The texts went on – several times – daily, threatening me and calling me every crude thing he thought of. He even sent pictures of him holding his penis,
as if that would make me come running home. Flipping through the texts, I stopped on a series of them that started six days ago. These had a different tone.
Jeremy: Babe, I am sorry. I need help. I need you. Please, Caitlyn, come
home to me. I’ll stop it all. NO MORE WOMEN. Only you. I’m dying
inside without you.
Jeremy: Caitlyn, answer me. Please. I love you.
Jeremy: Fine, you bitch. I signed your papers. Don’t come crawling
back to me. I hope you enjoy your new life. When I’m done telling
everyone what you’ve done, no one will want anything to do with you.
Jeremy: Oh God. I didn’t mean it. It was the booze. I’m a mess without you. I signed the papers, but you can come home, Babe. Remember our
last night? Remember how great we are together?
Setting the phone down, I stared out at the night sky. How do you respond to
someone who’s such a narcissist? I had been at peace. I shouldn’t have read his messages. It just reopened my old wounds.
I had been broken for so long. I always felt I had to be the perfect woman,
when in reality, I was far from it.
For the past year, I denied the fact that I once loved Jeremy. At one time, there had been something good in him that brought me to him. What changed, sending us off into this spiral? How could you love someone so much, one moment, and then forget they existed, the next?
Caitlyn: You know we’re NOT good together. There has been too much
damage done by both of us. You have a family to take care of now,
Jeremy. Yeah, I know about Ginger. She’s your chance to be a good man.
Invest your energy in her and your child. She loves you, even though you
don’t deserve it.
You don’t have to break someone you love to keep them. I want to forget the
last five years. I want to remember the Jeremy I met in San Diego. The man I fell in love with. The man who left my heart a long time ago. Goodbye, Jeremy.
The next afternoon, I checked my email and found good news. I smiled as I
reread the confirmation I needed. The lawyer wrote, “Jeremy Whittaker has agreed to all terms of the divorce papers. The papers were filed on November 13th.”
I would be a free woman in April. California’s six-month waiting period meant the divorce would be final in the spring. A perfect time for a new life to begin.
I slept like a baby that night. This time, I didn’t even wake when Vivian came in to add another blanket.
Twenty-Eight
After two days of endless decorating and food preparation, Vivian
woke me up bright and early the next morning. “Come on,
sleepyhead. We have a lot of baking to do this morning before our
guests arrive. Take your time and get ready before you come down. I want everyone to see how happy and healthy you are here.”
“Or show them how you fattened me up,” I contradicted.
“Pshaw, you are still as skinny as a rail,” she scolded. “Whoever got in your
head needs to get out.” She flittered off, calling, “Get ready, but don’t dawdle, love.”
By the time I made it to the kitchen, Vivian and her housekeeper, Sofia, were
mixing, rolling, and chopping.
“Sorry, I took so long. Where do I start?” I asked.
“Grab an apron and start coring and peeling apples,” Vivian directed. “You
look very pretty today, Caitlyn. Dark red really is your color.” Even bossing someone around, she took the time to smile brightly and throw in a compliment.
