My Husband's Affair Became the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me (28 page)

Again, I thought that a person could be forgiven once, but they had better make sure that they learn from their mistakes!

4. This letter was originally posted on Peggy Vaughan,s website,
www.dearpeggy.com
, by a member of the Beyond Affairs Network. It is reprinted here, as it was posted, with permission.

CHAPTER 17
fire 

AUGUST, 2 000

“In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.”

EDWARD M. KENNEDY (FROM HIS EULOGY FOR SEN. ROBERT F. KENNEDY, JUNE 8 1968)5

August arrived and found us far from healed, far from secure in our marriage. We were on an emotional roller coaster, and the consequences of Brian’s affair were hurling themselves upon us like the mighty winds of a great storm.

Danielle was not coping very well with the crisis that had come upon her family. She no longer regarded her father with respect, and she still avoided him as much as she possibly could.

Neither was she emotionally stable. She often slept all day and went out all night, disregarding our requests, as we were trying to protect her from harm. If we gave her ultimatums to behave or get out of the house, she would usually just get out. We were two loving parents and both wanted the best for our girl, but differed in our perception of the best approach to helping her. Neither one of us understood what was happening with her.

We found out later that Danielle was being treated by doctors for depression, but had requested that we, her parents, were not told. Had we known that she was dealing with a chemical imbalance in the brain, we would have been able to deal with her behavior appropriately.

For Brian and I at this time, broken and devastated as we were, trying to cope with these problems on top of our crumbling marriage was too much to bear. It seems that when things get bad, they get worse.

A ringing noise. A ringing of some sort. We were asleep, sound asleep. It was four o’clock in the morning. Perhaps it was a dream. Ring, ring, ring, the sound persisted unceasingly. Slowly, gaining a mild sense of consciousness, I realized it was the doorbell. I rolled over in the bed.

Oh no,
I thought.
Not another problem with Danielle. What’s she done now ? Uggghhh, I just can’t take any more.

I pulled the blankets over my head, trying to hide from the noise and the possibility of yet another disaster. Whatever it was was Danielle’s problem. I wasn’t getting up.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.
Brian jumped up, grabbed his robe and headed for the front door. I rolled over and tried to fall back into my escape of sleeping bliss. Soon I heard the sound of water running through the household plumbing system. Someone had turned on the garden hose.
It must be Brian,
I reasoned in my state of semi-consciousness.
What a good idea. If you’re awake at four o’clock in the morning you may as well water the grass.
Shortly after that, I heard the blaring sirens of a fire truck screaming down the road, getting louder and louder until they reached a crescendo and suddenly stopped.

I jumped into my robe and ran to find a fire truck parked directly in front of our home.

One scene at a time, I took in the unbelievable sights. The blaze

was already out, but dense smoke was still rising from the driveway, revealing a melted version of what had been our minivan. Part of the garage door and siding around it had also started to burn.

Firemen worked in a rhythmic fashion cleaning up the mess. Brian stood holding our garden hose while talking with a woman I’d never seen before.

“What happened!” I shouted, my heart pounding as I watched a police car pull up behind the fire truck.

I approached Brian and the woman he spoke with. She explained that she was the person who had been frantically and unceasingly ringing our doorbell. She was a neighbor and a police officer who spotted the flames while getting ready to leave for work.

She had called the fire trucks and done all she could to wake our sleeping family. Then Brian, thinking quickly, had doused the flames with the garden house before the fire truck had arrived. If the fire had burned unnoticed for a few more minutes, our entire home could have burned to the ground. Who knows if our family would have escaped in time?

It was an unquestionable case of arson. Rags soaked in gasoline had been placed on our vehicle and a large outdoor candle had been lit and placed underneath to ensure the van would burn. And it had.

After talking with the firemen, the police told Brian they were sure this was not a random act. They were confident that someone intentionally wanted to hurt us. They questioned Brian, asking who might be angry enough to start this fire.

“I had an affair on my wife,” said Brian. “I’m pretty sure the other woman’s husband is mad at me.”

The police officer shoved his notepad back in his pocket without writing anything more down. I was certain I saw him roll his eyes with an exasperated expression. I wondered if he now thought Brian deserved this devastation, if he would be unwilling to solve the case.

His partner, a female officer, overheard and gave me a mixed look of compassion and disdain.
Did she see me as dysfunctional because I was willing to stay with a man who had cheated on me? She doesn’t understand,
I thought.
Doesn’t understand at all. She doesn’t understand that we once had a good marriage, a long-term marriage. And she doesn’t understand that I still love my husband.

The police also questioned the curious neighbors who were slowly emerging from their homes, and they found further evidence, the gas can, stashed in some bushes down the street. Eventually the police and the firemen finished their work and left, leaving us facing our neighbors in housecoats. We talked with them briefly, everyone discussing how awful this was. We did not, however, tell our neighbors about the affair. We could see that they felt fearful.
Would their vehicle and home be next?
We told them that they were probably safe because it likely wasn’t a random act.

Finishing our polite verbal exchange with our neighbors, Brian gently took my hand. We walked back into our house and sat in our darkened living room, shocked. It was not yet daylight, but we had no desire to go back to sleep. We both felt knots in the pit of our stomachs as we began to talk about what had happened. Our two younger children were still asleep in their bedrooms. They had not even been awakened by the potential danger that threatened our home and our lives that night.

