The Drive Home is an intimate look at my life—marriage, identity, regret, and the slow work of becoming. It’s where I write the things I once thought I’d keep to myself. This article continues a story that marks the final days of my first marriage. This particular road starts here.
If you’d like to follow the story from the beginning, you can start here. Some parts of this story are deeply personal and occasionally uncomfortable. I’ve chosen honesty over discretion.
Thomas and I had only seen each other twice since meeting nearly a year earlier; but something between us had grown deeper through our daily conversations. We were creating a genuine bond that had been absent in our respective marriages. He knew more about me in the six months we’d been talking than my husband did in twenty-one years. This wasn’t due a lack of my trying with my husband—repeatedly. I honestly don’t believe my he had any interest in me outside of being a mother to our children and ensuring bills were paid.
Having been invited to dinner by Simone over the past weekend—along with Thomas and his wife—had us gathered around the same table pretending this was all casual. But what I felt for Thomas was anything but casual. This is no doubt why I took my time driving those two hours back home. I had a lot of thinking to do.
The interesting thing about us was that he and I never discussed getting divorced or mentioned a future together. Even if the love felt real, my world didn’t revolve around him and he was navigating through his own life. There was a quiet contentment in simply being ourselves; in saying out loud what we wanted without being corrected or minimized. We encouraged each other and made space to exist without someone managing our feelings.
When I arrived home, a sense of gloom settled over me as I walked through the door. Although I loved being around my my kids, I was indifferent toward my husband. It wasn’t anything he said or did, but the fact that he was simply there felt disappointing. I pretended I was happy to be back, the way I always did.
During the next week, I kept to myself after the kids went to bed. I didn’t really have to avoid conversation with my husband since he usually sat in front of the TV, either playing video games or watching the news—but always drinking. I waited until he went to bed before heading to my daughter’s room to sleep. It was usually empty since she preferred sleeping in her brothers’ room rather than alone. Her room was decorated in pinks, and I felt lighter just being in there. On the wall, just over the bed, hung a canvas I had painted of flowers. It always made me happy to see it. I preferred her room way more than my own.
The following week, Gaia let me know she’d be in town a couple of nights, asking if I wanted to get together. She was the only one I could easily talk to about Thomas and my marriage, so I genuinely looked forward to seeing her. When I shared my plans with Thomas, he came up with an idea of traveling to see me, staying in the same hotel as Gaia for a night. Given I usually stayed with her anyway, telling my husband I’d be out for the night was easy.
Gaia was okay with the ruse, but I knew she wanted it to be just us. Since he would only be there the first night, plans were made for her to meet Thomas and we’d go to dinner. I didn’t feel like I was imposing given it wasn’t unusual for her to leaving me behind for a guy, or include him in our plans. This time, it was me.
I met Gaia in her hotel room and we hung out until Thomas arrived. When I left to meet him at check-in, she headed down to the lobby bar to wait. We went up to the room to drop off our bags before heading down to the lobby. I was normally comfortable around him, but this would be the first time we’d spend the night together; and only the third time we’d had sex—a natural assumption. I’m not sure why, but I felt nervous. If he did, it didn’t show. When he met Gaia, his confidence was fully intact. He appeared charming, relaxed, and completely at ease.
