Tag: salesman-traveling

Soul-Shattering Plea and His Chilling Threat

Each day since Mitchell made his brutal announcement I felt a suffocating wave of tension and confusion clung to me, wrapping every second in a haze of dread. I was utterly lost, my heart pounding with questions that had no answers. What did this news mean for me? For Samuel? Each night, my sweet boy curled up beside me in bed, his small frame a fleeting comfort, while Mitchell—my husband, my partner—still wandered into our room, his presence a bewildering mix of familiarity and betrayal. I couldn’t fathom what he was doing or why. Who had he become?

I poured my soul out to Mitchell, my voice trembling with the weight of a love slipping through my fingers. I begged him to talk, to let me into the heart I once knew so well. “Let’s try marriage counseling,” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face, each one a silent cry for the life we’d built together. I clung to the fading dream of our 10th anniversary trip abroad, a celebration of a decade of promises now crumbling into dust. “Please, Mitchell, stop this filing. Fix this. Just tell me why,” I sobbed, my heart fracturing with every word. But his silence was a blade, slicing deeper with each unanswered question, leaving me lost in a storm of pain and confusion.

I reminded Mitchell of the life he’d chosen—a traveling salesman, always gone, leaving me and Samuel behind. When he was home, the weekends were swallowed by golf courses or the shooting range, moments stolen from us. My voice broke as I defended myself, raw with desperation. “I’m here, Mitchell, raising your son, keeping our home together, all alone. I never complain, even when I’m drowning in the weight of it all. If you feel a distance between us, it’s because you’re never here—always traveling, always somewhere else.” I searched his eyes for a flicker of understanding, but he shook his head, muttering, “No, that’s not it.” Yet he offered no truth, no reason, leaving my words to echo in the void between us, my heart aching for answers he refused to give.

I brought him back to the vow we made before we married, a sacred promise etched in love and trust. We swore divorce would never touch us unless betrayal or violence tore us apart. “There’s no abuse, Mitchell,” I whispered, my voice splintering under the weight of dread. “So what else can I think but that you’re having an affair?” The words burned my throat, a truth I couldn’t bear to face. He shook his head again, a hollow “No,” his eyes avoiding mine, refusing to offer even a sliver of clarity. Over and over, I begged—pleaded—for a reason, for anything to make sense of this agony. But he gave me nothing, leaving me shattered, my soul laid bare, drowning in the unbearable silence of a man I no longer knew.

The next morning, I stood at the school bus stop, first in line as always, waving Samuel off with a forced smile. As I turned to start my car, my eyes caught a glimpse in the rearview mirror—Mitchell’s car, parked two spaces behind mine. My stomach churned. Why was he here? What was he scheming now? The man I once knew had vanished in mere weeks, replaced by a stranger I couldn’t recognize. The other cars pulled away, leaving just ours—two silent witnesses to a crumbling life.

Dressed for work, Mitchell approached, his steps deliberate. He knocked on my window, and as I rolled it down, I saw tears glistening in his eyes. My own tears erupted, streaming down my face, hot and relentless. His words came, jumbled and nonsensical, piercing my heart. “Don’t you think I want to be married to my son’s mom?” he said, as if that could stitch together the gaping wound between us. I pleaded, my voice breaking, “You haven’t told me why you did this. Please, undo it. Whatever it is, we can fix it. I don’t know what you’ve done or why! You always promised me, promised us that you would never put us through this” But no answers came, only more confusion.

Then, with a hollow tone, he said, “This is for both of us, Jocelyn. Who knows, maybe one day we’ll remarry.” Remarry? The word stung, absurd and cruel. You don’t shatter a marriage with a flimsy promise of “maybe.” My mind reeled, grasping at the only certainty I had: his drinking had spiraled, a dark tide that had consumed him over the past four or five months. It was clouding his mind, twisting his reasoning—or so I told myself.

From his shirt pocket, he pulled a neatly folded piece of paper and handed it to me. “This is my attorney’s name and address,” he said, his voice steady now. “You need to pick up your divorce papers by 5:00 p.m. today, or you’ll be arrested.” My heart stopped. Arrested? I always believed him—he knew that. Looking back, I see how calculated he was, orchestrating every move. He even tried to paint himself noble, saying, “I don’t want to embarrass you with police serving you. I told my attorney I couldn’t do that to you. I had to do this with dignity.” Dignity? The word burned. He repeated that he loved me, that “this needed to happen,” that it was “good for both of us.” He reminded me to visit his attorney by 5:00 p.m. and walked back to his car, driving away as if he hadn’t just unraveled my world.

I sat frozen in my car, clutching that piece of paper, my sobs shaking me to my core. What had just happened? Arrested? Before 5:00? The clock was ticking, and I had a lot to figure out before Samuel would be home from school. I had to move, to act, to hold myself together. I drove home, my hands trembling, and called Heather. Through broken words, I spilled the story of the bus stop encounter. Heather, ever the fierce go-getter, didn’t hesitate. “I’ll expect you in thirty minutes,” she said, and hung up. I knew she was already springing into action, my lifeline in this chaos. I grabbed my purse, dabbed on some makeup to hide the wreckage of my face, and drove to her house, my heart heavy with the weight of a life I no longer understood.