Heartbreak Warfare
(Let Me In, Book 1)
Jessica Marin
Edited by
Cissie Patterson
Cover Design by
Najla Qamber Designs
Heartbreak Warfare (Let Me In, Book 1) © 2018 by Jessica Marin
All rights reserved.
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, alive or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
This book is dedicated to my Grandma Shirley, who introduced me to the world of books. I know she is sitting in heaven, tickled pink by this novel.
And to all the ladies out there….the single working ladies, the full time working mothers, the stay at home mothers and the stay at home wives…whatever your current life situation is, YOU ARE WORTHY!
You are worthy of all of your dreams, happiness, love and success. Always make yourself a priority and NEVER STOP DREAMING.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
Everyone has days in their lives that will never leave them. Days of happiness, days of experiences, days of sorrows. Today is one of those days for me. A day I thought would never happen to me. When you’re writing the story of your life, this day is not in your happily ever after.
Today is the day my marriage officially ended.
Today is the day my husband told me he no longer loves me. Correction – no longer is IN love with me. He says he’ll always love me, but that I deserve to be with someone who is IN love with me. He promises there’s no one else but after eight months of therapy, he doesn’t see his feelings changing and it’s unfair to me for him to stay in something that’s dead.
I pretend not to hear him as I continue typing on my keyboard, but of course I heard him. I can’t look at him. My breath is caught in my throat – words cannot get past the giant lump that has now formed. He knows I heard him – he sees the tears streaming down my cheeks. His words will resonate with me forever. Gone are the happy memories we once ever had. Now when I think of him, this will be that moment.
FUCK YOU my head is screaming as I hear him walking towards the door. I wish I could say those two words and their significance of how I feel. But the moment is gone. A silence that is filled with anger, defeat, and pain. I will not chase him. I will not beg for him to reconsider. I am done being the only one fighting to save us. If he isn’t in love with me anymore, then I shouldn’t want him to stay. What I don’t understand is where and when did he fall out of love with me?
We just had what seems like our millionth fight. Of course, it was over something stupid – aren’t most fights over something stupid? Simple things that could have simple resolutions. Our war with each other has become me wanting his time and him not willing to give it to me anymore. I used to be his number one priority. Now I am more like his mistress and work is his wife. Once upon a time, I WAS his life.
We met while working for the same sports agency firm. I was Assistant Director of Corporate Events and he was the Vice President of Corporate Sponsorship. He was charming, smart, funny, and good-looking. He knew how to use his looks and charm to land sales, especially if he was pitching to the female clientele. Each time he got our company a new corporate sponsor; I threw a lavish event in their honor. We had to work closely together, so we became fast friends. It was hard not to have a little crush on him, but I was professional and enjoyed his friendship, so I assumed that is what we were only ever going to be. I didn’t think I was his type in the looks department either. He seemed to always gravitate towards blonde, blue-eyed women. Women who looked exactly like him, the complete opposite of me. Imagine my surprise one night when we were working late and he kissed me. We spent the next three hours kissing instead of working. I was head over heels in love with him. He made me feel like the most beautiful woman on this planet and he always made me feel loved – by the words he would say to me and the looks he bestowed upon me.
We were married two years later and I was in complete bliss, both personally and professionally. After our one-year anniversary, we talked about having a baby. But another year passed, and we still had not conceived. My doctors did more testing and we found out that I had an abnormal uterus. The doctor said it would be “tough” getting pregnant.
I was devastated.
I felt like a complete failure as a woman and as a wife. I started questioning why my husband would want to stay married to me if I couldn’t give him a family. He thought I was being ridiculous, and told me it didn’t matter to him if we didn’t have a baby. That all he needed was me. My intuition didn’t believe him, and a woman’s intuition is usually right. As the months moved on, I would catch him looking at other people’s children with longing in his eyes. I knew my depression was affecting us, and I vowed to try to go back to being that bubbly, positive girl that he married. When I suggested we try using a surrogate, the light immediately came back in his eyes and we started making plans. He was about to accept a new position as Director of Corporate Sales for a Fortune 500 company, so with the extra income coming in, we should be able to afford a surrogate by the following year.
