so, you came and invaded my life a little, eh? and want to complain to him, whine and fuss and get angry when i come at you? funny, “an affair” you call it, in quotes. as if its not, really. you really are a disgusting sort. this is what i think and feel about your filthy presence in the apartment that is still leased in my name, filled with my things.
yeah, so you fucked another woman’s husband in the house she used to share with him. sleeping on sheets she purchased, under the blanket stained with blood from the birth of their daughter. under the comforter his mother bought as a wedding present.
did it feel good to walk through the rooms of my former home? see my things hanging on the walls? the clocks i bought, the microwave that my friends bought me as a wedding gift? the stainless steel trash can in the kitchen, the last thing i bought before taking maternity leave with L. the candles in the bathroom, the picture in the bathroom, the calender in the bathroom. where my nail polish and lip balm still sit on the counters. in the shower with the bath poofs i bought and used on my skin, the soaps i bought. did you cook food on my cast iron skillets? the ones i bought from that store across the street? did you see my jars of spices and herbs in the cupboards, labeled in my handwriting? next to my teas, my cookbooks and recipes? did you put your mouth on my wine glasses? the glasses i bought, just like i bought the coffee mugs and silverware and spatulas and spice racks and wooden spoons? did you eat off of my dishes, the ones my mother gave to me as a birthday gift years ago?
did you enjoy sneaking around, hiding and skulking like a dog as i worked across the street? sitting in the living room littered with my daughter’s toys? the things hanging on the walls there, i bought them all. the green birds on bark paper, that was a gift i bought for him years ago. the cloth picture, a find at a yard sale for $1. that branch, hanging above the clock in the living room? that was a souvenir from our honeymoon. found on a beach in key west.
i hope you felt my presence on your skin, all around the edges of everything you did and said. i hope it was as heavy and palpable as the sinking feeling in your heart right now. all your whining and complaining. the disappointment just waiting for you. rejection, it aint fun.
at first i was furious at the notion that you would move out here. but as i thought about it, i laughed. go ahead. do it. i wish you would. i’d love to see you destroy your life by uprooting it and moving to fucking oregon. what a joke. what a joke. living here would kill you. you’d hate it.
mostly, i’m baffled. i dont really understand how another mother could take part in destroying a family, how she could move with no conscience into another woman’s life. how she could plan a “vacation” days away from the birth of a baby. how she could feel okay about the man she is fucking canceling midwife appointments and changing birth plans so he can get a little pussy.
is it because i’m white? you think my blonde hair means i’m not entitled to respect, or dignity? or to a man with mexican blood? maybe you should tell that to his white mother, a woman as pale and blonde as i am. maybe you should tell that to his daughters.
perhaps i should just be sorry for you, instead of angry. sorry that you are so flawed and broken you are willing to toss everything, including your own children, at someone so destructive. someone you scarcely know. move to a place you’ve barely seen, take your daughter away from her father, your children away from their family and the only home they’ve ever know, to move to some dreary, rainy place so you can get a little dick.
i pity you.
