I instantly thought of our children still sleeping upstairs. It was only 5:00 a.m., and I was thankful that they did not hear a thing, shockingly enough. I felt a sudden panic about what to do next. I could barely hold my phone, I was shaking so much. It took me a few seconds to scroll through the phone numbers until I found Dave’s. I must have called five times but he never picked up.
I then called my dear friend Christy. I was crying uncontrollably when she picked up. I tried to get the words out through my tears, and when I finally did, she immediately said she was on her way over. My next call was to my parents. In my attempt to explain what had happened, I am sure I wasn’t making any sense so early in the morning. They were living in New Mexico at the time, and Mom said she would check on flights to come as fast as she could, knowing I was alone with the kids now.
Then, I called Amanda. Her voicemail came on instantly. Just hearing her voice made my stomach turn over with overwhelming nausea.
I am not sure how much time had passed before Dave called me back, but when he did, he said calmly and with very little emotion, “I had a feeling about this.”
We talked for a while, and it was through our conversation that we realized they had been together the night the four of us had dinner. He said Amanda went to spend the night at a “friend’s house,” not on their sofa as she had told me. I told him Greg had said he also went to a friend’s house, so it didn’t take much to put two and two together.
I was so grateful when Christy got to my house, I literally fell into her arms as she cried her own tears with me. I’ll never forget how she came to my rescue on that early morning. In the days that followed, she checked in on me, put sticky notes with encouraging words all over my house and just sat and cried with me without saying a single word. Christy was not the only friend who showed love and support for me during those really dark days. The most amazing part of having girl friends is that they will drop whatever they are doing when one of their own is hurting or needs help. They really stepped up to the plate for me. At least most of them did.
Sometime after the sun came up, I received a text from Amanda. I wish so badly that I had saved that text, because it painted the perfect picture of how manic she was in trying to deny what had happened. She even suggested that I was the one with the problem, for thinking such horrible things. She told me that she loved Greg like a brother, trying to explain the “I love you more” text, just like Greg had told me a few hours earlier.
I immediately thought they must have conjured up the story together of what they were planning on telling me, because they were saying the exact same thing.
“I would never, ever, do anything like that to you, Sarah!” She was panicking now, with a pleading tone to her voice when she finally called me.
“You are like a sister to me—I only love Greg like a brother. You have to believe me,” she said over and over again. As much as I wanted to believe the words coming out of her mouth, I knew for certain she was lying. I hung up. I couldn’t breathe, much less talk to the person who had just destroyed my family.
One of the hardest parts of the whole mess was that it was Thanksgiving break and school was out. When the kids all woke up, they sensed something was very wrong. I wish now that I had never told them what had happened, but there was no hiding the pain I was in, and no lie seemed to make enough sense to tell them. I figured they were going to find out anyway, but I wish they had not been so young, especially Sophia and Brenna, who were twelve and fourteen at the time.
Hayley was a freshman at The University of Texas and quickly came to the rescue for me, as well as her siblings. There are not enough words to describe the amazing strength Hayley showed during that time. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for her, but she stepped up nonetheless, making sure that I was okay, and helping with the kids, especially Dawson. I tried so hard to keep it together for Brenna and Sophia. I am not sure if they really understood what had happened or how seriously it would eventually affect our family.
The day after it all came out, I took Brenna and Sophia to lunch, while Hayley stayed at home with Dawson. I wanted to pretend, as best I could, that we would carry on as usual. Unfortunately, it would prove to be an impossible task.
“Mom, I knew something was going on. I could see how Dad and Miss Amanda were always looking at each other,” Brenna said bravely on the way home, in a quiet, caring voice.
I immediately started to cry. I cried that my children were now learning firsthand how horrible people can be, how friendships can mean nothing, and most of all, how their dad could hurt us so much. I had no way of explaining any of it to them, because I could not make sense of it myself.
“I’m so sorry you girls have to go through this. I wish I could make it go away,” I said as I wiped away my tears. “Let’s just enjoy our hour out of the house, okay?” It came out in more of a begging tone than a comforting one. I was so tired of talking about it, because talking about it made me think about it, and thinking about it was unbearable. But it was only the beginning and impossible to pretend it never happened.
In our group of friends, it was like an atomic bomb had gone off. Bodies were scattered everywhere, and friendships were being torn in all directions, trying to figure out what had happened to our tight-knit group. For a few days, Greg stuck to his story that nothing was going on, while Amanda worked on trying to get our friends to believe her. She tried to get them to believe that she would never do anything like that, and some chose to believe her.
Finally, after a couple of days, Greg came by the house to get a few things. I had not seen him since that night, and I started shaking when his car pulled into the driveway.
Did they do things in his car? Did she ever sit on my side in the passenger seat? Did anyone ever see them together in his car? These random and yet relevant thoughts raced through my head. He walked inside looking more tired than I had ever seen him before. All the kids were sitting silently in the kitchen, and none of them got up to great him when he came in. We were all expressionless. We looked at him as if we didn’t know who he was anymore; maybe we didn’t.
