(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Mature subject matter. Reader discretion is advised. 18+)
I didn’t want to show Rosie that I was in physical pain when I had walked into his apartment after he had locked me out. I didn’t want to give him any satisfaction. Rosie’s pure intent in that moment was for me to cramp. I know this was my punishment for crossing him that night. Rosie could be quite spiteful. Rosie may have gotten his wish. I cramped like there was no tomorrow. It took all the strength I could muster to keep my face from showing my true discomfort. I wasn’t about to show it on my face. No matter how much pain I found myself in. Rosie’s big ego was more than enough already. No stroking was needed.
As I took off my jacket and winter boots, both Jean and Alyssa approached me. They came out of their bedroom wearing their pajamas. As they both walked towards me, one of them said, “Dad locked you out”.
I was stuffing my winter coat in the closet. I responded with, “I know. Where were you guys?”
Both kids responded in unison, “McDonald’s.”
Then Jean said “I told Dad you didn’t have keys to get in. We even ate fast because we figured you were probably cold. Dad said we weren’t in a rush. I’m sorry”.
Jean had witnessed me in pain from muscle cramps on a few occasions by that point. He was with Rosie when I had to be rescued outside once or twice. I can imagine that was not easy for him, and only added to his traumatized life thus far. Jean helped to calm me down with his thoughtful empathy, being none the wiser. In my mind I thought, “what a thoughtful boy for wanting to return home quickly. I think he was genuinely concerned about me.”
I responded with “I see. It’s not your fault sweetheart. Your dad and I had a disagreement. That’s all.”
Rosie was standing in the kitchen doing something or other , within earshot, when the kids came out to speak with me. I wasn’t interested in entertaining him.
From there, I went into Rosie’s bedroom, grabbed my pajama pants, a t-shirt, a new pair of undies, and then went to the bathroom. I asked if anyone needed to use it. They all said no, so I closed the door and took a nice long hot bath with candles, and some Imagine Dragons on YouTube playing in my ear.
I was a bit spiteful. I played the Imagine Dragons’ song, ‘Bad Liar’, on a much higher volume than their other songs. I did have to get my message across. My ego was at full attention.
Thank you Imagine Dragons. You guys helped me to stay strong against Rosie. That song hit a cord in me each and every time I heard it. Sadly, that song is now associated with Rosie, so, it isn’t a song I necessarily listen to today. Still a bloody good song though!
Both kids had gone to bed as I was bathing. Rosie came in a few minutes after he tucked them in to talk, I guess. When he opened the door, I didn’t give him time to speak. I told him I would be leaving. If my memory serves me correctly, that evening was a Tuesday.
Liv had made arrangements for me to be picked up by her step-father, Bill, on Friday that same week. I didn’t know exactly at that time that Bill had to push the date to the Sunday. Rosie acknowledged my statement then turned, muttered something, then he closed the door. Rosie stayed in his room that night. I slept on a God awful futon in his living room. Beside a puppy who was being trained within a small confined space, with pee pads.
The dog’s name was Duke II. Rosie bought that dog for the kids after I moved in, in 2021. Rosie had another dog prior to this one, named Duke. Rosie had me bring Duke from New Brunswick, with me, in 2020. That was when I helped him and his mum out with Jean. When it came to Duke II, Rosie had forgotten his busy lifestyle, or, he knew that he could take advantage of my kindness. In other words, he was willing to risk it for the biscuit. Betting that I would do all the work. Rosie was correct. I did all the work, with both of his dogs.
The first Duke was a couple of months old when I had helped Rosie out back in 2020. Rosie had wanted to surprise his son because his sister had a puppy with her at her mom’s. Duke was Rosie’s bargaining chip for Alyssa, and an ego “one up” on Gemma. I know this today. I also knew that back then.
I didn’t care for Duke much. I bought him off of a co-worker at an elementary school I had been working for during that time. I had brought Duke with me on a long drive to Montreal, an eight hour or so drive, and during the brutal January cold Canadian winter. I remember; I had to stop at different rest stops often to let Duke out for a bit, and to alleviate cramps in my hands, legs, and feet. Fun times.
Rosie didn’t pay a cent for that dog. I paid for Duke and his vaccines. Rosie didn’t pay me back either. Even though he was the one who wanted the dog and said he would give me some money. My goodness I was a whipped people pleaser back then.
Rosie got rid of Duke I, after I left in 2020, and before the end of Rosie’s training on the base in Gagetown, New Brunswick. Rosie’s training was scheduled to end in April that same year. Rosie’s January, “good idea” to acquire Duke, had come from Gemma’s ability to manipulate Alyssa the same way.
Gemma would give messages to Alyssa such as, “Alyssa, stay here with me. I have Lucy. She misses you when you are not home.”
Gemma mastered the art of manipulation. I also wondered if Duke was a way to create a form of competition as well. Both Rosie and his ex were highly competitive with one another. My children love me more. No me! No me! Children fighting over children, so sad.
Whilst Rosie and Gemma were competing over the elusive “parent of the year” award, along with Rosie competing for the world record for the most affairs one person can have in a month, I had to do all the training and care for Duke. I was the one who walked him every two hours so he could do his business outside, including through the night. I trained Duke to walk beside me rather than pull me. I had also been working with him to not bark when he could hear people in the stairwell. I did all this with a messed up leg and severe muscle spasms as well. Rosie’s mind never fully registered how much effort went into training and raising a dog, nor in my efforts in loving him.
