Never Without Hope (Sacred Vows Book 1)

by Michelle Sutton

  And that hurt most of all.

  Chapter 14

  That afternoon I crawled in bed before James arrived home from work. In fact, I was out cold before Jimmy even came home from school. I’d scribbled a note for my son to just grab a sandwich for dinner, took some Tylenol PM, and hit my pillow hard. I still can’t believe I did something so pathetic and lazy.

  I stirred as I heard Jimmy getting ready for bed, but pretended to sleep. I was too depressed to get up. Eventually I’d have to get out of bed and face my life, but the longer I slept, the more I could put off the inevitable confrontation that I dreaded. Suffocating in my own vomit would be more pleasant that telling my husband the truth. With that thought rolling around in my brain, I tossed and turned for hours.

  My restless sleep was interrupted by the sound of my cell phone ringing in the middle of the night. Tony’s special ring. I grabbed the phone and scampered into the bathroom. With caution I closed the door, hoping James hadn’t been awakened by the noise as I turned the volume down on the ringer.

  I glanced at the clock and groaned at the late hour. It was well after midnight.

  Flipping my phone open, I answered. “Hello?”

  The sound of a hysterical woman’s voice on the other end pierced my heart. It wasn’t Tony calling me, but his wife. The woman whose life I’d destroyed.

  She answered my greeting with a strangled hiss. “You slut! I need the truth. Don’t tell me you don’t know why I’m calling. I just need to hear the truth from you myself. Did you sleep with my husband?”

  My throat tightened. Words of denial were stuck inside, and even following that insult, I couldn’t force them out. They simply refused to come. I knew I should just hang up, but couldn’t bring myself to do even that much.

  “Tell me, bitch. I saw the wrappers on the floor the other day. I can’t believe my idiot husband thought I wouldn’t notice.” She snorted. “Now I know why my husband couldn’t keep it up. So just admit the truth, or he’s never going to see his son again. Do you want to be responsible for wrecking our lives even more?”

  Huh? Like I was the only one involved in the affair? Was Tony playing innocent to save his own skin? My affection for him waned as my defenses rose, but I took a calming breath so I wouldn’t lose my cool. “I don’t need to tell you anything.”

  “Just tell me how many times. I want to know if your story matches his.” She swore at Tony. I could hear a baby crying in the background. Poor thing must’ve been woken by his mother yelling at me. I felt bad for the baby, for he was truly innocent in all of this.

  “I said I don’t need to tell you anything.” I whispered loudly as I squeezed my eyes shut and sat on the toilet lid, which was thankfully down.

  “Why are you protecting him? He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about you. He just used you. So you might as well tell me the truth. I’m divorcing him no matter what you say, so just confess. I want to hear how much of a liar my husband really is. Tell me. How many times?”

  I sighed. She obviously wasn’t giving up no matter what I said. But before I could open my mouth to answer her I heard Tony’s voice. Apparently she’d shoved the phone at him. Tears flooded my eyes at the familiar husky sound of his heavily accented English. “Hope, I have a child. Please tell my wife truth so I not lose my son. Please.”

  The sound of his pleading really tore at my heart. I understood his pain, so I’d do what he asked even though everything in me rebelled against the idea.

  “Are you sure?” I swallowed hard.

  “Yes.” His voice sounded hesitant, yet also a bit desperate. What have I done to this man because I wanted him so much? Sin has so many consequences that I hadn’t even considered at the time. I just knew I wanted to do it. Nothing else mattered.

  There are always regrets. Always.

  So why don’t I learn?

  “I’m so sorry, Tony. I’m sorry…” I choked on a sob.

  His wife yelled in the background. “Go ahead and tell her she’s a whore! Tell her, Tony, I want her to hear it from you.”

  A low groan of dread emitted from him. Then his robotic-sounding voice repeated, “You are a whore.”

  “I know you don’t mean it, Tony. I forgive you for what you have to do.” Though I sucked back tears, I managed to get that much out.

  “Say it again. Tell her she’s also a slut. I mean it!” Her shrill voice made me wince.

