When we
were in our second year of marriage, James and I were not in the best place. He
was paranoid about my getting caught and he was dealing with the reality of
raising two teenagers who weren’t his own. I was frustrated and scared. It’s
one thing love someone so deeply, but it’s another to trust them with your life
and the life of your family. We fought a lot. And sometimes we didn’t fight.
Sometimes, one of us walked out and didn’t come back for hours. Then the fighting
would start again. Eventually we got it all sorted out or learned to live with
the fear. That’s why I’m okay with letting him in on my kills; it’s better for
both of us. But, at the worst of our shouting, we didn’t share everything.
One night,
after we’d exchanged words, I walked out. I drove to a bar in the next town and
got drunk. There was a man sitting near me at the bar; I can’t remember his
face very well. I didn’t even learn his name (or if I did, that knowledge has left
long ago). We started talking and I told him I had things I wanted to forget.
He asked if he could help and I said yes.
We had sex.
It wasn’t even that good.
In the
morning, when the smoke cleared, I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror.
Because of my line of work, loyalty and trust are incredibly important. And I was
the first to break that bond. I was so ashamed of what I had done that I killed
him. I shoved a dipstick down his throat and then lit a match. And then I came
home and told James what I had done. We fought some more and at the end of it,
he packed a bag and stayed with friends. We didn’t talk for two months. Or he
didn’t talk to me. I reached out a couple of times but I thought it was best to
give him his space. At the end of two months, he moved back in and we never spoke
of it again. The fighting eventually died down and we learned to trust each
other.
My point
is: no relationship is perfect. We’ve all been through shit. We’ve all said and
done things that we regret. I’ve done far worse to him than he has to me.
At least I
thought I had.
James has a
daughter.
We’ll call her
Casey. She’s in high school which means he had her before we met – I guess that’s
better.
He didn’t
actually know that she existed until last week when we got a phone call.
Apparently, her mother had chosen not to tell James after a their brief
relationship and raised Casey with her mother and best friend. But James was
listed as the father on the birth certificate and when Casey’s mother and her
best friend were killed in a car accident (her grandmother having passed many
years before), James was informed that he had a daughter. She has no living
relatives except for him and he has the option of taking her in or placing her
in care. He wants to bring her into our house that has so many secrets. He
wants to go through the paperwork and bring another liability on us.
My instinct
is to run and say “no”, but I can’t because she’s his daughter. And he did the
same for me. I don’t think I’m ready for another girl in the house but what can
I do? I don’t know this girl; and neither does he. He wants to get to know her
and I don’t fault him for that. It’s just a lot of information and a lot of
emotions that I don’t know what to do with.
I love
James. More than that, I trust him. I will support his decision. I just can’t
help but feel like it’s all going to blow up in my face.
Just wait
until I tell my sister that I’m raising another child that isn’t mine. She’ll
love that.
As always,
dear readers,
Stay Safe
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