I owe you the truth
I guess you are wondering why I showed up at your house last night. It was late, you must have been in bed and wondering why in the world someone was ringing your doorbell at this time of night. You left your warm bed and opened the door to find me. I stood there with no explanation except for my black eye and the tears streaming down my face. You hurried me into your home and not caring about my shoes, which were wet with yesterday’s rain. You took care of me. You let me cry until my tears ran dry. You asked nothing from me though I had asked everything from you. You let me sleep. You let me recover. For these reasons I owe you an explanation. It is a long story but you deserve the truth.
A week from last Saturday my life started falling apart. I thought I had a pretty good hold on my life. I ignored the cracks, which quickly grew to gapping wholes. I ignored the leaking roofs, which seeped through the floor and ruined the carpet. Everything was fine, just fine. It worked, I kept living on. It was enough or that it was at least what I thought. I guess not everyone felt that way. He didn’t. I thought it was going to be ok, we were together. It would work out. Things would get better. We could do this but I guess he reached his tipping point.
He never came home late on Saturdays. Saturdays were our night. After the week with all the long hours and us barely seeing each other, Saturday was when we were together. I guess I should have taken it as the first sign something was wrong when he got back four hours late with the smell of alcohol still on his breath. He went straight to bed. I should have taken that as the second sign.
