In the moment that Derek informed me that he was required to travel out of state for a marketing conference at the eleventh hour, I did not hesitate to believe him. In the past, he had been required to travel for employment. The sales trips, trade exhibitions, and conferences were all a part of his life, and in all honesty, they were a part of our life as well. The email, which included the company letterhead, the schedule with bullet points, and the flight details, was even shown to me. Every single item appeared to be genuine.
Although I was assisting him in zipping up his suitcase, he said to me, “Marina, I’m going to be swamped, okay?” I was probably off the grid for the majority of the weekend. You don’t need to be concerned about me at all. Take some time for yourself and engage in an activity that brings you pleasure.
A grin appeared on my face as I pondered the possibility of spending a weekend at a spa.
I carefully packed his garment bag, smoothing away the wrinkles in his suit and putting in his favorite tie, which was the dark teal one that I always believed made his eyes look warmer. The fact that I was being so fussy made him giggle, and he quickly planted a kiss on my forehead.
While making adjustments to the handle of his suitcase, he quipped, “Don’t miss me too much.”
With the same unwavering faith that I had always had in him, I saw him slip through the security checkpoint. It was as natural as breathing that it felt. Within the context of our marriage, trust was never a choice; rather, it was an assumption. All the same, that presumption would be disproved very quickly.
Two days later, I was avoiding the mountain of laundry that I had been intending to do by browsing through Facebook on a relaxing Sunday afternoon. I was sipping tea and trying to divert my attention away from the mound of clothes.
What is it?
Furthermore, Derek was depicted in that photograph, not seated at a podium or in a conference room, but rather standing at an altar. He was holding a glass of champagne in one hand and a small confetti box in the other hand, and he was wearing the precise outfit that I had painstakingly packed for him. The expression that was on his face was one of unadulterated, unqualified joy. And there, standing next to him, was Clara, his ex-girlfriend, beaming as if they hadn’t missed a beat since the day they had first known each other. He had always asserted that the person behind him was behind him.
As if my body was trying to avoid acknowledging what my eyes were seeing, my fingers found themselves hovering over the screen in a manner that was almost strange to me. I zoomed in, assuming that if I looked more closely, the picture may provide me some insight into what was missing. It did not happen.
He was there at a wedding. His responsibilities as best man were on full display. Additionally, I had the sensation that a slow and intentional blade had been used to penetrate my heart.
What the hell is going on, Derek? I spoke in a low voice to the room that was completely empty, and the words echoed back through the walls.
It was not anger, screaming, or throwing things that came first; rather, it was grief. It was a feeling of sorrow. A profound and hushed lamentation for the trust that had been so simply betrayed, which had been so easily shattered. While I was sitting in my own home, I had the impression that a holy thing had passed away in a peaceful manner.
The suit that I had packed for him, lovingly folded and lined, came to mind as I thought about it. In order to ensure that he would have some evidence of my being with him, I had even tucked away one of my old sleep shirts inside the luggage. Instead, he had worn it in order to conceal something, and he was wearing it while wearing the tie that I cherished so much. He was smiling at someone else in a way that he had not smiled at me.
That afternoon, I found myself in a state of stillness that was more impactful than any outburst that might have been possible.
When Derek came back on Monday evening, he smelled like hotel soap and something costly, which I didn’t recognize but was certain I hadn’t packed. There was also a scent of something expensive. It appeared as though he was exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that comes from acting rather than working. He gave me a subtle peck on the cheek, as if nothing had transpired, as if the wedding and Clara had never taken place.
With a hopeful smile pulling at his lips, he inquired, “Did you cook tonight?” I have been missing your cooking. The meal at the hotel is good, but nothing can compare to the food at home.
The moment I looked at him, I could feel my trust in him beginning to break down.
“It’s not yet,” replied I. However, before we sit down to eat, there is something that we need to talk about.
After I had entered the living room, where I had placed a clipboard on the coffee table, he followed me into the room.
As I spoke, I maintained a level of composure and continued, “I have compiled a list of upcoming events that I will be attending without you.” We should go through it together, shall we?
“What?” he blinked, appearing to be completely off-kilter. You can count on us to attend events together. Despite the fact that just one of us is invited, Marina, we will still plan everything together. You are aware of that.”
I folded my arms over my body and rested against the doorway. As time goes on, things shift. The cost of living is high, priorities are always shifting, and it seems that transparency is no longer required. I just want to make it obvious that this is our new standard for communication within the marriage.
When I handed him the clipboard, his gaze quickly shifted downward to read the following:
Marina’s Schedule for the Near Future
Andre’s art show will be held downtown on Thursday. A night of opening.
A trip for the ladies to the Serenity Spa Resort, which is solely for adults and has a shared pool.
The next week, I will be attending a networking dinner at Bistro. I will be there by myself, and I will be wearing a red dress.