For the first time in days, I was not crying. I walked over to him, took his face into my hands and begged him to tell me the truth.
“Zeke, if you have ever loved me, you will tell me the truth and put me out of my misery. I feel like I am going crazy and can’t take the lies anymore . . . please,” I pleaded.
With tears in his eyes, he confessed. It may sound crazy, but I felt a moment of gratitude toward him for putting me out of my misery. I wouldn’t have to think I was crazy anymore. My brain could not take it any longer, and now I could start the process of dealing with all that had happened, and why.
The game was officially over after Hayley and I found the hotel they had stayed at through phone records and fake phone calls Hayley made to various hotels listed on the records. Apparently, Austin was very busy that night and most hotels were booked, which is why the phone records showed back-to-back calls around 11:30 p.m.
To find the right one, Hayley called each hotel, saying she had left some jewelry there under the name Amanda or Greg on the reservation. The last number she tried was the one.
Hayley hung up as soon as she heard the desk clerk say, “Yes ma’am, we do see you were here that night. Let me take a look in Lost and Found.” I could tell in her eyes when she hung up that she had the truth I still did not want to believe. It took a few years to not cringe every time I drove by that hotel.
The weeks that followed were hazy at best. Hayley spent her entire break by my side, helping with the kids and household stuff. Friends came over to try and make me laugh, or sit with me while I cried. Even after the truth came out, a couple of friends decided to support Amanda, which hurt tremendously at first, but later turned out to be the best friend-weeding-out-process ever.
Greg begged to come home and swore it was over with Amanda. But after checking the phone records again, I could see they were still in constant conta
ct. I was done and I was filing for divorce. The images of my best friend and my husband haunted me. I knew I could never trust Greg, let alone let him touch me, ever again. I could not even bear to drive by that Mexican restaurant for the longest time without feeling physically ill. How could I ever work through something like this? How could anyone?
At the time, I did not believe any counselor could help us or take away what was embedded in my brain, and honestly, I didn’t have the energy to even try. I thought that if it had been a one-night stand with a stranger, maybe I could have worked through it. But this was my friend’s face in my head, not a stranger’s. My friend’s body tangled up with my husband’s body in the heat of passion. It was emblazoned in my head now and haunted my dreams. I knew I was not strong enough to forget it.
Maybe we just were not meant for each other after all. Maybe true love doesn’t exist like I thought, and maybe I was easily replaceable by a woman like Amanda. Maybe they were meant for each other, and I was wrong for not nurturing my marriage enough. Maybe it was all my fault for allowing a friend like her in my life, and I had been interested in another man myself. I hated myself for ever wanting to be like her, or thinking she was so amazing and special. Maybe I was like her? I hated that thought more than anything.
Did I blame both of them? Hell yes, I did! But for some reason that I can’t explain, I blamed her more. Yes, Greg was my husband, and he absolutely owned his part in all of it and was a willing participant. Trust me, I let him know many times in the years that followed how much he hurt me and our children. But she was my best friend and used everything I’d ever told her to make my husband think I didn’t love him anymore, just so she could have him. She pretended to love my children as her own, completely manipulating what I thought was a very special friendship.
Yes, our marriage was struggling, but it was not up to her to end it for me. She used her sensuality and information against me to do just that. I still cling to the hope that she had some sort of personality disorder that was out of her control, and that she really was not aware of what she did to me. But honestly, I don’t think I will ever know why she did what she did.
There were some days I thought maybe I deserved it for having my own thoughts of infidelity, but nobody deserves what I felt that morning—the ultimate betrayal from two people I loved at the exact same time.
CHAPTER 16
IT IS HARD TO PUT INTO WORDS what the first year after the affair was like. Saying that it was a roller-coaster ride sounds a bit cliché, but that is exactly what it felt like. I had great days of feeling powerful and excited for the promise of all the newness coming my way, and extremely low days filled with sad reminders of all that had happened. I felt like the wind was knocked out of me if I ran into Amanda at the grocery store or at Starbucks; I would literally shake for hours. The images that I had worked so hard to get out of my head would all come flooding back, playing over and over in my head for days.
Greg moved back to Arizona for most of 2009 for a broadcasting job, an idea we were actually considering right before everything happened. But instead of us going together, he took a new girl he had started a relationship with. Hearing the news crushed me for the second time. I actually found out about the new love from a photo on our girls’ computer. He had taken her along with our kids on a bowling date.
Once again, my need to be accepted by a man kicked into high gear. When your husband cheats on you, then runs off with a different girl entirely a month later, it is sort of hard not to take it personally. I had a constant feeling of self-doubt and low self-esteem that only the attention of a man would fill. I was a single mother of four, one of those with special needs. Who in the world was going to love me and all that came with it? I was damaged goods and had convinced myself I would be alone forever.
