Somewhere Before the Exit
A New Route Begins
This piece continues a story that marks the final years of my first marriage. If you’re just joining in, this chapter stands on its own—but this particular road starts with The Spaces In-Between: The Quiet Undoing
If you want to ride with me from the very beginning, start your journey here. It’s a long road of shifting gears and road blocks. You’re going to need snacks and perhaps a little patience. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
In the last Drive Home, I shared how I’d been holding out hope that something might positively shift on its own within my marriage. I finally understood that nothing would. I don’t discount the role I played, but the infidelities weren’t the full story of my marriage.
There was a disconnect from the start.
My husband and I followed the traditional steps: dated for a few years, then got married. But we never sat down to talk about our core values or what we wanted out of life together. We just reacted to each other and kept going. I’m not sure I ever truly stopped to ask myself what I wanted marriage to look like. Like so many others, I assumed that once you said “I do,” you simply adapted and folded yourself into the shape you believed marriage required.
In hindsight, it’s no wonder things eventually gave way. We had no shared map—only instincts and assumptions. And that was barely enough to navigate the calm, let alone the storms we never saw coming.
Speaking of storms… here’s a little fun fact: Hurricane season runs from June through November.
Not that I have a thing for weather patterns—I just couldn’t help noticing the overlap. Because, quite literally, my first marriage radically declined and ended during those exact months. It was its own kind of hurricane season: long stretches of uneasy quiet—the kind that feels like the eye, not the end. Sharp gusts of conflict that came out of nowhere. Shifting forecasts. Cones of uncertainty. And eventually, the landfall that does the real damage.
The damage didn’t hit all at once, but by the time it cleared, nothing looked the same. And pretending otherwise would’ve been like boarding up windows after the house was already gone.
This the beginning of my hurricane season.
After Memorial Day weekend, I was feeling surprisingly good about my life—mostly because of Thomas. My husband had finally passed the Bar (thank God), the kids were easing into summer, work was steady, and my relationship with Thomas had deepened. It might sound strange to group all those things together, especially since one of them was an emotional affair becoming something more.
They were all shaping the same life—mine.