How a Predator Hunts

When I still worked in my civil service job, I knew a woman named Ellen. She worked in the same office as the registrar. She was funny and outgoing, all the things I am not. She would say the most personal and outrageous things and I really liked her.

The Air Force had always blocked Facebook from their servers. Active duty and employees were not allowed to go to social networking sites but in 2009 they unblocked access. Ellen loved Facebook, I did not have a profile. She often told me to make a profile. 

Her cubicle was behind mine and one day she loudly exclaimed, "Tell your husband to quit contacting me!" Huh, I asked. What are you talking about? He's instant messaging me! Why is he doing that?

I jumped on my email and sent him a message to knock it off. Not only is Ellen a very sexual woman she cannot keep her mouth shut. Her comments brought up my insecurities. We talked about it at home. Please, I asked. It's not really appropriate to be messaging her. Why, he asked. She  invited me to be friends and I was just messaging her. Don't ask why, I told him. She is just so loud and she sees sexual advances in everything a man does. Please just stop. I'm asking you to do this for me. It's embarrassing at work for her to announce to the entire office that you have contacted her. It doesn't matter if it's innocent, it sounds guilty when she says it. He promised he would stop.

One day in late 2009 Ellen came to my cubicle and in a loud voice said, "Is your husband a freak, or what???" I froze. I turned to her and said, well, we've been married for almost 20 years, I'm pretty sure he's a freak, why do you ask?.

"Why does he keep contacting me? He's on my Facebook and he said he hadn't seen me for a week and wants to know what I'm doing? What's that all about? Why does he know how long it's been since he's seen me? Why does he care what I'm doing?" 

I felt so angry and humiliated. I wanted to yell at her to shut up. I wanted to throttle her for being so public. I couldn't say a thing. I turned back to my computer and told her she should ask him those questions. She hovered for a while and then left. I typed an email to my husband. I asked you not to contact Ellen again. What is wrong with you? Why can't you leave women alone? Why can't you leave her alone? I've just been humiliated in my own office so thanks for that.

A few minutes later he showed up outside my office. I went outside to talk to him. He said he was just being friendly and he didn't understand what he did wrong. I told him of course he didn't understand. He never understands why his interactions with women are so inappropriate. I said, you promised me you wouldn't contact her again but you did. Now I'm embarrassed, my whole office heard what she said. Why did you have to do that?

He apologized. He said he didn't understand the big deal. He never meant it sexually. I tried to have a conversation with him about how married men interact with women. How things can be misinterpreted because of people's experiences and that part of being married is self-censorship. He rolled his eyes and promised he would never contact her again.

I could not bring myself to speak to Ellen again. I wanted to tell her how she might act a bit more civilized but I knew my husband's problems were not hers. I wanted to suggest to her that she could have pulled me aside and told me quietly about her suspicions, but what was the point. I wanted to tell her that she stirred up so many emotions, but how was she to know? I wanted to tell her to mind her own bloody business but I suspect she was accurate in her feelings. My husband is a predator. He cannot help himself.

He has no idea what appropriate relationships between men and women are much less appropriate relationships between a married man and women. I'm not sure he was even aware that he was hunting. He was sniffing the wind, trying to find out her vulnerabilities. He was always sniffing the wind. She knew it and so did I. 

The Worst Thing that Happened

In the weeks that follow betrayal, life becomes something different. I felt I wasn't present. I felt the ground shift under me constantly. I couldn't balance my emotions or my life. What did I know? What didn't I know? What was my fault? What was his fault?

I had to go to work. I tried to distract myself. I felt physically weak and mentally groggy. I sleep walked. And one day, I realized I didn't know anything. I thought about the stories I had loved to tell about our life together. How I traveled for 24 hours to Korea. How I didn't want to go and how I cried the entire way there. How the four hour bus ride to my base left me exhausted and enthralled by that beautiful country. How confused I was when I stepped off the bus.

My entire shop was there to greet me. All 10 or 12 of them. I was the first woman in my career field to ever be stationed in Korea. They all came out to see me. And as I stepped off the bus I saw the disappointment in their eyes. I wasn't hot. I wasn't fun. I wasn't even pretty. They melted away without even saying hi. My supervisor dripped sweat as he told me there was no private NCO room for me so I would have to share with an airman. He literally ran away. My husband stayed. He looked at me and asked me if he could buy me a beer. I nearly cried in gratitude.

