Chapter 43

“You were right when you asked me about whether or not I was smoking,” Brad confessed. “That’s all this is. Nothing more.” He sighed, as if a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders. However, relief didn’t come to me.

“I still don’t understand how this is a thing. Why would smoking even be a temptation for you?” The thought of Brad lighting up made me feel dirty and like a complete fool. “You’ve always been against smoking. You saw what it did to your father, along with his drinking. You swore to me before we ever got married you wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. You even said you wouldn’t be caught dead with one in your hand, so what changed?” I looked at him with sincere curiosity, yet remained confused and unconvinced he’d provided full disclosure.

Brad scratched behind his ear then released an exaggerated sigh, staring at his hands. “I’ve been stressed a lot lately. Demands at work. Not making bills on time. Fretting over whether or not I’ll have a job tomorrow. Then there’s always wondering how I’m going to provide for my family if the job’s not there. It’s all gotten to be a bit too much.” He continued avoiding eye contact, only glancing up briefly, so I couldn’t answer the questions tumbling through my mind. Is this some grandiose excuse, or is he truly sharing his heart for a change? He’s never mentioned having trouble at work or the possibility of losing his job. Is this a genuine concern or just paranoia he’s using to play the victim? I couldn’t tell.

“What started out as one cigarette turned into one more, then one more after that,” he continued. “I truly believed I could stop whenever I wanted. It was only supposed to be a one-time thing. I needed to destress, and Vinnie at work suggested I give it a try, said it really helped him relax. You’ve seen how chill Vinnie is. Nothing else was working for me, so I thought, ‘Why not give it a shot? What could it hurt, right?'” Brad faked a laugh, shaking his head. “I should have never lit up that first time. I’ve regretted it every day since.” Sadness seemed to blanket his emotions. “I never imagined stopping would be so hard, but here we are. Appears nicotine is stronger than I am.” Shame filled his eyes as he studied the floor.

“But that doesn’t explain why you’ve been lying to me about it or keeping me in the dark. I’m your wife, for crying out loud!” I tilted my head, stressing my confusion.

“I didn’t want to weigh you down with my problems,” he answered, finally looking me in the eyes.

I could see the wheels of deceit beginning to spin. Seems distorting the truth to fit your narrative has become a way of life for you, I thought, noting his fidgetiness.

“You have enough on your plate with home schooling Calleigh and keeping up with everything else around the house. I thought this would blow over, so why would I burden you with it?” He made it sound like his behavior placed him on the moral high ground.

“Really? That’s the story you’re going with?” I pressed my lips together, not convinced by his logic. “But why cigarettes? You’ve seen what they’ve done to those closest to you, and you know how the smell makes me physically ill?”

Brad shrugged, uncaring. “It’s not like I planned it. It just happened. A moment of convenience, I suppose. Figured it had to be better than what I was going through.” He shook his head a second time, saddened by his reality. “Yeah. Not so much. Apparently, I underestimated what addictive qualities it would have on me.”

A nagging feeling festered inside my gut. “Why should I believe you? Why should I believe any of this?” I glanced around the room trying to ground myself. “I asked you over and over and over again for the truth, and you looked me straight in the face and lied to me without giving it a second thought. How long have you been keeping this a secret?”

Refusing to look me in the eye, he sighed. “For about a year.” Licking disgrace from his lips, he pressed them together, as if doing so would stop anything else awful from coming out of his mouth.

I bristled. “And all those times when I smelled it on you, and you said I was crazy?”

He nodded. “It wasn’t your imagination.”

“But, you insisted it was. You accused me of making stuff up and acted like I was losing my mind.” I reminded him of his colorful exploits. “Not only that, you demeaned me as a human being and called me mental. Mental, Brad! Who does that? And for what? To see how gullible I was? Or to test me and see how much you could get away with?” Hearing my words hit the air, I felt like the lowest form of stupid, but my stubbornness wouldn’t allow me to back down. “You lied to my face, and you did it without even flinching! You have undermined everything our marriage stands for. Do you realize what that means? That means you have broken a sacred trust, a trust that can’t be unbroken.” I verbally laid out the collateral damage, just in case he couldn’t comprehend the enormity of his actions on his own. “How am I ever supposed to trust you again?”

“But, I’ve come clean with you,” he verbally pushed back. “That has to stand for something.”

