Easing into the Merge Lane
Part Four: The Quiet Undoing
“Life is a long preparation for something that never happens.”
That quote has been sitting with me for a while now. It’s attributed to W.B. Yeats, and when I stumbled across it a couple of months ago, it resonated. Somehow, it made me think about when I reached the twenty-year mark in my first marriage, realizing I was inching closer and closer to the edge of something. I knew the tides were turning.
Yes, there was infidelity.
Yes, the disconnect between us had grown massive.
And yes, I did what I could to hold it together.
When I asked ChatGPT about the quote (because of course I did), she described it as carrying “a mix of wistful reflection and quiet disillusionment.” And that felt exactly right for my situation. It touched something I haven’t quite been able to explain—not yet, anyway.
Maybe by the end of this story, I’ll have the words.
The weekend at Simone’s in November of 2013 became a turning point that I hadn’t prepared myself for. After two decades with my husband, the road behind us had been anything but smooth. I’d had nearly a dozen affairs—something I don’t say lightly. As for his track record, I only knew of one for sure, and that’s because I was responsible for paying his child support. If I had to though, I could name at least five women he spent a suspicious amount of time with.
My new job was going well, which helped ease the stress at home, where my dissatisfaction was continuing to simmer. He stayed home most days, supposedly studying, and to his credit, he was taking care of the kids. The holidays were upon us and, with income finally coming in, the atmosphere felt lighter. I made our money stretch as far as I could, but there still wasn’t enough for a second car. That meant I had to rely on someone else to get me to work every day. I didn’t complain—much. Even on the mornings she made us both late. Even when she showed up early, annoyed and letting frustration settle into her voice when she said, “Good morning.”
My official introduction to Thomas had opened the door to small exchanges through comments on Facebook posts. Each time he responded, I lit up like a schoolgirl who’d just been passed a note in class. Still, I never made any effort to reach out directly. I watched his posts quietly, curious about what his life really looked like, but kept those thoughts to myself. I feigned casual interest whenever Simone mentioned him—which was a lot.