We sat and talked. He took me to billeting because I refused to settle for a room less than what my male counterparts had. I wanted him to stay. I thought it was the jet lag, the stress. I wanted him to stay but I didn't ask. Later he told me he wanted to stay.

What a fairy tale. He had me at, "Can I buy you a beer?".

Now I saw with clarity what happened. He was a sexual predator. I was a vulnerable woman. It didn't matter to him what I looked like or who I was, he wanted a piece of ass.

A mutual friend told me years later that my husband said he was going to marry me even before he met me. After December 15th I emailed the friend and told him I knew the truth. My husband had said he was going to fuck me. My friend said I knew my husband too well. Sadly, I didn't know my husband well enough.

Everything I knew about my life was false. All my cherished stories were lies. My past disappeared in that instant. 20 years of relationship faded away. I could never tell how we met again because it wasn't love, it was lust and addiction. 19 years of marriage and I might as well forget every single day of it because every single day of it was a fabrication.

This was the worst thing that happened. I lost my past. 20 years became a gaping black hole and I found I could not even recall a single day without being laid low by the pain. Never go back, I told myself. There was a new narrative. My husband lied to me every single day of our marriage. He lived two lives and I let him. My real husband was a combination of the man I thought I knew and the man he really is. Remembering the past would serve no purpose, only pushing forward and integrating these two men into one would be productive. As I type I cannot remember a single day of our past before December 15, 2010.

I know there was one. I remember where we were stationed, where we lived, our pets, and our jobs. I don't recall how we acted. I remember we took vacations but I don't remember whether they were fun or not. I remember visits with family but not what they were like. I am erasing that past because that past never existed.

And worst of all terrible things we both destroyed our past. He did by marrying me and not being honest. I did it by marrying him and not being honest with myself. Strange, isn't it? How two people who are willing to live a life of lies and deceit can find each other halfway across the world. I suspect we would have found each other anyway.

The Worst Thing that Happened

She had a son. A grown son. Of course I didn't know this. I didn't even know about her or about anything.

We had to watch American Ninja Warrior. We had enjoyed Ninja Warrior but my husband told me the son of a woman who worked down the hall from him was entered in the American trials. He was going to win and kick ass at the Japanese event.

We watched and I rooted for American Patrick whose mom worked down the hall from my husband. He did well. My husband held me on the couch while we watched. We cooked dinner together while we watched. Yay, Patrick! Go!

Weeks later, just as I was beginning to breath again, I looked at the leader board for American Ninja Warrior.

Patrick Cusic. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

Humiliation. My husband was in the kitchen. What's the last name of the guy you were rooting for? The one whose mother works down the hall from you? He didn't look up. I don't remember, he said.

Could it possibly be Cusic?

I don't remember.

Lair. Cheater. Liar.

He is the son of the woman you are screwing.

Oh Lord, won't this ever end? You cheat on me. You surf porn. You engage in Internet sex. You cruised Craig's List. Now this. This.

Jesus Christ.

The Worst Thing that Happened

What hurts the worst.

In the weeks afterwards I tracked my husband across the Internet. Why didn't it occur to me before?

He had a profile on every on-line dating or affair site. He used my beautiful dog's name as his password. The dog we both loved and had to euthanize. The dog we cried over. He used his name as his password to cheat on me.

Fucker.

Pain Pays the Income of Each Precious Thing

I have examined my emotions so often that they are almost disconnected from me now. A quick look at the emails I saved bring them right back into focus.

What hurts the worst about this betrayal?

The morning after December 15th I screamed at my husband. I screamed at him about how disgusting he is. I screamed at him about how vile his is. I screamed insults at the diseased and filthy woman who used him and who hurt me. I called her names and wished her a slow death. He said, "Stop calling her those names."

Why? Does it bother you when I call her names?

Yes.

Why?

Because she's a human being.

My heart shattered. My chest was hollow. My world ended. My reality shredded.

I howled at him. She's a human being? SHE'S a human being? That fucking whore?

I went downstairs. I sat at the table. The pain was unbearable. The pain was more intense than any pain I had ever experienced in my life.