The love for my job was lost once he left the agency for his new position. I had not realized how much I relied on him professionally, as well as personally. I started feeling like maybe I had lost my identity. Sure, I was someone’s wife, but I was still ME and needed to do things that made ME happy. With his blessing, I quit my job and started my own event planning business, with a specialty in children’s parties. This required me to learn more about social media, including starting my own blog. I loved absorbing all this new information and I was back feeling like I could conquer the world with the best husband by my side supporting me. But as I engrossed myself more into my new business, I failed to notice the newfound changes in my husband.
His new job required that he traveled more, which at first I had no issues with since it gave me the time to devote to growing my business. His travels went from once a month to every week. He was traveling to land the big accounts, and with those big accounts, came big commission checks. Money was always important, but it now was an obsession to him. It became a game – how much money can he make in a short amount of time. All he wanted to do was make more and more. Even when he was home, he was still always on his computer or taking phone calls late at night. His
tastes started to become expensive. Our cozy apartment turned into a cold, modern day looking museum from all the remodeling he ordered to be done. He had always been generous with buying me little gifts here and there. Before it would be a new book that I wanted or a gift card to my favorite coffee shop. Now my gifts were lingerie from La Perla and jewelry from Ippolita. The gifts just felt like he was buying my forgiveness for his lack of attention. Maybe some women are fine with that. For me, it was unacceptable, so I demanded we seek couples therapy. At first, he was reluctant to go. He didn’t believe that outsiders should know the business of our marriage. But when the fights continued, he finally agreed.
Therapy bored him. He was physically present, but mentally unavailable. Even the easy suggestions of weekly dates seemed difficult for him. I was ecstatic when he suggested we go on a vacation. But in those weeks leading up to our vacation, he was busier than ever and hardly around. Once our vacation arrived, we were walking on eggshells around each other. He felt like a complete stranger to me. Even the sex felt cold and distant. I still never gave up hope though. I knew in my heart that the man I married was still in there, and he wasn’t going to give up on me either. I am the same girl he married. Physically, I had not changed much, give or take five pounds or so. I was always his biggest cheerleader. I always put his needs before mine. We were constantly having sex up until he preferred work over me. But he did give up. He gave up on me. He gave up on us.
Why did he give up on ME?
I am trying to concentrate on my daily blog post, but I can barely see through the tears. The keyboard becomes saturated with their wetness, my fingers slipping as I try to type. The post has become more of a journal of my emotions in this moment than an article on a Valentine’s Day party. Memories are flooding though my brain like waves during high tide. It’s as if my brain wants to wash them right out in order to stop the pain that is throbbing through my heart. The music selection on Pandora Radio is only making things worse, playing every single sad song known to man. It’s like she knows what’s going on and wants to break me even more.
Pandora, you’re a bitch!
I can’t take it. Between the music, the memories, and the realization of what’s actually happening, I need to find refuge. I run to my room and throw myself on what used to be our bed and cry.
I cry for the girl who thought she got her happily ever after.
I cry for the lost man that use to be my husband.
I cry for the children we will never have.
I cry for the realization that I am now alone.
In my misery of the demise of my marriage, I conveniently don’t recall that I just hit publish on a blog post that talks more about my marriage ending than of a child’s theme party. I unconsciously just committed career suicide.
Or so I thought.
1
One Year Later
Oh my, I think I just wet my panties!”
I roll my eyes at my assistant’s favorite saying when he sees something he likes, which can range from articles of clothing to a human being. We are sitting in JFK International Airport, waiting for our respective flights. He is people watching while I am trying to write some thank you emails. We just came from speaking at a three-day bloggers workshop, and I am on my way to Las Vegas for another speaking engagement at a women’s entrepreneur convention while Robert, my fabulous, fun loving, always cursing, gay assistant and friend, goes back home to Chicago to man the office.
When I accidentally published my emotional blog post over a year ago, never in a million years did I think thousands upon thousands of women would share it with their friends and it would skyrocket me to success. The advice, sympathy, and support I received from strangers was indescribable. It took Robert and I two days to go through all the emails and comments that were left for me. I tried to write everyone back, but ended up just writing a long thank you post. Never underestimate the power of women who band together to support each other when you are down or up.
“Jenna, you need to stop what you are doing and look at this fine specimen of a man!” insists Robert.
“Robert, can you stop talking about wetting your panties so loudly in public?” I chide while continuing to type on my laptop. “Anyone listening can be current or future clients and might not like how you, um, word things.” I try to get my point across delicately as I don’t want to hurt his feelings, nor do I want him to feel he can’t be himself around me.
