Sunrise

The Beginning is the End is the Beginning

I came to with a start as the sun winked at me over the horizon on the edge of the desert. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of my living room, next to the large windows that overlooked the burnt landscape.

I glanced down at the phone in my hand, where it had lain, forgotten, while I drifted. How long had I been dissociating? After so many adrenaline and anger-fueled hours poring over message after message, my muscles were stiff with fear and dread. I felt an immense fatigue settle over me like a weighted blanket.

I gazed out at the muted landscape, the dim light washing out the colors even more than full sun.

I had to think what to do next.

I checked the time—6 AM. Too early to get ready for work but not enough time to nap before I had to leave, not that I could nap in my current state anyway. Calling in sick was out of the question; there was no one to cover for me. The only option was to pull myself together and get on with it.

I looked again at the phone in my hand, its secrets still not fully unlocked. I had barely scratched the surface of what it contained. I needed more time with it—but how to do so without him finding out?

In the weeks and months to come, I’d learn the gravity of this decision, but in the moment, the answer seemed obvious.

Quickly, I pulled up the relevant information. This was the only way I could get what I needed without leaving a trace.

I hit send, and my own phone pinged faintly from across the room. I paused, considering, then opened three more chats and sent all of those in the same fashion.

Three more pings.

Now I could sift through the information at my leisure, without interruption.

I chuckled darkly at my own inner narrative—at my leisure, as if this was a novel and not the evidence of my husband’s repeated infidelities. Rising creakily from the scratchy rug, stiff after sitting with muscles tense with fear and dread for so many hours, I padded quietly back into the dark, chill bedroom.

He hadn’t stirred, and likely wouldn’t for another seven hours or more, judging by the state he was in when he fell asleep. I carefully placed the phone back on his bedside table in its usual spot, face down, making sure to leave the same apps open in the background.

I paused.

He lay sideways, mouth open, snoring loudly. I waited at his bedside, begging him silently to wake up. To catch me in the act, to have it out right here, right now.

He stirred but didn’t wake.

I dug down to the very depths of my soul, but could not come up with even a scrap of love for this man. It had disappeared with the night.

The thing about having a hunch and confirming it is that it’s rarely as satisfying as it sounds. Looking back, you can clearly see the trail of evidence, completely overlooked by your conscious mind, that your subconscious was picking up on all along.

Finding out my husband was cheating for the second time was like that.

My whole life, I have always had a hard time knowing when to leave—the party, the job, the relationship, as the saying goes. I don’t give up on anything easily and usually have to be dragged kicking and screaming until finally realizing that the departure is in my best interest.

Was I still in love with him? No.
Was I happy in the relationship? No.
Did he fulfill me in any way, shape, or form? Not at all.
Was he increasingly manipulative and abusive as he became more dissatisfied with our marriage?

Yes.

Literally every red blinking arrow was pointing to the door, Looney Tunes-style, but thanks to our upbringing and the conservative Christian group we were both part of, I didn’t feel that I could open it without cause.

When he told me he wanted a divorce three weeks prior, I felt the most surreal mixture of relief and devastation. I felt like I had failed—as a wife and as a Christian—completely disregarding the previous fourteen years of trying. I knew our divorce would not be recognized by our religious organization, which would leave us both in limbo. Getting remarried was the last concern on my mind at that moment, but I knew all too well from other members who had divorced under similar circumstances how much this policy could derail my own future happiness.

I left the bedroom and silently walked back to the living room. I considered my situation as I finished watching the morning trickle in.

Amidst the heavier emotions of betrayal, rage, and hurt, I felt a curiously hopeful emotion. A rising determination that I previously thought had been strangled by my own resignation long ago was starting to beat a drum at the back of my mind.

This was a gift.

I could use this to spring the lock on my prison cell of a marriage.

Cut ties and never look back.

I raised my eyes to the horizon, bathed in the full light of a new day.

The sun had risen, and so had I.