Ignoring My Better Judgment
Part Two: The Quiet Undoing
As I began writing this part of my journey, I realized just how much there is to unpack. We moved to Orlando in the summer of 2009, and although opportunities presented themselves, I remained faithful for over four years—a personal best in our marriage. I was genuinely trying to turn things around, focusing on my own growth and hoping it might somehow carry us both. But my husband didn’t make it easy. In time, things between us unraveled. Looking back now, I can see how naïve it was to think our marriage would survive.
The infamous drunken 2010 holiday disaster may have dulled my husband’s appetite for socializing, but it didn’t wipe it out completely. His internship handed him a fresh batch of friends and plenty of excuses for the occasional happy hour. The next incident came when I watched him spill out of a car and stumble through the door. When I asked who had driven him home, he shrugged. He didn’t know. I found out the next day that some random stranger had taken pity on him and offered him a ride. I wondered at the time if he felt even the tiniest bit of shame.
Outside influences crept into our lives, like my brother-in-law moving in when he needed a place to stay. What was supposed to be a six-week arrangement turned into a full year of him living under our roof. And while he mostly kept to himself, he was still taking up what little space we had in our cramped three-bedroom home. Four months in, he also seemed to think that staying with us came free of charge. Rather than confront him directly, and knowing my husband wouldn’t, I took the easier route and called my mother-in-law. I knew how to get things moving and so did she. Not long after, rent money started showing up.
Between attending classes on campus and online, life was finally starting to feel… good. It had been a long time since I felt even a flicker of happiness for myself. Somewhere in the middle of that, I got an email from Finn—the chef from my first affair.