IT HAD BEEN a short twenty-four hours since I had raided the small bedroom closet that I shared with that man back in Flint, Michigan. It had been only twenty-four hours since I had thrown anything that could fit into my overnight bag and rushed down the steps of my modest home, in nothing but ripped denim pants and an oversized sweatshirt from my alma mater: Michigan State University. I hopped into the one car we shared between us and raced off to Bishop International Airport.
I had to get away from him. Miles, my husband, with whom I had just finished a screaming match over the phone. This was the third day that he was unaccounted for, well, not really. I knew the only place he could be was with his mistress, whom he had been carrying on with for months. I gave up my dreams to start my own catering business for the sake of staying home and being the dutiful wife. Seven years, I have stuck by this man only to find out it was all for nothing.
I guess you ask if he had been doing this for months, and I stayed then, what would happen that would make me leave this time? Good question, I had only put two and two together about the affair after my latest visit to the gynecologist, where I was kindly informed that I needed treatment for a case of gonorrhea. That was yesterday, the second day he failed to return home.
I rushed home, calling him with no answer. I was leaving messages with no returned call and sending text messages that were being ignored. So when I called him from a blocked number today to calmly inform him that he could keep his STI and the whore it came from, I hadn’t expected him to answer.
After going nearly forty-eight hours without hearing from him, I was prepared to get his voicemail where I would leave a nasty message, but to my surprise, he actually answered. Hearing his voice upset me to no end, but it wasn’t until I heard her voice that I snapped. That was about all I could take. I sped through the city streets trying to plow my way through the rain.
The rain was coming down in buckets. I nearly rear-ended a few cars on the way, something that wouldn’t have happened if that man had replaced the windshield wipers like I asked him to do about three weeks prior. Having grown up in Michigan, I was used to the harsh seasons we experienced—sometimes being subjected to them all in a matter of minutes.
I arrived at the airport in what seemed like less than fifteen minutes, even though I lived twenty-five miles away. I was surprised I wasn’t pulled over for speeding, but thinking back on how sparse the police force was in Flint, I guess that shouldn’t have surprised me.
Rushing into the airport looking like a complete basket case, I pulled out the little bit of cash I had on me to pay for a plane ticket out of here. Five exhausting hours later, and I found myself in the air heading to California to my baby sister’s home.
I called Samantha during hour four back at the airport to let her know that I was heading her way. I left out the details, and she didn’t ask for any. But I’m sure the way my voice was trembling, and the unsuccessful way I was trying to hide my sobs, was enough explanation for her.
So here I am curled up at the back of this airplane, broke, sad, and clutching a small overnight bag full of mismatched and wrinkled clothes, wondering at what point I went wrong in my life.
GOD ONLY KNOWS.
*No Lover To Offend ebook HERE
**No Lover To Offend paperback HERE