Missing Like You

FORTY-NINE

SCOTT DONOVAN
AUGUST 2021

After Lexie left my house that night, I went inside, picked up my phone, and blocked her number. At the time, it seemed like a good idea, the only logical thing I could think of. If I blocked her number, she could no longer contact me, and thus, could no longer threaten me.

I shouldn't have been naïve to think that simply blocking her number would stop her. If anything, it only fueled the fire.

I tried to go back to bed, lying there next to my sleeping wife. But as I said, I had become a slight insomniac. Lexie haunted me in both my waking and sleeping hours. I couldn't find slumber without seeing her face in my dreams. I stayed awake, staring at Isabelle, wondering how I could make this stop for good.

I debated calling the police. I should have called them right then and there when she showed up at my house. Stalking and harassment is enough to warrant a restraining order, let alone the fact that she was threatening me. But see, that's another thing about Lexie. She was smart. She called my bluff, fully knowing that I would never get the police involved. Because to get them involved would mean having to explain everything to Isabelle. And there was no way our marriage would last if she knew the extent of which I royally fucked everything up. Having an affair is one thing, grounds for a divorce for sure. But having your mistress stalk and threaten you is a completely different ball park.

I didn't call the police. I didn't do anything. The only thing I could do was block her number, so I felt a small sense of accomplishment at this. Without having a way of contacting me, surely she would stop eventually. And so around four o'clock in the morning, I finally found some sort of comfort in that very fact alone and eventually drifted off to sleep.

The next few days went by painstakingly slow. I spent every waking hour on edge, walking on eggshells, unsure of what would happen next. I became obsessed with checking my phone. Every few minutes that I wasn't touching it, I would pick it up, slide it unlocked, and go to my home-screen to see if I had any missed calls or messages. I knew it wasn't possible, considering her number was blocked. Yet still, I felt this paranoia that she would contact me somehow and it left me in a perpetual state of anxiety.

I'd go to the office and work all day, my mind only half there. I managed to do my job thoroughly, yet still, I was distracted. I'd go home at the end of the day and spend the evenings with Isabelle, having dinner, talking about our days, going for evening walks. I spent every moment on my toes, prepared for something to go wrong.

But nothing did. A week and a half went by and I had heard nothing from Lexie.

As the days progressed, I felt the tightness in my chest loosening. I could eat without feeling nauseous. I could concentrate on work and my wife again. Things were slowly reverting back to how they were before.

Isabelle was invested in Pilates, ensuring she attended the classes on their scheduled days twice a week. She was making new friends and was excited to come home and share her experiences with me at the end of each night. She also told me that she and her friends were going to start doing book club. At this point in our marriage I knew better than to question my wife's motives behind certain things. I wanted to say, why book club? Why now? But I didn't. I let her have her fun and entertain the things that made her happy.

They had their first meeting the following week at our house. I recognized a few familiar faces, such as Kate and Maya and Rachel. There were a few others there too, women I didn't recognize. They sat in the living room drinking cheap wine and eating cheese platters, discussing symbolism in Wuthering Heights. I excused myself and left for the evening to go to the bar with Jake. Anything to get out of a house full of women talking about English literature for the remainder of the evening.

We sat at the bar and I had one too many drinks. I stared at the television screen above, trying to focus on the game, but realized I couldn't. I was thinking about her, thinking about Lexie. I was remembering all the time we spent together over those six months. Every word we'd ever said to one another, every secret she ever shared with me. I recalled late-night rendezvous in different hotels, watching her drift asleep in the bed beside me, having to wake her up upon realizing that it was late and we both needed to get home. Our entire affair was based on secrecy, lies, and deceit. We had both betrayed the people we loved to satisfy our own cravings and desires. And although neither Mark nor Isabelle knew what was going on, it was still selfish and unjust all the same.

There was so much guilt emanating from deep inside of me that in that moment, I believed I would never truly be the same again. As hard as I tried, as much distance I put between Lexie and I, it wouldn't make a difference. I had done the worst possible thing you can do in a marriage, and I was getting away with it. I never suffered a consequence or received punishment from Isabelle. She smiled at me and loved me and treated me exactly how she always had, simply because she didn't know the truth. I didn't know how long I could go on like that.

That night in the bar, I contemplated going home and confessing everything to her. Fall to my knees and tell her the truth. I didn't know whether this was the guilt talking, or the alcohol. I envisioned her face when she discovered the news of my infidelity. Shock, disbelief, hurt, horror. It would break her heart. It would break mine. Things would never be the same for us again. This colossal confession would ruin everything.

I knew this. And as much as I wanted to tell her to get it off my chest and feel some sort of reprieve and righteousness, I knew deep down that I could never tell her. Because if I ever lost Isabelle, I knew I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

I kept the secret for her, for me, for us.