By deeasherself

My husband and I awoke to the sound of glass shattering downstairs. It was late at night; he put a hand on my shoulder to stop me from getting up and told me not to worry, he'll go see what's going on.

We met three years ago in church, which I know sounds weird. A man like him, in church? But there he was, and there I was, and the pastor happened to know both of us. Our introduction wasn't exactly a fairy tales thing: our names, a handshake, a bit of small talk. Neither of us imagined we'd move in together a month later and get married four months after that.

It doesn't feel like everything went too fast. Things happen, you can't stop that. Our relationship happened, and it was wonderful, and we made it happen the way we wanted it to.

Our wedding was chaotic, though. It was the middle of May, it shouldn't have been raining as much as it did. None of our guests could make it through the flooded streets, so the reception ended up being a lot more personal than we expected. We'd invited so many people, and the handful that showed up made us realize that they were the essential few we should've invited in the first place. But it was a good day, despite the downpour. I framed my favourite picture of that day and set it on the fireplace: we're dancing together, I think his friends got the DJ drunk and made him play a song they used to listen to all the time when they were kids. He's laughing in the picture, an arm around my waist, the other one up in the air. I have a copy in my wallet if you need to see it.

The moving in together was just as chaotic. When your routine starts changing, it's difficult to keep up. It's worse when you change it on purpose. We were both doing entirely different things, had entirely different eating times, even ate entirely different things. But it never felt like we couldn't make it happen. We made it happen, step by step, we took our time. 

I don't know how much time went by after he left. It was so late, all I wanted was for him to come back to bed. I know how this sounds, but I forgot about the glass shattering soon enough. I was trying not to be worried so I imagined he'd gone downstairs to get something to eat, he does that sometimes. So I fell asleep again. I didn't hear anything else from downstairs. And at some point I felt him slip back into bed. 

But it wasn't him. You need to understand, my fight or flight response has never been to fight. Whatever was different about whoever came back to bed, I couldn't tell because it was so dark. It was so late, I was half asleep. And it wasn't him. It wasn't my husband.

It wasn't him. 


Created: Mar 06, 2016


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