Into the Fire

“So one night I came home late hoping she had gone to bed, but she was up and amped up for battle. I could see it on her face the minute I walked in the door. She greeted me with ‘Nice of you to come home.’ That did it right off the bat. I answered immediately with ‘What home?’ She jumped off the couch and started ranting and raving about me not being a husband and father, and I countered with she wouldn’t allow me to be either, so what did she expect? On and on until finally she asked why I hadn’t invited her into ‘my’ bedroom to which I replied that it used to be ‘our’ bedroom until she made it clear she had no interest in being there anymore. To this day I don’t know if she was asking for an invitation back into our bedroom or if she just wanted to make it seem like our arrangement was all my fault. If she hadn’t kept on with her insinuations and insults when I was already mad, I would’ve gladly taken her into the bedroom and been eager to start over, but she was on a roll. Finally, I blew it. I told her since she didn’t seem to want me, it shouldn’t be that hard to find someone who would.” He stopped and shook his head slightly.
“Had enough yet, Faith?” he asked quietly after a moment, a kind of pain evident in those striking blue eyes.
“Please continue,” she said equally as quietly.
“That final comment stopped her dead in her tracks—I guess because she never figured I’d do something like that, and I never thought I would either. I was out of control, sick and tired of our so-called marriage, angry as hell at her for what she was doing to us and to our daughter, and I had no idea what to do about it. She goaded me just enough to where I really wanted to get back at her—I wanted to hurt her as much as she was hurting me. At that moment, I relished the thought of it, sick as it may sound. So, when she was actually silent, I laughed. I taunted her by asking her if she thought her husband might not be attractive to anyone else in this world. Then I plunged the knife in with a ‘Guess what? Someone did think I was worth some physical attention and, boy, did I ever appreciate that.’”
Faith cringed.
He lowered his eyes. “I know. It was brutal and classless. Everything I did was classless. To this day I don’t know why I gave in to any of it. I just couldn’t cope and a part of me lost the desire to do so. I took the easy way out, only it wasn’t—it was the hardest and the ugliest, and I’ve been paying for it ever since.”
“I’m sorry,” Faith mumbled.
He studied her downcast eyes for a few moments. “Let me guess. Your husband was unfaithful to you, too.”
She nodded her head yes.
“I’m sorry, Faith. A lot of us are flawed, maybe even losers to a degree. I don’t know. I reached the end of my rope—maybe my rope should’ve been longer.”
He started to stand.

Taken from Wounds . . . and Healings (2005; written by Nicole Petrino-Salter)