  “You are a slut and a whore.” The agony in his voice made me pause.

  The fact that Tony repeated the phrase with no real conviction told me I was right. He didn’t mean what he said, but was obviously desperate if he’d resort to calling me names at her command. I couldn’t help but feel disgusted that he didn’t even try to defend himself or me. He just bent over and let her nail him.

  “Say it like you mean it! I’m not playing games, Tony! Say it again!”

  Pity for his situation overshadowed my own feelings. How could I help him at this point other than by absorbing all the blame?

  A tinge of anger invaded his prior tone. “You are a whore. I never want to see you.”

  My heart ached at his repeated insults. I couldn’t take much more name calling and seriously considered hanging up when his wife came back on the phone.

  “Stop protecting him. You heard that he doesn’t care about you. He just used you, so stop caring what he thinks. Just tell me how many times you did it in our truck.”

  She knew about the truck encounters? Oh boy. That meant he must’ve told her a few details about our meetings. So I conceded. “Twice.”

  “Say that again? Did I hear you correctly? You’re saying you screwed my husband in the back of our truck like a common whore? Really? Only twice, huh? Well I don’t believe you. Tony said it was more often than that.”

  “He did?” I paused. I could tell her about how many times we had sex but just not mention that we were in their home for the majority of the encounters.

  “Yep. Tony knows I mean business. I’m divorcing him and nothing he or you say will change my mind. I’m just thinking of my son now. I want to know what kind of lying SOB he is. I know you met more than two times. Just tell me the truth.”

  I estimated in my head and came up with a handful, at least. “Um, I think we met maybe six times, seven at the most.”

  “Whoa hoa! Big confession there. So now I know why my husband has such a limp dick! You’re saying you screwed my husband in our truck six or seven times. Ha! I wonder what all of those publishers will think when I tell them what you’ve been doing with my husband on the side. And you call yourself a Christian? That’s sick. How can you do such a thing? If that’s what your faith is like, I don’t want any part of it!”

  Her words sounded more choked than angry at the end of her diatribe. I wondered how she knew I was Christian, then realized she must’ve read my story. Oh, the shame I’d brought to Christ’s name because of my sin.

  I felt lower than ever—lower than the worst sinner in the Bible—at that moment. I didn’t care nearly as much that she’d tell the publisher interested in my series, but her hating my faith really bothered me. “Don’t be mad at God for something I did. Tony and I met because my husband hadn’t been—”

  “I know why you screwed my husband!” Her snide tone made me cringe. “He told me all about how you came on to him at the airport and how you gave him your card and asked him to meet you later because you reminded him of a boyfriend you had in high school. I know you wrote a romance novel about him. I even read some of it.”

  She snorted again, even louder this time. “The whole thing is poorly written and full of disgusting drivel.”

  Just like I’d figured. How humiliating. Now I felt even more naked—even more emotionally exposed—knowing she’d read my stuff. She must’ve found my book in their house. Somehow I knew I’d never get it back, and that bothered me, too. What was I going to do? Might as well kiss my writing career goodbye.

  “I’m sorry. I never meant—” I couldn’t finish
my sentence, shamed that I still didn’t know her name. My vision blurred and my ears started ringing.

  “You know darned right your ass is sorry. Tell you what. How about I come over to your place and you can apologize to my face…right before I tell your husband myself how sleazy and loose his wife is! Or you can come to my house and deal with this like a real woman, face to face.”

  Now she was making no sense at all and ranting with a semi-hysterical pitch. Like I would be stupid enough to do that. “Are you nuts? Why would I want to meet with an angry woman on her own turf? There’s no way I’m doing that. I don’t want to get violent over this.”

  I expelled a heavy breath and choked back a sob. “And you know what? I think we’ve talked long enough.”

  “Not by a long shot. I’m coming over to tell him myself.” She cursed. “Right now!”

  I flinched, hating myself so much at the moment I might’ve even handed her a gun and begged her to put me out of my misery.