I raised my eyebrows, shock flooding over me. “Are you kidding me? You don’t get to act all noble. You didn’t come to me of your own doing. The only reason you’re sitting in front of me right now is because you got caught, and you couldn’t think up more lies to keep covering all the others ones you’ve already told.” I shook my head, repelling his definition of honor. “Don’t go thinking I’m a moron, either. This whole time, I knew something wasn’t right, but I kept giving you the benefit of the doubt, because the person I knew and fell in love with would’ve never allowed me to believe a lie. Our whole marriage was founded on transparency–or at least I thought it was. I don’t even know if that’s true any more.” I released a controlled sigh. “If this conversation is truly about you being honest, though, then I want to know the whole truth,” I added. “I deserve to know the whole truth.”

Brad gave me a sideways glance. “What do you mean?”

“The other women, Brad. I want the real story. Give it to me straight. I wasn’t your first, was I?” I watched as guilt started turning his earlobes pink.

“If we’re being honest, no,” he admitted, resigned to the outcome. “You weren’t my first.”

“So, the deception began before we got married,” I repeated back what I heard. “What about the whole ‘no sex before marriage’ thing? That was one of the first things we discussed the first night we met. Was there any truth to that or was that just bait to get into my pants faster?”

Brad winced at my words but remained unapologetic. “I didn’t exactly lie. I do believe in abstinence.”

I nearly choked on his reply. “Really? But not enough to actually practice what you believe.”

My intolerance dumbfounded him. “For what it’s worth, I’ve never slept with anyone I didn’t love,” he rebutted.

My eyes widened as I let out an incredulous gasp. “There was more than one‽ Oh, my word! You’re telling me you had multiple partners before marrying me, and you didn’t think I needed to know before now?” The rising lump in my throat made it harder and harder to breathe.

“Only two or three,” he refuted my disbelief, “but they weren’t one-night stands, if that’s what you were thinking. They were actual relationships. I’m not a player.”

Dumbfounded, I stood and took several steps away from the couch, before turning to face Brad. “You have no idea what I’m thinking! Do you really believe dating them mattered? It was sex, Brad! Extramarital sex! Something you lead me to believe was not part of your lifestyle.” I shook my head in an attempt to clear the fog descending over my senses. “And, since you brought it up, let me ask another question. Was Amanda one of them?”

Brad hesitated, but nodded slowly, meeting my gaze.

“And you didn’t find it important to tell me about this before we got married.” The revelation sent me for a loop. “She showed up at our rehearsal dinner, for crying out loud! Why didn’t you say something then? Were you afraid our love wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny? Please tell me, what was the logic behind keeping it from me? Did you actually think I’d never find out?”

Brad’s emotions mirrored ice. “There was nothing to tell.”

“Nothing to tell? Nothing to tell? You slept with other women, Brad. How am I even supposed to process this information?” I pressed the palms of my hands against my temples and paced the floor. “That means my decision to be with you was based on lies! Ohhhhh. How could I have been so blind?” I pressed my thumbs into the sides of my forehead, trying to counter the agony inside my brain.

“I wasn’t with those women the same time as you. They have nothing to do with our relationship,” Brad insisted.

“Like hell, they don’t!” I exploded, throwing my arms outward, halfway expecting to shatter the insanity filling the room. “You judge me every time we’re intimate because of having been with them. It’s no wonder I’ve never been good enough for you in there.” I pointed a finger at our bedroom door, trying to keep my hand from shaking. “I’m not Susie, Jane, or Amanda.”

Brad exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. “I’ve never slept with any girl named Susie or Jane,” he deflected.

Confounded by his ignorance or mere lunacy, I blinked back my surprise. “ARE. YOU. SERIOUS? That’s what you’re going to focus on here, that I got their names wrong?” My words dripped with indignation. “Stop trying to derail this conversation and take ownership for once. You know exactly what I meant, whatever their names were!”

Flashes of Amanda’s face lit up my mind. Stunning. Tall. Blonde. The likes of a runway model strutting her stuff across the catwalk during Fashion Week in Milan. Squaring my shoulders, I stared at Brad. “Tell me again why you and Amanda broke up; but, this time, don’t leave out any details. I need to know what was so horrible about her that you couldn’t make it work, because I know it wasn’t her looks.”

Brad fidgeted in his seat, shifting his gaze. “For starters, Mandy had trust issues with men. Her father sexually abused her as a child, so intimacy was an issue for her the entire time we were dating. She would never allow me get close to her; but, at the same time, she was super clingy. What made matters worse was that we fought all the time. We could never agree on anything. She thrived on drama. Me? Not so much.”

I stared for a moment, collecting my thoughts. “So, you’re telling me that Amanda wouldn’t let you get close to her, but you had sex with her? How is that even possible?” I felt my brow furrow.

“That’s not what I said,” Brad objected.

“That’s exactly what you said. Do you not hear yourself when you talk?” I continued staring at him, amazed by the dramatic twist in our conversation. “How do you interpret ‘Yes, I slept with her,’ while in the next breath saying, ‘She would never let me get close’? Did you force yourself on her, too?”