The pain welled up in me and overflowed and tore its way out of me. I made sounds I had never heard before. Surely God heard me.

She's a human being. What am I? I can't insult her because she's a human being but I am just someone to be hurt. She's a human being. This woman whose own unfulfilled and empty life intersected with mine was a human being entitled to respect, and I was....what was I?

When my husband told Terri Cusic about how I neglected him did he ever think, "My wife is a human being not deserving of this betrayal?" When he had coffee or lunch with her did it ever cross his mind that I was a human being? When he fucked her did he think, "My wife's a human being who will be hurt?"

Why was she entitled to defense but I wasn't? Why?

I knew then I wasn't a human being. I was a thing who annoyed my husband. When did I cease to be a human being? Was it always this way? I was a lump of pure pain. I was less than human. I was an animal. A hindrance. A thing.

I screamed until I was hoarse. My husband held me as I rocked and screamed. Later he said he didn't remember this.

In My Shoes

Good Lord. Unless you've been there you cannot imagine how quickly things unfold. How traumatic events are. How unconnected you feel. Randomness becomes the norm.

How could you do this to me while my dog was dying?
Right before Christmas.
You used my beautiful dog's name as  your password, you whore.
Right upstairs from me. Right in my home. You brought this into my home.
My life has been a lie.
My memories are a lie.
Nothing existed before I knew this about you.
Why, why, why.

What Happened After

A nightmare happened after. That's what happened. The nightmare I had been avoiding for 20 years. How do I describe all the emotions that flooded through me? Anger, betrayal, hatred, violence, fear, loathing, loss, you name it.

How could this be happening? How long had my husband been seeing someone else? And not just her. There were emails to prostitutes. A dominatrix. A man who placed an ad on Craig's List. Oh my God, oh my God. So much more than I ever imagined. Not just phone sex. Not just web chats. Women all over the country. Men too.

Fear. AIDS.

I wanted to die. I wanted him to die. I wanted to disappear.

She adored him. MY WORDS. I adored him! I adored him! He is MY husband. She didn't have a right to adore him. There were chatty emails and jokes. Just like they meant something to each other. As if I didn't exist.

She called him and slapped him back to reality. He took advice from her that he would not take from me! I was sick to my stomach. I emailed her and called her a whore. I posted on his Facebook page about how he was fucking a whore named Terri Beuerlein Cusic.

He called her Terri Beuerlein in his emails. That was classic. Use her maiden name to alienate the husband. That way neither of them felt so guilty. I forwarded the emails to my account to save them.

I can't even remember what happened that night. I don't really want to remember. The emotions are enough. Even now I can feel the panic of that evening. I wanted him to feel my pain. I wanted him to FEEL my pain. I hit him. I slapped him. I threatened to kill him. I screamed and screamed and screamed. I screamed my pain.

He started telling me the truth at the point of a gun. He had been sleeping with her. He had slept with other the woman early in our marriage. 19 years of lying. He had lied to me for 19 years. I had been right all along. I was right about everything. I lied to myself more than he lied to me. I was disgusted with him and me.

He had seen the dominatrix several times. He never met the man from Craig's List. It was a nightmare that even I had never imagined. He told me to kill him and then cringed when I said I would. I screamed until I was exhausted. He tried to hold me and I slapped him. Get away from me you filthy, lying, cheating, male whore. You are nothing but a whore. A lying diseased whore and you sleep with lying diseased whores. You made me into a whore.

Finally exhausted. Beyond all words and accusations. Beyond misery. I made him sleep in the same bed with me. I didn't want to be alone.

Life Goes On and Things Change

Life goes on even after the death of a beloved pet or dear friend. Life returned to normal. My husband gamed and surfed upstairs. I watched TV and did homework downstairs. I became more and more remote and reluctant to have sex with him.

After he returned from a trip to visit his parents I was sick and for weeks afterwards I refused to have sex with him.

In November we decided to adopt a rescued dog and we brought a sweet little girl into our home. She filled up space and was a delight. She kept me company and I convinced my husband to go with us to novice obedience classes. I enjoyed seeing my husband work with her. For an hour he left the Blackberry alone but afterward...back to his true love.

November became December. Only a few more months of my internship. My supervisor was having problems at home and she took them out on me. We clashed a few times and I felt I like an indentured servant. I couldn't push back because I needed her to review my skills but I didn't trust her objectivity. I was tense and on edge.