  Before I hung up I heard her screaming like a psycho woman and I could swear she was beating on Tony. I wondered if he defended himself from her blows as she released an eerie witch-like cackle—making me question not only her sanity, but my family’s safety. She sounded like she had zero control right now.

  Obviously Tony hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said she acted crazy when she got angry. I wondered if she meant that threat, if she’d actually come over. The moment I hung up I realized I didn’t doubt her word for a second. If she knew I gave Tony my business card, then she also knew my address.

  My hands shook and I was in the middle of debating whether or not to call the sheriff’s department when my husband entered the bathroom, his eyes sleepy and his hair mussed. He paused when he saw me seated on the toiled with the lid down, and me fully clothed in my PJs.

  With tears streaming down my cheeks to top it all off.

  His questioning gaze told me he hadn’t a clue what was going on, but he knew something was wrong. He glanced at the cell phone I clutched in my shaking hand and touched my shoulder. “You okay?”

  My mouth opened but nothing came out, so I shook my head. A pitiful wail—a groan like a woman keening over the grave of a loved one in ancient times—escaped my lips.

  I was anything but okay.

  “I know it’s late, but if you want to talk about it I’ll listen for a little while.” He squatted so he spoke at my level, then kissed my forehead, which, of course, made me sob harder. I buried my face in my hands, but stood up when he grabbed my arm. I let him guide me into our bedroom.

  I sat next to him at the foot of the bed and groaned at the idea of telling him about the affair. But for all I knew Tony’s wife—whose first name I still didn’t know—might show up at any minute. So I had to tell him first.

  Everything in my gut told me it was a bad idea to spill something so painful this late at night, but I felt cornered by the threats and my fear. I knew I should wait until my sister arrived in a few days, but I didn’t think I had that luxury.

  If my husband had meant what he’d said when he told me there was nothing I could do that would make him stop loving me, then maybe I had a chance. So I decided to take that chance.

  Tonight.

  He waited patiently. I could see by his drooping lids that he was very tired. When my throat finally cooperated I squeaked out, “Remember when you said there was nothing I could do that would make you stop loving me?”

  James slowly nodded, alarm now appearing in his eyes—perking him up—as if he’d heard this all before. But I pressed on. I had to let him know tonight. There would never be a good time to confess.

  “I did something awful, James. Remember when I said every man in town was starting to look good to me? Well, I have this, uh, friend. He’s um, a guy, and…I…I slept with him.”

  James sprang up, now wide awake, and began pacing. “No! This isn’t happening to me! Not again!”

  I shook, terrified, as I watched him fretting over my news, and I wondered about my fate. I knew what the adulterous woman must’ve felt like when she was cast before the angry crowd clutching stones, aiming them at her. “I’m sorry, James. I’m so sorry.”

  He halted, then turned and raised his fist like he wanted to knock me out. But he caught himself. Instead he growled out his frustration and swore, then walked away and slammed the door so hard the wall shook.

  I sat on our bed wondering what he’d do next. Afraid to move.

  After five minutes I decided to scoot toward the phone by our bed and call my sister. “Allison? You there?”

  She picked up the phone and sounded groggy. “What’s up? It’s the middle of the night here. Is something wrong?”

  “I know it’s late,” I sobbed into the phone. “I just wanted you to know that I told James. I couldn’t wait for you to come. I’m sorry. I just need you to pray for me, okay? I’m really scared. I don’t know what to do.” I pressed the top of my hand against my mouth as I tried not to wail into the phone.

  “Sure, Hope. I’ll be there the day after tomorrow. I was going to call you anyway to tell you I got my ticket tonight. I’ll call you when I get there.”

  The sound of breaking dishes made me jump. “Now James is breaking stuff. Oh, God, this is worse than I thought.”

  “Has he hurt you?” I sensed the panic in her tone.

  Before I had a chance to answer her James stormed in the room, swore like a gang banger in the heat of a street fight, and then snatched the phone from my hand. He threw the phone at the wall, shattering it to pieces. “Don’t you dare tell anyone what’s going on. You hear me? No one!”

