Day 8

Yesterday, you came and brought our son home after the weekend at your parents. As we'd agreed, we had dinner together, as usual, so that nothing is disrupted for our son. Nothing, except one of these days he's going to find another woman one Sunday morning in daddy's bed instead of me. I can't stop thinking about it, about you, about her, about the two of you together. Yesterday you left very early after dinner. You had been looking at the clock a lot before that. Is it just that you're uncomfortable around me now, or is it that you were wanting to run to her? I tried to talk about the little things in our son's life, but I just want to cry. I can see you're even trying to be nice, pretend what I'm saying is interesting. But you know, it's not interesting. Of course we can't even touch the subjects that are interesting. Who is she? On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do I want to be in a terrible accident that leaves no survivors? How much time are you spending with her? Have you told your family about her? How many hours do I spend not sleeping? Crying? If our son asks me, as he did only 10 days ago, if I can come and sleep at daddy's too, how am I supposed to keep everything under control and not break down in tears? What do I tell the people who are beginning to question my haggard eyes and my weight loss? I remember feeling that way when I was 17, first heartbreak. I thought I was going to die. What shocked me more in the end was the fact that I didn't. You don't die of heartbreak anymore, not since the Brontë sisters. But now what is even more terrifying is to know that I won't die and that I'll have to live a life watching you loving someone else, be it this one or whoever. I can't look away. We see each other every 3 or 4 days at the very most. We're good parents you see. We are very involved in our son's life and education. How did my life end up like this?