Brad flinched, resentment hardening his chiseled jawline. “Emotionally,” he clarified. “She was an emotional ice queen. Our relationship was never lovey-dovey, but I have never forced myself on anyone.” His right knee began to bounce, revealing his nerves. “I don’t expect you to understand. My relationship with Amanda was complicated, much like yours and mine.”

I shook my head. “Oh, no. There is nothing complicated about our relationship,” I countered. “This relationship is very black and white. I just didn’t realize it until tonight.” Anger pulsed through my veins and throbbed in my temples. I couldn’t believe I had been suckered into all his delusions for so many years. I guess I just saw what I wanted to see and heard what I wanted to hear.

“It’s finally starting to make sense now,” I continued, “all the reasons you’ve given me for not coming home at night. You don’t want a wife and a family. You want a live-in maid and someone you can control.”

“Yeah, right. When has anyone been able to control you?” Brad sneered, projecting his disdain.

“Well, it won’t be you anymore,” I huffed, promptly turning and exiting the room. “Consider your spell on me broken! I’m done being milquetoast.”

“What does that mean?” he called after me.

“You’re a smart guy,” I yelled over my shoulder. “Figure it out.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

A prominent nine-foot silver fir dominated the front platform at the church. A thousand dainty white lights illuminated its presence. Airy white tulle trimmed the branches in swagged layers, regal, shimmering gold bows pronouncing each upswing. Frosted gold bulbs and glittery white snowflakes peppered the visual masterpiece, and a mound of white satin skirted the base like snow. From the top of the tree, a bright golden star twinkled, while the overhead lights in the sanctuary had been dimmed to create a reverent ambiance, just the way I had always envisioned it—an elegant Christmas wedding.

On opposite ends of the platform, a black grand piano and antique organ faced each other, covered with elegant gold candlesticks and long, white, tapered candles, set atop white lace doilies and correlating runners. Additional white tapered candles flickered softly behind clear glass globes on the arms of every other pew down the middle aisle, large, gold bows accentuating the dancing flames.

As I entered the dimly lit room, I floated across a white woven-fabric runner like stepping across cloud nine. A cathedral-length vintage-lace train trailed behind my silk A-line floor-length gown, embellished with sheer-white sleeves and dainty pearl buttons that ran up my spine. A two-inch wide sheer ribbon around my waist topped off the elegance, tied in the back. My hair spilled over my shoulders and down my back in loose ringlets, while also being loosely swept up on the sides. A matching cathedral-length veil and elbow-length satin gloves finished my Victorian appearance. Holding onto Dad’s arm with one hand and a cascading red rose bouquet in the other, I slowly made my way down the center aisle. Nearing the front, Dad leaned over and whispered in my ear, “How long do you think he’ll last?”

Brad stood on the floor, next to the platform, wearing a black tuxedo with notched lapel, matching vest, and polished shoes, swaying gently side to side as we approached. On the platform stood our pastor and three of Brad’s church buddies also wearing black tuxedos, along with two of my best friends and Julia, dressed in long red satin gowns and white elbow-length gloves. Each bridesmaid held a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses, tied together with a thin red satin ribbon. The moment felt like a fairytale, except for Brad visually teetering on the edge of a fainting spell. I could feel more than hear Dad quietly chuckling to himself. “Dad!” I scolded under my breath. “It’s not funny.”

Dad continued to grin as he patted my gloved fingers. “I’ve been in his shoes, Honey. It kind of is.”

I woke from my dream, remembrances of beautiful beginnings shattered by my dark, foreboding reality. Staring at the ceiling in our guest room, a whisper left my lips as a tear trickled down my cheek. “I should’ve never said, ‘I do.’”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Five o’clock rolled around the following evening. I hadn’t heard from Brad all day. Silent treatment again? So mature, but you know this dance. Just keep calm. I picked up my cell phone and began typing. “Hi, Hon! Hope you’ve had a nice day at work. Will you be joining us for supper tonight?” I added a cute li’l smiley face, then hit send.

A few moments later, Brad responded. “Why? You checkin’ up on me?”

Puzzled, I tucked a few loose hairs behind my ear then continued texting. “No. Just wanting to know when to start supper. Will you be joining us tonight?”

“Funny. I’ve never had to report in before,” he answered in return.

I’m not asking you to report in now, I thought. Why are you purposefully trying to pick a fight? I chewed on my lower lip for a moment. “Simply trying to include you in our lives,” I answered.

“Stop trying so hard,” he replied. “You nagging me at work doesn’t make me want to come home.”

I raised an eyebrow, keeping to myself. Apparently, we’re not past last night’s confrontation. I should have known as much. Can’t say I’ve come to terms with everything, either.