  I flinched and noticed he’d grabbed a beer bottle. He swigged the rest down and I could tell he was holding himself back, drinking to numb the pain.

  There’d been a day when I was younger when I’d do the same thing. I’d try to blitz away the heartache with booze. But the effect never lasted long. It always came back, often stronger than before.

  “Why, Hope? Why’d you do that? I never thought you’d be a slut like my other ex-wives. I thought you were different. I can’t believe I trusted you!”

  My quaking shoulders sagged. I didn’t even try to defend myself. I knew I was wrong and was just waiting for him to cast a stone at me. He had every right to, and if he tore into me, I wouldn’t even defend myself. I would deserve every lash, every kick. Instead of punching me, in his rage James did something he knew would hurt even more.

  He screamed in my face that he wanted Jimmy to know what kind of mother he had. Then he darted across the house and stormed into Jimmy’s room. I heard him cussing and calling me every foul name in the book. That didn’t pierce my heart half as much as the sound of Jimmy’s wails. “Stop it, Daddy! Stop!”

  I ran to see what had Jimmy so upset beyond his father’s obvious language and anger. I found James bent over, leaning in our son’s face. He’d never intimidated Jimmy before or humiliated me—and with such rage!

  He screamed about what a whore I was and how Jimmy needed to know the truth about me. Then he said we’d all be better off dead and stormed out of the room.

  As I sat on Jimmy’s bed shaking beside him, I cried. “I’m so sorry, Jimmy. I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault, I promise. I’m so sorry.”

  Our son stared at me with his chin quivering, his blue eyes wide, and his blond hair mussed, probably shocked and a bit mystified from being woken up out of a sound sleep. “What did you do, Mom? Why did Dad call you a whore?”

  I tried to think of a way to explain things that would be truthful, yet would make sense to someone his age. “Remember when you were in second grade and you wanted that colorful ball at the store? Remember how you took it and put it in your pocket even though you knew stealing was wrong? Then you tried to hide it from me because you knew I’d be upset?”

  He nodded slowly.

  “Well, I wanted something I didn’t have, too. Your dad hasn’t touched me in bed in a long time, so when this guy
friend of mine started touching me, I let him do it. I was so lonely, Jimmy. I’m sorry this happened to you, to us. I’m sorry.” I started crying again, my shoulders slumped as I crossed my arms over my stomach.

  “That’s okay, Mom. There are lots of people in the Bible who did bad things. That’s why God had the stories there so we’d know that even if we did bad things that God would help us to not sin anymore. Have you told God you’re sorry?”

  I shook my head. “I’m too ashamed.”

  My son touched my shoulder. “But He said to the woman they caught in adultery that if she went and sinned no more He wouldn’t condemn her, right Mom?”

  I nodded again.

  “So tell Him you’re sorry and that you won’t do something like that again.”

  “It’s not that easy, Son. I wish it were.” I put my arm over his shoulder.

  He snuggled close. “Mom, if I can forgive you then of course He can. He’s much more holier than I am. That’s why He’s called our Savior. We can’t save ourselves no matter what we do.”

  Everything Jimmy said was true, and I marveled that from the mouth of my son poured forth wisdom and not condemnation. “I know. I am sorry. I didn’t say that to God before because I didn’t think I would stop and I didn’t want to lie, you know?”

  “Yeah.” Jimmy wiped the tears from his cheeks and said, “No matter what you did, I love you, Mom. You don’t have to keep saying you’re sorry. I believe you.”

  Of course, his loving statement just made me lose it all over again. I sobbed and clung to my boy, marveling at his soft heart in spite of what had happened. Inwardly I dared to hope that God would forgive me, too. Though I went into the affair fully aware of how wrong it was, He would still forgive me if I truly repented. It sounded unbelievable.

  James burst into the room, cursing. “You lying to our son to win him over? Huh? Maybe I should just kill us all!” He made a gesture like he cocked a gun and pointed it at his head. He then growled and punched the wall, creating a fist-sized hole.