I agreed to email the other man and tell him I would not be contacting him anymore. My mind struggled with the feeling of power being snatched away from me, again. I formed a plan, a way I thought I could maintain some power.
We agreed that I would go over to Deanna’s and she would help me send the email. I think that was Patrick’s way of trying to give me some power back.
We decided all of this would take place on our first day home from vacation.
Patrick left that morning to go to the store. I watched his truck pull out of the driveway, then ran to the computer.
Patrick promised me he wouldn’t check the history anymore, that he would trust me. I believed him and thought I could sneak one last email to the man.
I realize now I wrote to him so I could still have power over him. I used him to feed the need in me. I told him he would receive another email from me later that day saying I didn’t want to talk to him again. I told him to ignore that and I would try to be in touch with him when I could. In one last final attempt to make sure I kept my claws in him, I told him I loved him.
Just writing that makes my skin crawl. I hate that desperate girl.
After Patrick returned home I went to Deanna’s. Guilt over the email I sent burrowed into my heart as I drove. I never told Deanna. She knows now after reading this post. (Sorry Deanna, I was so ashamed.)
Deanna shared that she felt the email should be something Patrick and I did together. I agreed. After talking for a bit I headed home.
As I drove I remember saying to myself, “Sending that email was a big mistake.”
When I entered our home I found Patrick sitting quietly on the couch. To cover my guilty heart I launched into the conversation I had with Deanna.
Patrick stared at nothing. I saw sadness in his blue eyes. I asked what was wrong, as my stomach clenched into a tight knot. Did he check the history on the computer?
“You know what’s wrong,” Patrick’s words came out flat, dead.
I wanted to deny knowing. But I had no words.
Patrick stood and I followed him to the back of the house. I saw a bag filled with neatly fold t-shirts, pants and balls of socks.
Fear seized my heart. He knew.
“Why is your bag packed?” I knew the answer but tried to play dumb.
“I can’t do this anymore.” Patrick looked at me with so much pain. Pain I caused. Once again.
I quickly told him I was sorry. I realized what I huge mistake I made. I cried and begged him to forgive me.
“Why? Why would you write to him?” Patrick asked the question I didn’t have an answer to at the time.
I didn’t know why. I didn’t know why I did any of the things I had done.
“Do you love him?”
“No, I don’t.” I shook my head. I never loved the other man, they were just words to get what I wanted. I never threw around that phrase but I did that day. Those precious words I used for my gain. “I am so sorry. Don’t go. Don’t leave.”
Patrick fell to his knees in tears. I tore him apart with my actions.
I threw myself on his back and wrapped my arms around his neck as he sat on the floor. I cried, begged and pleaded.
Everything came down to this moment. Two weeks earlier I would have let him walk out and believed that was the best solution. But God had been working on my wounded heart. I knew I wanted my husband, my marriage, even after the email I sent only hours prior.
“Please stay. I love you. I want you. Don’t leave me. Please. I won’t do it again.”
I don’t know why he stayed. He had ever right and reason to leave. But he stayed. Holding on to hope by a worn, thin thread.
We clung to that tired thread of hope.
Believing God could save us.
Nothing else could.
God was our only hope.
Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm, for God can be trusted to keep his promise. Hebrews 10:23 NLT
Have you ever reached a point in your life when you knew God was your only hope?