I feel for you, girl. Not only did your husband cheat on you while you were sick, he supposedly got the whore knocked up. After all you had done for him, being there for him throughout his career, raising the kids. Yet you still took him back. You went on tour talking about what a dick he was, but yeah, you took him back.
But now. A DNA test proves the kid is his. Hell, he’s supposed to announce it himself at some point. But not only that: he wants to move the whore and kid to YOUR TOWN so he can be an active part of the kid’s life. Why not just move them into your goddamned house? Understandably, you were thrown for a loop. You were outraged. You packed a bag.
But Elizabeth, girlfriend: it’s time to let go for good. Do you want to stay with this for the rest of your life? To have rubbed in your face constantly what he did? To be reminded every single day that he has chosen them (the whore, the child) over you?
No, you’re worth more than that. You of all people know life is short. Leave him; move on. I know you feel like if you do, they’re “winning,” that they’ll have this happy life while you’re left all alone (believe me, I know how that is). But while you hang on, refusing to “lose,” it will eat you up inside. There will be nothing left but black, bitter ashes.
It’s not a good feeling.
Maybe you’ll feel like you’ll having nothing in your life after you leave. But you will: you’ll have peace. You’ll have freedom from suffering, if you can let go completely. Be with your kids. Write your next memoir. Call it Redemption: Leaving the Burdens and Adversities of Life Behind You.
I’m still working on my own peace. Can you tell? I’m still somewhat bitter, five years later. But I’m less mad at the woman now and angrier with my ex and his family – after all I did, this is how you repay me. (But I’m glad I never asked for alimony. Not amount of money is worth keeping that bullshit in my life.) I’m not saying don’t be mad at the who – I mean, woman. She knew what she doing, that John was married. But he knew what he was doing too.
I know it’s easier to be mad at her than him, to dismiss her as below you (which she most probably is), but it’s not about below or above, who’s better or worse. I don’t know why he did it, but he did. Either you can stay and try to figure out why, or you can leave and have a life for yourself.
You call what he did “an error in judgment” and “a terrible decision.” Lizzie, please. “An error in judgment” is thinking you’ll make it to JFK from mid-town in less than an hour on a Friday afternoon. “A terrible decision” is buying a shoddy house with no savings. Do you think he stood there in her hotel room, and mulled it over? “Hmm, should I or shouldn’t I?” Paper or plastic? Boxers or briefs (I’m picturing boxers)?
I’m here to tell you: he had it planned. He thought he’d be able to get away with it. Or else he was so empty inside that he thought sooner or later, everything would fall apart anyway, so who cares?
The purpose of this isn’t to say you’re the good guy and he’s the bad one (though honestly: Team Elizabeth all the way). It’s to tell you to salvage the rest of your life.
Some people might blame you for what he did. You seemed so overbearing after all; there were rumors that you were practically like Mussolini. Maybe the same shit is being said about me. “The Ex is such a nice guy, surely she drove him to it.”
But you know what? It doesn’t matter.
All that matters is that you leave now.
The Bad Luck Girl