It’s a funny (hahahaha) thing. But in the aftermath of an affair, no matter how remorseful, how truthful, how helpful, how open a cheater is, the person who was cheated on (I hate all the words for us “poor saps” none of them do us a whole lot of justice) will never know all of what happened during an affair. Between your love and someone who is utter scum.
That is just how life is.
No one can keep track of the minutiae of another’s life. It is just not possible.
But that didn’t matter in the days prior to the Tearing. I trusted him. I had an idea of how his days went for nineteen years, I worked shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Hell, I was there for most of those minutes! But even when I got an off-farm job, and we were doing “life” like so many other two income families, I thought I knew how his day went.
Out to shift/feed/check animals. Put up electric fences in the autumn/winter/early spring (about a four hour job on our hill country.) Feed out. Check for electric fence shorts, solve any issues. Check water supply. Solve issues – hell there are some big issues on this property – a water wheel does the back third of our 1200 acres. and it needs watching, greasing and repairing – even rebuilding – often. We haven’t been here eight years yet and we have completely rebuilt it three times. It is awesome, using the power of water to pump pristine spring water up a 150 metre hill to a series of holding tanks, to water approximately 500 head of cattle. But it works hard, clean, green … and expensive to fix! (Although we now have a neighbour’s son, who is an engineer, on the case – he’s fantastic and has re-designed the whole system for us, at a very reasonable rate – thanks Cam!) In summer, a lot of weed control (this property was a deceased estate – a real doer-upper.) There is always something. He works twelve-fourteen hour days. Seven days a week. Always has.
I digress. I’m good like that.
The thing is, I am now five years, four months and two days post D-day. And last week, I found out two things I never knew. TOIL was very quickly aware that truth was ESSENTIAL to any chance of recovery, and he was really great about answering questions – knowing that I was walking if he didn’t answer. We did talk about how much information is too much, and I explained, that for me, there was no such thing. He even shared some intimate details without me doing any prompting (about an improvised “sex toy” he used one day on her.) I know it all – well, you never know it all, do you? You can’t.
The first thing was the time he fucked her three days after I told him we were done – FOR REAL. I somehow was under the impression that he drove up there, fucked her, they ate some food, drank some wine, he interrogated her (sorry, they “talked”) and then he left. Never to see her again. But I didn’t realise he stayed the night. It doesn’t matter. He stayed with her overnight two other times. Once in our lake house. And once in her house, it wasn’t planned, just an amazing coincidence that she flew home to the international airport city that she lived in the same day, and texted him, so he went and picked her up and had a lovely fuckfest (whilst I was in my car, in a sexy overcoat, stockings and suspenders, heels, like some kind of whore, outside the motel room I had booked him earlier that day, a suburb away, waiting to surprise him – a good thing, but thinking he was out drinking with some boys – never that he was fucking a whore – so I drove home, never thinking about it, nor mentioning it – I really wonder why I never asked??? So bloody trusting, the boy didn’t get out much, so I thought it was fun that he was hanging with some guys for a boozy night out. Dumbass that I was.) But he stayed that night, too.
The other thing was about his version of how he justified this in his head. He has always maintained that he thought if I found out, while he was fucking her, that I would be pleased – because apparently I was so unhappy. Mmmmm. Why did he never ask me WHY I was unhappy with him? (I wasn’t, I was stressed about doing a good job in my first paid job in 17 years, still being an involved mother, and what the heck had happened to my lovely life, my pedigree Holstein-Friesian herd, and my good life?) Noooo, apparently, I would be THRILLED he was cheating, and I would very JUSTLY prance about after kicking him to the curb, telling people he was cheating, go me. W. T. F??? But I have only just connected some (very obvious) dots. IF he thought this, why did he defend himself, deny, deny, deny, after the second time he fucked her – and I caught him – nearly a year before D-day? I saw a series of texts. They were not in any way sexual. I thought they were friends. I mean, I KNEW they texted a lot. He did this all the time, often showing me the texts, and rolling his eyes, “how dumb is this woman?” I genuinely thought she was my friend, his friend, everyone’s fucking friend. He said something about regrets. She said no need for regrets. I asked WTF? I asked him to leave the house (the kids were there) so we could talk. We did this, and as my mind raced, he just looked me in the eye and “explained” it all. He looked me straight in the eye and told me he was so sorry he forgot to tell me that he had driven up to her house (three hours away) and broken up some concrete for her in her garden. I looked at him and said, “WTF??? She’s your cheating ex-girlfriend – you were TOO BUSY to come away with the kids and me fishing, but you drove a six hour round trip to BREAK UP CONCRETE FOR YOUR CHEATING EX-GIRLFRIEND?????????” Somehow he convinced me in those three hours, he was kind, he was loving, he never flinched, nor needed time to formulate a story. He apologised for doing something that LOOKED so bad. He held me as I wept and screamed, and slid down the wall. I walked out of there feeling like the world’s biggest heel. I had doubted the most wonderful man.
So, if he thought I would be HAPPY if I found out, why? I call BULL. SHIT.
So, as the cheap TV ad goes in my country. “But wait. There’s more.”