On 15 December 2010 I came home late to find my husband was not yet home. I decided to check his email as I tended to do. As usual there was nothing suspicious until I checked his sent email.

It's the end of the world as I know it.

End of Summer and Life as I Know it.

September came and the heat continued. The heat was my dog's enemy. It tired him out. We had already had the fluid drained from his chest twice. The vet was honest with me. If it is only several weeks between treatments we have to consider his quality of life. On the 18th he was playing tug with my husband. On the night of the 19th he could not lay down. He stood in the center of the bedroom and his eyes told me he was finished. My husband rolled over to go to sleep.

I took him to the specialist as 11:30 at night. The on call vet told me what I didn't want to hear. It was time. My dog told me it was time. I called my husband and he came. I wept and watched as his life left him. I wanted to take it back and tell them to give me my dog back. I knew I could never get back what I had lost. In the early morning hours of Sept 20th my beautiful, unique, clever Italian dog slipped away.

We drove home in separate cars and cried all night.

The Heat is On

My dog continued to slide downhill and I continued to worry. The Blackberry glared at me and laughed at me.

One hot summer day my husband and I went to the store. He hates grocery shopping but will do it. He offered to go get some items on one aisle while I went to another. Agreed. I got the items I was looking for and went looking for him. I found him on the freezer aisle. His back was to me. He was bent over the Blackberry. Even here it controlled him.

I walked up behind him. Quietly. On purpose. I looked over his shoulder...and he reacted like a kid who is caught shoplifting. He instantly whipped the Blackberry behind his back and turned to me. Oh, there you are! Did you get what you were looking for? He started to push the basket away. So what's up with the Blackberry I asked? Huh, he said. Nothing.

Why did you hide it? I didn't hide it, he shrilled. You surprised me. I was answering an important email and you surprised me. On Saturday, I asked? Well yeah, work doesn't stop on base just because it's Saturday. I couldn't bring myself to argue with him in the store. I knew I was in deep trouble. I knew this was serious stuff. I quit speaking to him. He quit speaking to me.

He knew and I knew. What could I do about it? He still held my hand. He still told me he loved me. He was my adored husband.

The Summer of Love

The Blackberry. Hated device. Evil interloper. Divider. Enabler.

One evening as I walked past the desk where the Blackberry held court it buzzed. I looked at it and saw it lit up. I picked it up to see an email that read, "It's cold here in the command post." As I tried to see who it was from my husband literally flew across the room. Put it down, he yelled. I did.

What the hell? He grabbed it up and hugged it close. What the hell, I asked? Why so touchy? There's classified on this that you can't see, he whined.

Oh, come on, now. My husband and I had shared a Top Secret clearance for many years. We shared a lot. I knew classified emails were encrypted and that he wouldn't get them on the NIPR net. Classified emails came via a secure line. So what was so important I couldn't see on his Blackberry?

The police blotter, he told me. I was incredulous. The blotter? You're kidding. No, he scowled at me. There are social security numbers and you don't have a need to know. I'm sensitive to need to know stuff but my husband had never given a shit about that in the past. Not with me. We shared a classified career field. I had no interest in the police blotter or social security numbers. What did he think I was going to do? Steal someone's identity?

I had seen this kind of panic before. My sister is an alcoholic and once I took her to the hospital after a seizure. I walked into her room with her purse (I had already found the bottle of gin in it) and when she saw me with it she practically pulled the IVs out of her arm in an effort to wrest it from me. She was panicked I would know her secret. She was angry and panicked. I saw the same emotion in my husband's eyes.

I was angry. I challenged him. He got angrier then refused to speak. I should have pressed the issue. I should have put my foot down right then. I should have...I should have...I should have...

But I didn't. I let it go. I brought it up many times and every time he blew it off. Why was he so afraid I would see his Blackberry? Why could he never put the damn thing down?

I hated that fucking thing.

2010

2010. I hope I forget that year someday. I wish I never lived it.

We discovered my beautiful dog who we had brought from Italy had an enlarged heart. He was put on a ton of medications and I wept. He was such an unusual dog. So sensitive but with a killer's instinct. Our Italian neighbors called him "furbo," clever. Sneaky. Wiley. All the above, but one of the most loving animals I've even known.