Two weeks hence: the birthday dinner for Chelsea.
The muscles in his jaw clenched, and his eyes scanned each entry as if I had personally betrayed him by writing it down.
“Andre?” he finally asked, his voice trembling slightly. “Your former partner?”
I agree. Don’t be concerned; I won’t utter a thing till after the event has taken place. Are you sure that you have no need to know? After allowing the words to linger in the air, I stated, “That appears to be our policy at this point.”
His head jerked up, and his eyes widened. Are you serious, Marina? It was a laborious task. Contrary to what you said,
I spoke in a low voice, “Don’t lie.” “Even though you did it. All throughout the weekend, you lied about it. There were speeches, tuxedos, and an ex-girlfriend dressed as a bridesmaid. That does not constitute work.
When he opened his mouth, I did not pause for a moment. Unsettlingly calm and steady was the tone of my voice.
I have no idea what you and Clara did over the weekend, and I have no reason to know what you did. What I do know is that you led me to believe that you were unavailable due to work, and not because you did not want to answer your phone when she was present. Doesn’t that fit the bill?
He seemed to be staring at the clipboard as if it had placed a personal judgment on him.
The final admission he made was, “I… I messed up,” and his voice was quivering and frail around the edges.
That was the last thing. It is neither an apology nor a request. Simply a confession of his failure in a private manner.
I replied with a tone that was just as hushed, “Yeah.” “You did it.”
Then I proceeded to walk close to him. It is because when trust is broken in such a manner, even forgiveness becomes flaccid.
Strange events transpired in the days that followed. There was no overt dispute or silent treatment; rather, there was only an unsettling understanding that we all shared that the foundation that supported us had been disturbed. Derek hovered, uncertain, attempting to follow the correct course of action despite the fact that he had lost any sense of what “right” meant. In the midst of my hands and heart feeling unclear about what we were hanging onto, I walked through the rituals on autopilot, brushing his teeth alongside him, folding his clothing, and preparing dinners.
Not yet was I prepared to depart. That being said, I was not prepared to forgive either.
Our marriage did not come to an ends.
I decided to make a plan instead. I was able to locate a therapist and made an appointment with them. When I informed Derek that he would be accompanying me, he did not raise any objections. All he did was nod, giving the impression that he had been expecting it.
It was a deliberate and slow process during the therapy sessions. The space is peaceful, the paintings are impartial, and the questions are gentle like landmines. There was a deletion of Derek’s Facebook account. Despite the fact that he was five minutes late, I observed as he confirmed settings, exchanged calendars, and sent messages. As soon as Clara approached, he jerked back. It was more that he listened than he said.
Moreover, I started to become aware of my own altering. During the meetings, I smiled and repeated all of the appropriate phrases; yet, when I was alone and engaged in mundane activities such as preparing sandwiches, driving, or folding laundry, I experienced the tiny tremors of trust that had been shaken but had not been completely broken.
It is not possible to turn on trust. Just because someone admits, “I made a mistake,” it does not immediately repair itself. Because of its unevenness and fragility, it requires many proofs. Some days, I was under the impression that it had come back, but then I felt it disappear with a glance or a query that was left unanswered.
When it came to me, clarity arrived in a calm and deliberate manner. I sat down at the kitchen table by myself one evening and scribbled a laundry list. The private list that I have for me, not the one that is pointed out to him. I made a list of every feasible opportunity I had to behave irresponsibly, to exact revenge, and to betray others. There are the invitations that I could have accepted, the locations that I could have visited without providing an explanation, and the individuals who would have welcomed me if I had sought out to them.
I wrote each new line in turn. And then I remained fixated on it.
The ability to know exactly what you could do and then choose not to do it is a powerful resource. It is not a sign of weakness. Passivity is not the case. Clearness, self-control, and agency are the components.
It dawned on me that I was not going to stay out of resignation. Because there was still something that could be rebuilt, I decided to stay. It wasn’t quite the same as what we had, but it was something that was genuine, honest, and concrete.
The treatments proceeded. Having listened, learned, cringed, and apologized, Derek reacted. I was active, I established boundaries, I questioned, and I discovered my own limits. Despite the absence of the major gestures, the foundation of our organization was gradually established by the hundred insignificant choices that we made without any prior notice.
We are still present here. The construction is ongoing. Still possessing flaws. Even so, be cautious.
When I go on business travels, I no longer tremble or obsessively check my flight status. It’s not that I forgot about the betrayal; rather, it’s that Derek opted to be honest on a daily basis and in a relatively quiet manner as the foundation for our reestablished trust.
My experience has taught me that trust is not so much about ignoring the flaws as it is about learning how to navigate them together at the same time.
Moreover, there are times when the most genuine form of victory is the calm power that comes from choosing to exercise self-control, choosing to have hope, and choosing to perceive the prospect of something better.
