Listening to God; (Part 2, Timing) -DISILLUSIONED
“Was it good?” I finally got the nerve to ask.
After 3 days of processing my husband’s story of a one-night stand 13 years prior, I was about to explode, adrenaline getting the best of my nerves.
“Excuse me?” He looked at me, knowing what I was really asking, but not wanting to acknowledge it.
“The one-night stand. Was she good? What was it about her than made it irresistible? How on earth can a man that was a bachelor for 30 years, being heart-broken himself in the past, finally have a good – hearted woman, then risk it all for one night of sex with – yet, another stranger?? What was so special about her?” I felt the heat of my anger boiling inside.
“Nothing. There was nothing special about her. She was just there.” He stated, matter-of-factly.
I wasn’t sure if his statement made me feel better or worse. How could he have betrayed me with another woman that wasn’t even special? The other question is if he had actually given an answer, would that have been easier to stomach?
His statement about the one-night stand didn’t worsen or improve anything. It wasn’t really much about the details, yet. I was just trying to cope at this point. Not knowing if more facts were helpful or hurtful, but not being able to resist, I pressed on for more.
“What did she look like? Don’t tell me you can’t remember. I know better.” I demanded.
“She was tall.” He was not about to give more than required.
I felt the bile begin to churn inside, until it made it’s way from my stomach to throat. Breathing became more shallowed, labored. It was as if my body was struggling to do just it’s basic functions any longer.
The room suddenly became darker. I knew my next sentence had to be somewhat strategic; he was not going to dish out information that I didn’t specifically inquire about. This was beginning to feel more like a chess match that an open and honest conversation about transgressions.
“What was she wearing?” The clothing didn’t matter, but it did. I wanted to process this as quickly as possible so I could maybe have some healing of my burns, but what kind of balm could soothe this?
Initially I thought that my own indiscretions would make me feel less about what my husband had done, but it was not the case. The only thing that could help at this point was processing the events and allowing God to do the work.
“A skirt.” He spoke the two words as if he were choking on them.
“A skirt.” I repeated, as if I were choking on the words as well.
“What was her name?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” He swiftly made the statement, as if to hurriedly end the conversation.
“Either you are lying or you didn’t ask because she was a hooker.”
I paused before continuing, “Oh, God, ” This was actually a plea to God for Him to make this not true – as if He Himself would rewind the clock for me if I pleaded hard enough.
“You paid for it, didn’t you?” I turned to look at him, the realization unbearable. I knew by his immediate response that my intuition had been spot on. It was- in fact, a prostitute. His face was telling everything before his mouth could speak.
“Why do you think I would have to pay for it?! You think I couldn’t get laid without having to pay for it?!!!” He answered aggressively. He no longer looked like my husband of the past decade. This was a stranger.
“You did, didn’t you? You paid for it! Didn’t you?” My voice was barely a whisper now. I was no longer in control of my body again. My heart began to beat loudly, pulsing through my eardrums. I already knew. What I didn’t know is whether he had the courage to tell the truth. What a disillusioned wife I had become.
“Yes! Yes, it was a prostitute. Are you happy now?!” His response was sharp, hostile.
I could not process that my quiet, seemingly meek husband could cheat on me with a paid woman. Why would he do such a thing? How could I compare to someone who satisfied men with their bodies for a living? What kind of person did this now make me? More importantly, what was I going to do now that I knew the truth about my marriage?