by Karen Gilbert

Created on: July 29, 2009   Last Updated: July 30, 2009

I have forgiven, but will I ever forget?

I should have had a clue that this was not a fairy tale marriage when my dad said to me while walking down the aisle, "We can go out the back door. You don't have to do this." I did it anyway.

I swear the clues were never there. I was savvy. I watched Oprah! The fact that Patrick had dyed his grey hair didn't alert me; after all, I had been dying mine for years. He was simply trying to be a new man. I was simply the old wife. His infidelities were old too; they began soon after, if not before, our second anniversary.

My husband attended his office Christmas party the Friday night before our Saturday, second anniversary. I expected Pat home early. Midnight arrived, no Patrick. I didn't sleep, waiting imagining the worst. The next morning Pat gave me his best, "Sorry I never made it home last night." Looking back, did I suspect anything? I say no; perhaps I was the real liar in the relationship.

A few weeks later Pat informed me that when we moved from our attic apartment to the new modern hi-rise, he was giving our old furniture to a woman with whom he worked, Mary. I asked why. He tap danced around the question. He was a master dancer. I didn't have to ask again; I knew who Mary was.

Mary arrived with a truck and a husband. I wondered if he knew what I knew. I decided to wait at the new apartment not wanting to watch them loading my things. Although they were things I no longer wanted, I did not want Mary to have them.

I was going to be a class act. If Pat saw how perfect I was, he couldn't possibly still be interested in her. I was pouring the last drop of wine into my glass when they arrived. "Please sit down. Would you care for anything to drink?" I was dripping with sugar as the last drops dripped into my glass. I couldn't see Mary's reaction to my perfection because I was perfectly drunk. I felt myself falling off my new chair heading towards the dog's bowls. It was a perfect landing. I awakened with my face in the bowl of food. Pat hadn't even pulled me out.

Soon after the incident, Pat decided to take a position with GE; it required him to travel each week and for us to move. One time while Pat was traveling, I got a call from a woman who brazenly told me she had met Pat at a bar, and he had promised to call her. She was ticked off. I reminded her that she was talking to his wife. Who should be pissed?

I questioned Pat upon his return and of course he was dumbfounded. The only dumb one was me.

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