“If people don’t like me for me, then we don’t want them for clients anyway.”
“Robert…”
“Fine, next time I will whisper it in your ear. Now will you please check this guy out!”
Sighing, I look up to appease him. The object of his lustfulness is talking to the lady at the ticket counter. With his back to me, I notice that he is very tall with curly brown hair peeking out from underneath his baseball cap, and has a very nice butt.
“Tall and a fine backside...right up your alley, Robert!” I go back to typing out my emails, not wanting to waste any more time staring at the stranger.
“That isn’t just a butt, Jenna, that is a USDA Grade A Ass!” he laughs at his own joke.
“You are seriously worse than a straight guy checking out women at Hooters,” I say, even though the comment was funny.
“Oh lighten up, Jenna. Did you sign away your sense of humor in those divorce papers as well?”
I immediately stiffen at his poor choice of sarcasm, the ink on the papers still a fresh new wound on my heart. Robert knows how devastating my divorce was and still is to me. His first day on the job was the day after that blog post - he was sharply dressed and ready to impress. He didn’t anticipate having his boss answering the door in hysterics and looking like a zombie. At that time, I didn’t realize I had thousands of emails waiting for me in my inbox, and I dumped it all on him that first day. I had no idea how to deal with it all, ashamed that I’d made my personal life so public. I was an emotional wreck that day; a horrible example of the kind of boss you want to be working for. He left me alone the remainder of that day, but decided I was worth sticking around for. Even today, I can’t believe he hasn’t quit to look for something, or someone, more stable.
I can tell Robert realizes he has gone too far. His constant chatter has stopped and he is fidgeting in his seat. I ignore him while I finish my emails. He clears his throat, expecting me to look at him or ask if he is okay, but I refuse to acknowledge him.
“Um, Jenna, I am really sorry. That was uncalled for. Please accept my apology?”
I give him a tight smile and nod my head. It is hard for me to stay mad at him because he is right. I have changed since my divorce. When I hired Robert, I was this wide-eyed, excited, energetic new business owner who thought she was the luckiest girl in the world to be her own boss. I was aware of my marriage problems, but to me, life was still good. I still loved my husband and thought we could get through our problems, no matter how bad they got. But that girl left with her ex-husband. That girl has been replaced with an insecure, wounded shell of her former self, who struggles to get out of bed every day, and not be depressed when I realize that I am alone. My heart has a wall of ice around it with cautionary tape. Work is the only thing that keeps me going. I am the only one who pays the bills now and I have people who rely on me in order for them to pay their own bills. I’ve got to succeed, so I have thrown myself into work. I work twelve-hour days on new party concepts, updating all of our social media outlets with the latest trends in parties, and inspiring other women to keep going, to better themselves and that we ARE worth it. I travel more now that I am in demand to do public speaking engagements. I couldn’t have done any of it without Robert and my best friend, Layla. They helped nurse me back to reality and put me in my place when I start getting depressed.
“I am working on trying to lighten up more and have fun. I thought I did a good job while we have been here in NYC.”
“Oh yes, I was very proud that you stayed up past midnight,” he says
with a wink.
After our last seminar, everyone that we were networking with wanted to go out. Not wanting to lose the chance at making new relationships, we went bar hopping and ended up at one of the gay bars, dancing until 4 am. I had so much fun and for a split second, I did feel like my old self. But that vanished as soon as I got back into my hotel room and reality came crashing in. I was about to tell Robert that I will continue to work more on bettering myself when he starts pawing at my arm.
“Jenna, look, he turned around…quick, before he walks away from us,” he says with excitement.
The only thing I can see is a strong, chiseled jaw and a very broad chest. His hat is pulled down low over his face. He is wearing a brown leather jacket that is open to reveal a gray t-shirt that clings to his muscled chest, jeans that hug his hips very nicely and sneakers. He seems to be concentrating on whatever his ticket says, and then he turns to make a beeline for the chairs near the entrance of the gate.
“Holy balls, do you KNOW who that is? That is Cal Harrington!“ Robert says with glee.
I must have a blank stare on my face, because his expression turns to shock.
“You don’t know who Cal Harrington is? The guy who plays Erik in the TV series ‘Wrath of The Vikings’?”
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