All summer long we refilled prescriptions and took him to the vet. When our vet could no longer stabilize his heart we took him to a specialist. In my best way I convinced myself that he could go on for years. When he started getting fluid in his chest and had to have it drained I cried. The vet said if he could manage six weeks between drainings we would carry on. I celebrated as each week went by. I worried. I held him. I talked to him in Italian and remembered how I chased him through the streets of our Italian village and how he once staged a great escape with our neighbors dogs. I wanted him to behave like a dog but every time he raced outside to bark I agonized over how much of his life the effort cost him...and me.

Early in the spring my husband was given a Blackberry at work to carry. I hated it. I hated that thing as much as is humanly possible to hate anything. I loathed it. It became my enemy. He never put it down. It went everywhere he and we went. It buzzed and he jumped. In the middle of dinner. All evening long. He ignored me and fondled it. I knew it was a link for him to the outside. A link that I could not touch because it was government issued and heavily passworded. I knew I would never break the password.

I knew he could not access porn on the Blackberry. The government blocked those sites and archived emails. Still, my husband became angry when I demanded he put the damn thing away. He told me he had to answer it. That's why they gave him the device. I told him he was entitled to dinner without being disturbed and that he should get overtime for all the time he spent answering emails. He growled. I yelled. It became an entity between us and more than once I wanted to smash it to hell.

In 2009 I left my job as a contractor and took a civil service job that sounded wonderful. It was in training, a job I loved and it meant I would have the security that was lacking in my contractor job. I would have one boss, one office, one mission.

Unfortunately it was not as I anticipated. I loved the job but the people I worked with were largely incompetent. I couldn't understand why my boss kept hiring people who were incapable of making decisions or of thinking creatively. He failed to support us when we needed it. I chaffed at the restrictions and the annoyance of dragging my coworkers to think outside the box.

I was approaching the end of  my coursework in grad school and looking forward to starting my internship. We had changed programs from Marriage and Family Therapy to Mental Health Counseling and the requirements had changed too. It became apparent to me that I could not work full time and do 20 hours a week of internship. I didn't have that kind of energy anymore. Since I disliked my job, in 2010 my husband and I decided I would quit work and concentrate on my year-long internship.

It wasn't an easy decision. My husband was worried about making ends meet but I reminded him that we did fine when he was out of work. I needed the time to really concentrate on my new profession. I realized that I was getting older and needed to really immerse myself in the profession. In May 2010 I left my government job (without any regret!) and started my internship at a substance abuse treatment hospital.

This was not the position I wanted but it was difficult finding a place to work at. The list the school gave us was out of date. I had no idea where to begin and my first few interviews were awkward. We had only six weeks to find a location and I just barely found my site in time.

For the first time in years I was truly excited about doing something! I loved counseling! I could not believe I was actually doing what I had dreamed of doing for so many years. I knew I would not ever make the money I had as a contractor but I also knew I could work at this profession for many more years. I dreamed of having my own office and my own clients. Once licensed my husband could retire and with my income and our retirements and savings we would live the good life!

At the same time I noticed my husband became less happy. He more often complained about his boss when he came home from work. I offered him my best advice but it made no difference. He was miserable. He started looking for new jobs. Sadly, my husband's aggressive nature had burned many bridges. One of the hardest times was when a man my husband had hired got a job and a promotion that my husband applied for. I didn't know how to help him. We had often talked about his aggressive nature and his lack of filters when he criticized people but my husband only defended his actions. He said others didn't understand that he was right.

And he was right. My husband is a very smart man but I was often appalled by his lack of sensitivity to others. He had no empathy and when others expressed remorse over someone's misfortune my husband would make really thoughtless and cruel comments. I hated this side of him but he was so sensitive to me and he loved our dogs.

I suspected this was a front my husband put on to cover some deep insecurity in himself. I had an inkling of my husband's past. His family was not healthy. He had hinted at abuse when he was a child. I wanted to know more but I didn't want to disturb what my husband seemed to have come to terms with.

Friends made jokes about my husband's lack of sensitivity. They seemed to think it was just a part of his personality that made  him who he is. I tried not to make a mountain out of what might be a molehill. I ached for my husband because I saw him limit himself because of his behaviors. I didn't understand this self-destructive part of him but I loved him and supported him in all he did. Who's perfect? Don't we all struggle with personality deficiencies? I am not exempt.