We argued a bit over who might have started the fire.

“Well, I’m sure it was Helen,” I told Brian.

“No, I’m sure it was Richard,” Brian replied. “Helen wouldn’t do something like that. I’m sure it’s not possible that it’s her.”

“I doubt it. I think she’s perfectly capable Brian. She wanted you really bad, and she was not going to stop at anything to try and get you.”

The police never did find the person who committed the crime, and they told us little about the investigation. We got the impression that this was a small crime in comparison with other things that were going on in our city. They would not disclose whether Richard and

Helen were ever questioned about it, and no one was ever charged.

Ten days after the fire, having received the insurance settlement, I drove a brand spanking new minivan off the dealership lot. I had always dreamed of having a new vehicle.

It was a practical, yet sporty van with a shiny bright red coat of paint. It rode smoothly and had that wonderful new car smell. I felt happy and grateful for the van, but deep inside I wanted to cry.

The new vehicle was lovely, but it couldn’t take away my intense pain. How gladly I would have traded it for an old beater and a marriage unscarred by adultery.

5. He was quoting his favorite poet Aeschylus

CHAPTER 18
Suicide Attempt 

AUGUST, 2 000

Mom and Dad, can’t you hear me? I want your attention.

My home is now filled with brokenness and dissension.

I know you are hurting. I know you are struggling.

I know your world is shattered, filled with fighting and tension.

But what about my world? Don’t you care about me?

Aren’t you listening? Don’t you understand what you’re doing to me?

Don’t you see my burden’s too heavy to carry?

Too much for a young soul who just wants to be free?

You think that I’m bad. You don’t see my heart.

You don’t understand that I want to do my part.

You misunderstand and punish, but don’t stop to ask me,

Honey, are you okay? Has your world also come apart?

I’m hurting. I’m dying. I’m lost in a sea.

My burden’s too heavy. It’s choking, squeezing me.

Mom and Dad, can’t you hear me? I want your attention.

Do you love me? Do you want me? Do you still care about me?

AFTER A LONG AND HEALING MOTHER-DAUGHTER CHAT, I WROTE THIS POEM TO CAPTURE DANIELLE’S FEELINGS.

Originally this entire chapter was written in my voice alone. When Danielle read it, she told me it was inaccurate. So I asked her if she would write the story from her own point of view. I was astonished when she gave me her version. Comparing them, there was no discrepancy in facts, but a major discrepancy in the way we each experienced the same event. The story is therefore told by both of us, so you, the reader have both perspectives. I never knew the whole story until after I had written the first version.

Danielle: A few days after Mom got her new van, I went to bed at a decent hour, no later than 10:30 PM, trying to get some much needed rest. I didn’t sleep well anymore. I often had nightmares. But tonight I was determined to have a good night’s rest.

Before heading to bed, I called Jason to say goodnight. He told me he was going to a buddy’s house for a guys’ night out, which I thought was a good idea, because I knew that being with me over the last couple of months had been stressful. He needed to have some fun.

I tossed and turned for a bit, then drifted off to sleep. At around 1:30 AM, I woke up to the sound of my cell phone ringing.

“Hello,” I said, wondering who was so desperate to get a hold of me.

“Danielle, what are you doing?” the caller asked. It was Luke, Jason’s older brother.
Weird.
He had never called me before.

“I am trying to get some sleep, why?” I asked, confused.

“Danielle, get up. I am coming to pick you up right now.”

“Luke, what is going on?” I said, panicked. “Just be ready in ten minutes outside your house. I will explain it in the car,” he said, then hung up.

I got ready in the dark, careful not to wake my parents because they would not allow me to leave in the middle of the night. Sneaking out of my bedroom window, I escaped. When Luke’s car pulled up, I jumped in.

His face looked like someone had died.

“What’s going on? Where are we going?”

“Jason’s been in a car accident. He’s in the hospital.”

My heart dropped. Thoughts raced through my mind.
What? Why? How? Is he going to live? How could this happen to the only sane person who cares about me?

“Danielle, try to calm down,” he said. “He’s hurt pretty bad and he’s pretty drugged up, but when he manages to speak, he asks for you.”

I started to cry.
Not him, anyone but him.

I located Jason’s room and found his parents standing by his bed. Jason looked awful. He had so many tubes, cords and needles attached to him. Blood, cuts and bruises covered him.

Tears ran down my face. I told Jason I loved him, but the hospital staff pulled me away.

They told me that he had hit his head pretty bad. They were still unsure of his condition and needed to run tests. Their talking continued, but I zoned out. Someone sat me down in a waiting area. I cried.
I have no one,
I thought. Jason’s parents came to console me, but I was dead to the world.

When Jason awoke, he asked for me again. For the next few hours, I sat by his side. I talked to him and prayed for him. Eventually, the doctors told me I had to leave. Jason got mad,
really
mad. I looked to his parents for guidance. They told me to reassure him I was not going anywhere, that the doctors would do what they had to and I would be right there waiting for him. I did what they said, kissed him and promised not to leave the hospital.

After an hour, the doctors told us they had stabilized his condition. They told us all to go home, get some rest and come back in four hours. I was panicked. I told the doctor that I could not leave the hospital in case he awoke and found that I wasn’t there, but the