I never thought it would hurt this much. I never imagined that I would be at this stage of my life and be dealing with these emotions. I mean I knew we were going through tough times, but I figured we would get through it. He would get those flings out of his system, and I would get my one discretion out of mine, then we would recoup and come back together. That we would put all the bullshit behind us and fix our family. His name is engraved on my family tree. His tattoo signifies our family. He had me believe that I was his one and only, that he would always love me.
He kept on coming back. Promising me, promising the kids that this time he was home for good. That she, the one that got in-between when she had no right to, was finished. Yet he went back. And I cried. And my kids cried. And we mourned. And we healed.
And as soon as we were doing better, getting use to the idea that it was just us, he came back. And made promises. And broke them. And I cried. And my kids cried. And we mourned. And we healed.
And he came back again. And I let him. This time he came when the kids were not around. And I had to accept what we had become. I had become the other woman. Me, the one who sacrificed all those years. Me, the one who went through hell and back. I was the one that was blocked when he was with her. Me, the mother of his children had allowed myself to be discarded as if I was just something to be used. Something to be hidden. Something to be ashamed of.
And I sit here sad. Sit here alone. Sit here angry. Sit here ashamed. But the shame is not mine. The shame belongs to him. All I wanted was to have my family back. All I wanted was to be loved above anything else. All I wanted was to be held on and not let go of.