I really didn't put two and two together. I probably didn't want to.

In the Eye

We settled into a rhythm. I worked as a government contractor, he as civil service. We shared our stories when we got home from work. We had parties and we attended parties. As we begin to remodel the master bath, I decided to go back to graduate school.

I had wanted to work in the counseling profession for years. I had began my Masters while stationed south of my husband but when I was promoted and the Air Force offered us an assignment in Italy I quit. My boss was going to the University of Phoenix majoring in counseling and I suddenly wanted to too. For the next two years I worked full time, helped remodel and did my homework. It was grueling. Far more grueling than I remembered from my first grad school. So much time was spent reading and researching and housework never stopped. I steadily gained weight after my retirement from the AF. I was approaching middle age and suddenly I found myself experiencing night sweats and hot flashes. It was disconcerting. I was uncomfortable and unhappy with how I looked and I seemed to enter a spiral of self-loathing.

I traveled quite a bit with my job and I enjoyed it, Hill AFB, Minot AFB, Whiteman AFB, Kings Bay Naval Station, Kansas City, Amarillo, Newport RI, Knoxville TN, Okinawa Japan. I worked on papers and did my research at home. A routine developed. I would sit in front of the TV downstairs and work on homework while my husband played video games on his gaming computer upstairs. I knew he wasn't just gaming. When I went up the stairs and down the hall to his office I announced loudly, "Woman on deck!" and "Turn off the porn!"

My husband would get angry when I did this. I had seen porn often enough as I entered his office but he just got angry at me. He would swivel his chair towards me to block the screen, he would fumble the mouse to close the window or turn off the monitor. I knew this. I struggled with this. Worst of all were the nights he wanted to make love.

My husband would be downstairs with me and then restlessly he would pace into the kitchen. Silently he would walk through the back hall and quickly jump the stairs without saying a word. If I asked him where he was going he would say he had work to do or I was busy and he wanted to get in a video game. Hours later he would come downstairs and throw himself across the chair. He would look at me and smile. He would roll his eyes and make faces like a child. He would get my attention and tell me I looked beautiful. He wanted to make love. It disgusted me. I was not about to be the convenient outlet for my husband's lust stoked by the porn he was surfing.

No fucking way.

I knew exactly what he was doing. What I didn't know was the extent of what he was doing. I had no idea bout the instant messages. The chats with women. The other stuff. I didn't want him to touch me. When he did the heat of his body threw me into sweaty hot flashes. I wasn't sure if that was caused by menopause or my disgust with his behaviors.

I struggled with this. Fights between us accomplished nothing. I didn't want to see what he was doing upstairs. I saw the sex toys in his desk drawers. I didn't want to know. I didn't want a divorce but I didn't want him to touch me. I wondered if we could just live together but he would not leave me alone. I wondered if I could sleep with him without thinking about his other life. I felt like a whore. Why should I feel like a whore when I was doing nothing wrong? There were weeks when I refused to sleep with him but even I needed to feel loved and even I needed human contact.

I poured over his computer to search for porn but I also realized he was getting better at hiding what he did. He spent hours pursuing his needs and I didn't have hours to follow him on line. I suspected he might have other email accounts but how could I find out? Life became unbearable but I bore it.

This became our life. I still adored my husband, beyond all reason. He still held my hand and told me loved me. This became our life.

Professing to Believe What he does not Believe

I came home from work one day, still raw from my husband's lunch with a woman he met through classified ads, to find him sitting on the couch, head in hands. He looked up at me in utter misery and my heart stopped. What's wrong, I could barely speak. What happened?

I had to resign my job, he said. I couldn't make sense of this. He had to resign? Was this because of some sex encounter at work? He said he had been having problems at work because he would take on work that was not at his level. It went against his grain to sit in a cubicle and not have any work to do, but the others became angry because they were higher pay grades than him and felt he should not try to do their work. He said his supervisor told him he could resign before they fired him, so he did.

