I spent weeks recovering from a surgery that I didn’t even want to fucking do! And now you want to throw it in my face? Oh my God! Who is this man?

  I deleted the message with so much force that I was surprised the glass on my cell phone screen didn’t crack.

  My hands shook with the rage that billowed through me. I’d been hurt. I’d been betrayed. I’d been disappointed. I’d been completely blindsided with heartbreak by the man who vowed to love, honor, and protect me until death. Instead of getting remorse, honesty, and heartfelt regret, I was getting condescension, blame, pettiness, and lies.

  Tears leaked from my eyes, but I wasn’t sad. I was gutted. While the wounds of betrayal were deep, his dismissive and cruel response to hurting me filled the wounds with salt. I didn’t know if I could take much more, but with a deep breath, I listened anyway.