I sent the final e-mail I will ever write to him. I had given it thought, I had waited for him to come to his senses (if he were ever to) to evaluate his decision. I had given him once again the chance to pick, like I always did.
It has been three months since I heard of him and his mistress together, in the land in which he claimed he wanted to move on as he wanted a fresh start. The only thing I did not see in my head was the possibility of being duped again, but I was. I was dragged again, down to those pits within my empty hollow of emotional trauma, three weeks into the delivery of our son. I was,dragged and shattered. One believes many things are possible, even from a man who cheats on you, lies to you and breaks you over and over again. But does not believe a man could sleep with another while you carry his son, at least you choose not to. Out of sheer stupidity of course, but you still choose to think he is a little bit better than what he could turn out to be. And even when proven otherwise, you chose to believe otherwise, out of sheer stupidity, or the faith you carried in your life in people for 28yrs of existence, while reality slaps harsh truth into you, incessantly.
You go through photos of you with the man you once thought loved you, claimed wanted to build a life with you and had a child with you. You come across of a wedding to which he claimed he was forcibly driven to, while he seems happy to have his arm wrapped around you. You feel a melt-down coming your way, which if you could chose would avoid, with prayers that you would not be led in to a break-down.
The first days are the hardest, seeing the baby’s face, and wondering if he would bother to see his son, to call or mail, in the least. With the lapse of a few weeks you realise that he would not. Then begins the figuring out as to how you answer the questions of the world; those ones who decide to love the kid, but still think it’s appropriate to ask that question “so did you hear from the father of the kid?” It is not “from your husband” but “father of the kid”. The world had realised to pick the appropriate, where I had failed. It is a “no” to all the questions. Some offer advice, tell me I should reconsider being with the man ( for the sake of the kid of course, as they put it) They for sure know not the number of emails sent or calls made, at least with the hope of speaking to him, or hearing his voice before his child is born.
One can only type as one’s memory blocks, mind goes blank but finger move on a reflex based meditation. One still types, with questions in one’s mind as to how one ends up where she is at present, how a man could choose a woman he once questioned saying “why would I be with such a woman?” She has only one reply today, “God knows” with doubts whether even God does.
She lives with talk of a woman around her, questions of a man who had chosen to be with “that” woman, and a beautiful child with whom she would move on in life. For October is the month of decisions, decisions which should have been taken a while back, upon hearing of another woman, and being reduced to just an option, and possibly an emotional wreck.
I send out that final mail. That mail he might not even read, or not register in his dead, even if he does. That mail I sent a zillion times, in different versions. And today, sent for the last time, for the sake of the days I spent believing to be loved, then hoping to be loved while bringing a bed tea, and then begging to be loved, while crying to have a few minutes of peace with my cheek on his shoulder while our child moved from within .
I sent that mail, I look at my son, and I give it a day. For I sure doth know I have tried.The mother of a new born, and may be the soon to be divorcee, had tried. She had tried all she could and had decided for their child’s sake, where he had failed but to decide for his sake.