Greg texted early this morning. “Happy Easter, honey.” I woke up, stretched, and smiled. It was the time to shower, get dressed and go to church. My son was excited to see his dad, I was excited to see his dad. I knew Greg would be there. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing, the ocean looked greyish and choppy, as we were hurrying along the waterfront to the Easter service.
The church was busy, I took my son to the nursery, entered the auditorium, and saw Greg. He was with his wife and the kids. The boys looked annoyed and restless, devoid of the iPhones. Emy was overweight and exhausted as usual. I waved hello as I was coming closer. I sat down near him. Emy on his right, I am on his left. He grabbed my hand, our fingers were intertwined, I closed my eyes feeling aroused. I knew Emy was watching. My mind was empty, no remorse, no guilt, no concerns for her feelings. She is his wife, I am his mistress, he is the father of my child, I am in love.
I love your dress, – she tried to maintain the poker face. Her voice sounded polite and calm.
I gave her a quiet smile. I was happy, I was sitting next to the man of my dreams; the best Easter present ever.
As we were leaving the church, she asked if I will be willing to join her for lunch. I felt pain in her voice.
– Greg and the kids won’t be there. You can stop by if you like, – she was almost sobbing.
– Why are you doing it to yourself? – my question caught her off balance, she started crying. I hurriedly looked around. No one was watching us. People were too busy putting their kids into family vans. – He cheats on you, it bothers you, why do you tolerate this?
– He loves me.
– But it causes you pain.
– He does not love you, Vixen. He uses you when he wants, but at the end of the day he comes home.
– But you are the one who suffers. Why do you put up with it?
She sniffled, I gave her a tissue.
– I can’t just walk away from my marriage. You do not understand, you have no principles.
– Sounds like your principles cause you lots of pain, my dear, – I gave her another tissue, her tears bothered me. I hate watching people cry.
– I have to keep face for our children, for our community, for my parents, for our careers, – she was desperately persuading herself to continue swallowing Greg’s disrespect with Irish coffee and a fake smile.
– Your boys are in boarding school most of the time. You rarely see them these days. Your community only cares about money.
– But if I walk away, it will mean that I lost, and you won
– Who cares?
– I don’t.
That afternoon, we had a nice lunch in one of waterfront restaurants downtown. It was warm and windy. I felt the sea water splashes on my skin. Greg was with our kids, I was free and happy. Emy was usually inflexible and possessive. She hated losing, she would rather live five, ten, fifteen years in a loveless marriage than admit to the fact that it is over. Stuck within the win-lose paradigm, enslaved by the public opinion, and tied by the social norms, she was constantly confusing love with the need to satisfy her ego and societal demands, and she suffered blaming me for everything.
I could not change her attitude. All I could do was to change myself. I felt it was the time, the time for a meaningful change, for my change.