“I don’t owe you a blow-by-blow account of my day,” he added. “I’ll let you know when there’s something you need to know. Until then, get off my back.”

The sting of his words caused my eyes to blur, sending a tear trickling down my right cheek. “Fine. Please bring home a gallon of milk. We’re out.”

It didn’t take long before his nastiness ensued. “Do I need to do everything for you? Go get it yourself.”

I broadened my shoulders, and sucked in a deep breath, summoning strength. “And how am I supposed to do that? Our only mode of transportation is sitting in the parking lot at your office.” Heat from my nerves crept up my neck and into my ears, warming my face. “It’s also too far to walk, and it’s approaching 100 degrees outside.”

“Then take a bus,” he countered.

“How? There isn’t a bus stop near our house, and with what money? You haven’t given me access to any of our accounts. How would I pay for it?” I stared at the words on the screen, as if seeing and hearing them for the first time. I never agreed to live under a dictatorship, I thought. When did I start giving my power away? And why do I have to ask permission to use our money? Something isn’t right here.

“Get over yourself,” he ordered. “You’re not a hostage. You may leave whenever you like, but don’t think for one second you’ll be taking Calleigh with you. You will never take my child from me.”

“Excuse me? Who said anything about leaving? Are you wanting a divorce?” My hands began to tremble. Is that what this is all about? You want out of our marriage, but can’t tell me to my face? I wondered.

His words popped up under my text. “Quit being a drama queen. I’ll get the damn milk. Will that make you happy?”

My mouth gaped, and my mind reeled. Do you really believe this is about milk? “No, that will not make me happy,” I answered, “but, yes, please bring home some milk.” Tears dripped from my chin, my knees buckling, causing me to collapse on a nearby kitchen chair. How did we get here?

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Brad lumbered into our bedroom around midnight, bumping furniture in the dark. “Who put that there?” He cursed as he stubbed his toe against the foot of our bed, jarring our mattress.

I jolted to a seated position. “Huh? What? What’s going on? Who’s there?” I rattled off questions while rubbing my eyes and glancing at the clock on the nightstand. “Brad, is that you? What time is it?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry for running into the bed. I can’t see anything in the dark,” he apologized. “It’s late. Go back to sleep.”

I confirmed twelve-thirty on the clock then stared at his silhouette in the moonlight. “You just gettin’ home?”

“Yeah, was tryin’ to get caught up at work so Jasmine will stay off my back. Having a woman for a boss is a nightmare. Always gotta stay in her good graces. It’s like having to avoid PMS all month long.” Plopping himself down on his side of the bed, he began removing his socks.

“I hope she’s paying you overtime,” I responded. “You’ve been putting in a lot of late hours for it not to to be showing up on your paycheck.”

“I wasn’t at the office all night,” he admitted, a weird tone toying with his words.

“Then where have you been?” I laid my head back on my pillow.

“Unwinding.” He tugged at his pants until they fell to the floor, then slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor, as well. Crawling into bed, wearing only his boxers, he felt his way across the mattress and cozied up next to me, starting to gently fondle my breast. “Wanna have some fun?” He breathed heavily in my ear, reeking of alcohol.

“Are you drunk?” I turned my head away from his face, repulsed by the odors.

“Drunk on love,” he played, sliding his hand beneath my panties.

“Brad, stop!” I pressed against his arm, trying to remove his hand from my body. “What’s wrong with you? You don’t speak to me for days, and then you think you can just come in here and sweet talk your way into having sex? It doesn’t work that way.” I struggled to sit up.

Pushing me back against my pillow, Brad rolled over on top of me and pinned my body against the bed, securing my hands above my head. “You’re my wife. You don’t get to tell me no.” His eyes glared at me, reflecting the moonlight streaming in from the window.

I whimpered as his weight pinched my legs. “Brad, you’re hurting me.” Tears trickled down the sides of my face, pooling in my ears. “Please, get off me. I’m not in the mood.” I struggled to breathe.

Brad thrust his groin into me, asserting his dominance, despite not having an erection. “I will not have you, a woman, telling me what I can and cannot do!” he raged. Shoving off my body, he maneuvered his way to the edge of the bed then to a standing position next to me. “I’m done with you. I can get better sex from a whore.” I flinched as he reached over me, snagging his pillow and dragging it across my face. “Enjoy sleeping alone,” he shouted, storming out of the room. “You’re the worst mistake I ever made!”

I rolled onto my side and buried my face in my pillow, saturating the pillowcase with tears. Wrapping my arm around my stomach, I curled up in pain. “It was never supposed to be like this,” I sobbed. “This doesn’t feel like love.”