I found out what was wrong with me. I saw the signs, but ignored them. I should have paid attention, but maybe something was wrong from the beginning. I was pregnant, and now I'm not. The defective womb has struck again, and as always, it was devastating.
It happened yesterday. I spent the day hard at work--cleaning, and doing as much penance as I could. I didn't feel right, had progressive abdominal pain. I had been late--very late, and thought that this was the long overdue monthly visit that I have been waiting for. I have always been late, ever since I was a teenager, but this time was different. But, I took a test, right? Well, the test was wrong. By the time I reached T's house after grinning and bearing the pain the entire time I was with Derek, I collapsed. T picked me up and brought me to the hospital.
Seven weeks along. Yeah, that was a week before Labor Day--that first thrilling, unplanned moment with T. The child from that unbridled moment of passion is gone. Perhaps stress was the cause, but more likely it is what it always was--my inadequacy as a woman. I can't even blame it on P this time. The fault is all mine.
Some might say that this was a blessing in disguise, but I do not see it that way. I would have endured all the ridicule and exposure from the affair to everyone in the world, if I could just have our baby back. I would have wanted this precious child, no matter what. I am truly heartbroken.
I didn't tell P about it--just crawled over there with a forced smile on my face as P was walking out for work at six this morning. Once I took care of Derek, and he left for school, the house was empty. I had no energy from a terrible night's sleep. I felt like I was about to collapse, until I fell into the master bed and rested in order to store up strength for the rest of the day. Once Derek walked in the door from an exciting day of school, I was the Mommy that he expected. I played the perfect part.
When P came home, I made an attempt to address our situation, but he cut me off immediately. He ate dinner in the guestroom/office, after telling Derek that he had a lot of "homework" to do. Once Derek was in bed, I tried again, but he told me to get lost. But, I will not give up. I will attempt this over and aver again. If I have to grovel, I will. I will do marriage counseling...anything.
Unfortunately, when I returned to T's house I took my frustration out on him. As he sat there trying to eat a late dinner, I blamed him for everything under the sun--the affair, the crumbling of my marriage, and most of all, the miscarriage. I said that he must have been relieved that this happened because it got him off the hook. It wasn't true, and I knew it, but it didn't stop me from saying it. I insulted him in so many hurtful ways--can't believe the words that came out of my mouth. He sat there and took it, and when I was done, instead of defending himself or fighting back, he walked out.
Instantly, I regretted my cancerous words, but he was already gone. He did not answer his cell phone when I called. I left him message after message, and I am distraught and worried about him. What have I done? I chased away my best friend, and there is no shoulder left to cry on. I am alone with my thoughts of despair.
So, here I sit, waiting for T to return from wherever he went. He can't stay out forever--I hope. Maybe he'll just return tomorrow while I am gone--I don't know. Or maybe he will hear my messages asking for forgiveness and come home. Nevertheless, I plan on waiting in a place where he cannot avoid me.
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