A new day will dawn.

I wish I could say that I didn’t have bad days anymore.

 

But I woke up wondering.

 

Wondering what day Roger got out of bed and decided to stop loving me and talking to me and having me as a part of his life. Wondering why. But mostly, wondering how.

 

J would argue that he never did love me, and so would Vickie. But let them argue. My pain is my own and I will be the one to decide when to stop letting it into my heart.

 

J touches me often, like, a LOT, and he always asks me how it feels to be loved so immensely. He tries to show me every day how much I mean to him, and the fact is, I’d be a fool not to see and acknowledge that. Unlike Vickie, I have no questions and I don’t have to fight to be loved and respected. He does it without prompting or arguing. He does it unabashedly and he never lets a day go by without making sure I know.

 

In the beginning, he catered to my insecurities. But now there are few if any, and it feels good to know I am the only one and that I am enough on my own, just me. Nothing else.

 

It feels good to know that when we are apart, he’s either thinking about me or making contact because he misses me. I know I’m the one he wants and there is no guesswork or jealousy.

 

I loved Roger. I even paid for half my affair expenses with him. I watched him take home the sushi he didn’t bother to offer me because he had plans to eat it with his lover afterwards.

 

He groomed me and molded me into what he wanted sexually, completely ignored MY needs, and then blamed me for the dynamic and the two years he cheated on me before he got outed.

 

He discarded me in the blink of an eye. Like when an executioner drops the blade. He didn’t flinch.

 

I was not worth an explanation.

 

And I am not worth an apology.

 

That fucker pushed me out of the passenger door without so much as a head’s up, and I still wake up some mornings and disregard the permanent road rash he left me with. I still wake up and remember the good times and the touch of the hands that I thought loved me. I can close my eyes and feel his hands on my body and I just want it to finally go away and let me die in peace, without wondering what I did to make it happen.

 

I tell my brain a thousand times that I don’t care and that I shouldn’t care about someone who thinks so little of me, yet the very core of my being still remembers the love he gave, and mourns.

 

The biggest victim in all of this is Roger’s wife.

She is so desperate and insecure that she has physically fought and hurt herself over this man. She tore her skin on her leg and went almost insane to keep a man that has cheated on her since year five of a 30 year marriage.

 

She is willing to overlook every transgression and sell herself completely short to keep someone that can’t possibly love her, let alone want to be with her permanently. She has done all this for a man that I guarantee is still taking care of his girlfriend on the side, providing her with her needs so he becomes God to her.

 

They are both sick.

 

I am strong and adored and spoiled rotten by the man who took what Roger didn’t want anymore and I am the one that dodged a bullet.

 

My dad used to tell me that if someone had me at gunpoint, always try to flee. But don’t just run, run in a zig zag fashion and it just might save your life.

 

Thank you for the advice, Daddy. I did just what you told me to.

 

I still got shot.

 

But I didn’t get gutted.