So. I navigated a few difficult days with the kids and their Dad. One, I could do. Two, I did. Three, I could not.
The first. My youngest child’s mid year music concert. He’d been telling me about it for weeks beforehand. We’d Youtubed the song, gone over the concert logistics, and he’d implored me, begged me, to be there on the day.
I negotiated the afternoon off of my brand new job and dutifully turned up for the concert. He was there, literally at my feet, when I arrived, his smile more than gift enough for the hours I would not earn money for, which I desperately needed to pay the rent, phone, clothing.
I smiled and clapped and made chit chat with nearby parents. I saw him with her, I saw her. Twenty years younger than I, caught in that web of him I knew so well and in equal parts glad to be rid of it and yet wanting to be a part of its superficial beauty.
His head inclined towards hers. His lips murmuring bullshit words in her ear.
I tried, I really did. I moved away from the sight of line where he and she sat, I made and drank chamomile tea. I texted a dear, the dearest friend, of my distress. I tried to take a big step back from that which I was feeling.
But. It caught up with and overwhelmed me. Suddenly, I was filled with righteous rage and an overwhelming sense of This Isn’t Right.
It wasn’t right that my youngest child, who I love more than life, was keeping a keen eye out for his Dad, even as I hugged him and told him how much I’d loved his class recital. Why wasn’t he caught up in my love? My presence?
It wasn’t right that my children, my long-for wanted and desired and needed children should leave that afternoon with a man who, while their Father, was a liar and cheat and breaker of innocent hearts.
He Is A Liar.
I Cannot Protect Them.
This is a stomach-hitting, gut wrenching thing to acknowledge
I cannot protect them. I want to protect them.
I’m fucked. Either way. I love them. They are the reason why I get up.
Which way do I run?
Forewards. And Onwards.