To say I was floored is an understatement. I had never heard of anyone being asked to leave civil service, even in the probation period. Were you surfing porn, I asked? No. Did you hit on one of the women? No. Did they figure out you were creepy? No, no, no. This made no sense to me but that feeling was overtaken by fear we could not pay our bills. Oh my God, this was the first time in our lives when we weren't both working. I panicked. I started making plans about what we could cut in order to get by but my husband reassured me. We had my income and I was earning more than I ever had before. We had both our military retirements and we had no bills but our house payment.

For the next nine months we settled into a routine. I was the breadwinner. My husband bricked in the patio. He did the dishes and cooked the meals. He looked for work and was inconsolable when he didn't get hired. He vacuumed and did laundry. He seemed fairly happy. I had never been the breadwinner before and while I was proud of myself, I was also worried about what would happen if my husband never went back to work.

He seemed peaceful during this time and I realized that I could not track down his activities while he was at home all day and I was at work. We continued to see the counselor and gradually we reached a state of balance. My husband's worse days seemed to be behind him.

I was almost disappointed when he got a job offer as a civilian with the Air Force. He was happy and returned to work and things seemed pretty good. We started remodeling our master bathroom and I decided to return to school to finish my Masters program.

Once Upon a Time

Life trudged along. I suspected my husband wasn't happy in his job but when I asked him directly he said he was fine. I made it clear he didn't have to stay in his job but he told me it would get better. He continued to spend hours on his computer playing videos games and, I suspected, surfing porn. I knew he was surfing porn because I found it on his computer. I solved this problem by not entering the office when my husband was on the computer. Ignorance is bliss. We worked on the house and shared our work frustrations. I got a pay raise but the life of a contractor was difficult and I worried constantly about my company losing the contract I worked on. I made some inroads and tried to make myself indispensable.

I traveled quite a bit. One of my first trips was to Germany. Others followed to bases in the US as I begin teaching accident response classes for the government.

One morning I noticed my husband forgot to take his cell phone to work. It had become habit to check his email but the cell phone was sacrosanct. There it lay and I picked it up and checked his voicemail. It required a password but as before, a couple of tries got me in. My heart sank and breathing became almost impossible as I listened to a woman's voice thank my husband for lunch and "everything." She said she really enjoyed talking to him and would like to see him again. She gave him the times she would be at her studio and told him she looked forward to seeing him.

Why couldn't I pick up his phone or read his email or check his drawer just once and not find anything! I was sick to my stomach. I had suspected he surfed porn and suspected he visited chat rooms but this was real. This was right in my face. He met this woman for lunch. I didn't know what to do. My head spun. I went to work. I sat at my desk. My husband was as cheerful as always when he left for work that morning. Cheerful while he was meeting this woman for lunch. Cheerful and loving while he was, what, sleeping with her? With who else? I couldn't think. I was angry. I was sick. I was frightened. I called him at work and told him I heard his cell message.

The pleading began immediately. Wait, wait, he said. Don't do anything, it's not what you think. Please, please he begged. Let's talk about it. Don't do anything. I hung up. In minutes he was walking through my office door. He was shameless. He begged me not to leave him. I told him to be quiet, my entire building would hear him. He cried and I made him walk outside with me.

We sat in my car and I tried not to scream but I told him how disgusting he was. How this was the last straw. How I was filing for divorce. My husband looked devastated. He looked devastated. He begged me not to do anything right away. Not until we could talk about it. My world was crumbing around me. Everything I thought I knew, everything I lied to myself about was laid bare and it was ugly. It was as ugly as I never wanted to know it could be. I sent my husband away and told him I would see him after work.

I had never known such pain in my entire life. It was like being buried alive. I could not breathe. I could not break out of the pain that engulfed me. I could not see the future. I could not think of the past. I cried and moved out of our bedroom. My husband begged me to stay and I told him I would on one condition; he needed to find a marriage counselor for us. I stayed away from out bedroom for a week and then crawled back. I needed any kind of comfort I could find. My husband found a therapist and met with her. She was not a licensed marriage counselor but she felt comfortable and my husband was willing to go.

He dismantled the computer bunker and asked me to stay in the room with him while he was on the computer. I moved a treadmill in there and started exercising. We went to counseling and made some headway and after a while the pain dulled...but the suspicion never did. I often found phone numbers on his phone from women who were not related to his work. He deleted them and told me they were old friends.

In the midst of trying to get better, things got very much worse.