I was still plugging along, caring for Dawson’s day-to-day needs and therapies, as well as three daughters with busy lives, trying the best I could to give them all the attention they needed. I felt as if I was in constant overdrive and tried to take breaks when I could. The girls were more than willing to help with Dawson now that they were old enough, but I hated to use them unless it was totally necessary, so I would go out after he went to bed. I slowly started getting serious about dating.
I won’t make this portion of my life seem like it was all doom and gloom. Being single in your late thirties certainly isn’t a terrible thing, especially loving love as much as I did.
It wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be to find someone interested in dating me. I really didn’t have one certain type of man that I was attracted to; he just had to have a good sense of humor, be somewhat attractive, intelligent, above 6'1" and not broke. Good looks were important to me, but I could easily fall for a not-so-attractive guy with a fabulous personality easier than a guy that was drop-dead gorgeous without one. I actually steered clear of the guys who girls drooled over. I love confidence but detest arrogance to my very core. I found this type of man hard to trust—which was extremely important to me—and did not like feeling they were doing me a favor by being with them.
At one point, Kyle, my high school friend who I connected with while Greg and I were in the rough patch, tried to start a real relationship. As much as I loved and adored him—he was probably a perfect match for me—I just could not get there romantically. Maybe it was because I did care for him so much, that I wanted to spare him any of my emotional weirdness. It just felt strange for some reason.
I soon discovered the wonderful world of online dating. After the kids would go to bed, I loved perusing through Match.com in my pajamas with a bottle of wine and a bowl of popcorn. Thankfully this was before Bumble and other “swipe” dating sites, because that could have been deadly to a person like me!
Dating sites were so much easier and better than getting a babysitter or sitting in a bar, waiting for Mr. Right to come along. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Happy Hour with my girlfriends as much as anyone, and loved it when interested men would join us at whatever high-top table we were gathered around. But it was more interesting to me when I could read all about the faces on the screen, their likes and dislikes, what they did for a living, where they had traveled, and their idea of the perfect date. It felt like Build-A-Bear, but with men instead of stuffed animals. It took me away from the stress of being a single parent or after a difficult day with Dawson. It made me feel like a desirable woman when men would reach out to me after seeing my profile. I thrived on reading all the nice things they would say about me without even meeting me in person. It was a rush I looked forward to almost every night.
I had pretty good success with dating sites. I would actually become engaged to one man, and married to another who I’d met online in the years that followed. Is that considered success, even though they didn’t work out? I am not really sure how to answer that, but I still believe in the process. Many of my friends have met wonderful people online and are in very happy relationships.
I enjoyed the anticipation of going on a first date, wondering if their picture matched their profile and what their personality was like. I have always loved meeting new people and getting to know all about a perfect stranger, even when I knew within the first thirty seconds it was not going to be a love connection. I enjoyed dressing up and having an adult conversation. I knew that I probably didn’t look good on paper, but for the most part, they didn’t seem to mind about my past or that I had four children.
It was sometimes difficult telling someone new about Dawson and his autism. I needed them to understand that it was an important part of who I was and that Dawson would always be the main man in my life. Surprisingly, almost every man I told didn’t seem to have a problem with it. They were actually very kind and curious about what Dawson was like and would ask me questions about him.
Dawson’s autism was so profound, he really did not seem to notice anything was different at home or that Dad was even gone. His behavior stayed the same. He was still locked in his own world, and we st
ill were trying to get in there to understand it. I was grateful the divorce had not impacted him, but worried a little that my girls’ happy disposition was just a mask for how they really felt about everything, including me dating so quickly after what happened with their dad. I was probably gone at night more than I should have been. For me, a night out was my therapy for dealing with all the fear and shame I felt.
Dating in your thirties naturally produces stories, and I had my fair share. There were times while on a date when I would become speechless after a comment or shocked at how they looked nothing like their photo. My biggest pet peeve was when they would not be truthful about their height, which was as important to me as having eyes. Did they think I would not notice that they were looking up to me as we said hello for the first time? If they would lie about something as obvious as that, I would not be sticking around to find out what else they were willing to lie about.
My single friends and I had nicknames for some to keep them all straight, as we shared our battle stories. There was Bad Breath Bob, Loud Talker Larry, Awkward Andy, and my favorite, Sloppy Steve—after my whole face got wet after a first, and last, makeout session. I had one guy tell me, the minute I sat down next to him at a bar table, that I would be so much prettier if I had long hair, but that my big boobs made up for it. Check, please!
Only once did I feel like I was in a really bad situation. After dinner with a guy who I had been out with a few times, we went back to his house. I thought I knew him well enough at that point to join him for one more drink before heading home. A few minutes after we got there, he became upset with me because I had no intention of sleeping with him. He’d had quite a few more drinks than I had, and I could see the frustration brewing in his intoxicated eyes.
Rounding Home: A Memoir of Love, Betrayal, Heartbreak, and Hope with an Intimate Look into Raising a Child with Severe Autism Page 12