When I had asked Rosie what had happened to Duke shortly after moving into his place, in July, 2021, he said to me that he had given Duke to a family who had more time in order to take care of him properly. This makes sense really. Rosie’s kids hardly paid attention to any of the dogs we ended up housing during my time with their dad.
Rosie was too busy making his new friends on his shady side of life. He didn’t have time for a furry friend. I thought about all of this whilst I painstakingly waited for Bill to rescue me. I ticked down those days like a pin cushion being jabbed with every minute passing by. Ouch.
The following few days of my 2023 departure were pretty much the same. Rosie was out and about during the day. He was either at one of his several medical appointments, or on base, or God knows where. At night he slept cozy in his bed. Whilst I was left to sleep on a futon. Beside an untrained and rather noisy, puppy.
Basically, I was placed inside the doghouse. Rosie must have secretly relished in the fact that he put me in a proverbial doghouse more than once. His ego was fiercely strong let me tell ya. Bloody hell.
During the day, and as per usual, I was left to my own devices. Jean and Alyssa were at school. I had the place to myself. My mind kept racing about all sorts of experiences with Rosie. On the third afternoon, after my expected three days of contemplative silence, and before leaving, Rosie was looking at the vision board I made with the kids. It was on the wall almost directly across from the front entrance, and right beside a window. On that particular vision board had a gold wedding ring. I tore it off of the board when I was alone.
I was home, I would say, about eighty-five percent of the time. Throughout the entire time Rosie and I shared our journey together. I didn’t realize at the time that I was a single woman inside of a toxic relationship. I was in a financial and loveless prison. Spirit may have been showing me. I wasn’t picking up what they were laying down. Lesson learned today.
Rosie noticed the ring picture missing from the visual aid. He gestured towards it and looked at me. I said “What?”. I knew what he was getting at. I just didn’t want to entertain his mind games. My mind was already fragile at that point.
Rosie replied with “it’s gone”. As in the little magazine picture of the gold intertwined wedding bands was missing.
I said, in a matter of fact way, “I took it off. I have no interest in getting married to anyone anytime soon.”
Rosie had then walked away and shrugged his shoulders. There really wasn’t much he could say. I found it appalling that he would have the nerve to talk about a wishful thinking picture about a never to be wedding. Right after we fought about his infidelity. That’s messed up.
This particular conversation with Rosie triggered another memory locked within me. I had often dreamt of going away on honeymoon with my man to a beautiful tropical paradise. I didn’t go on a real honeymoon with either of my ex-husbands. I often fantasized about being on a white sandy beach with a pina calada in my hand, and my gorgeous, loving, highly intelligent, quick witted, specimen of a husband, beside me. My Christy.
The trigger was a small picture of a palm tree in the collage. It brought me back to when I found out about Rosie’s choice to plan, pay, and then execute, a seven day, all-inclusive and romantic getaway to Mexico with Gemma, his supposed ex and baby mama. He went on this planned pre-honeymoon trip with Gemma, whilst I was fighting thoughts of suicide, and planning my escape from this world. The day I found out about Rosie’s and Gemma’s trip is a day I will never forget.
It was Rosie’s birthday. It was September 13, 2017. It was the day after the night of drunken terror. Rosie booked a room in a motel on the top of the hill in Fredericton. Finally, a different motel than that sleezy one on the side of the highway. It was nice. Nothing too fancy. What I liked about it was the room. It was cleaner with a king sized bed, a table, mini fridge, and some other typical items you would find in a four star motel. I brought a small bag with me. Not a plastic grocery store bag like the last time. It was one of my own purses that was big enough to hold a fresh change of clothes and some toiletries. Call me Mary Poppins.
I wasn’t expecting to have sex with him. I started a period. Not that that mattered most of the time. Rosie and I had anal sex more often than anything else. Which was probably his inspiration for whistling at me like a dog during his drunken road rage the day before. Rosie had introduced me to anal sex. He enjoyed anal sex often. I had told Rosie that he was the only one I had felt comfortable enough with behind me. I told him briefly about the ‘necklace man’ back when I was nine years old. I was telling him the truth. Someone grabbing me from behind can be triggering at times. Understandably so.
At first, sex wasn’t so great with Rosie, or any man for that matter, if I was brutally honest with you. I could fake it till you make it just like anyone else can. Today, I prefer anal over vaginal for two reasons. Firstly, I am accustomed to it. Second, it usually hurts when a man’s penis is inside my vagina. My vagina also looks weird. It’s a rather difficult sexual trauma to move through. Healing can take a lifetime to complete and can require love from another soul.
Rosie got out his favorite drink, vodka and lemonade. He made us both a drink within about ten minutes of us arriving at the motel. Rosie and I always had a drink in hand, anytime we shared a hotel room at a little hideaway somewhere.
Looking back now, I wonder if Rosie saw me as the “closing girl” when the bar announces last call for drinks? I am aware that my subconscious received that message at any rate. I didn’t fully realize the loveless message coming from Rosie. I recognize it today. The “let’s drink” message had fed my little girl when I looked in the mirror. Critiquing all her ugly stretch marks, the arrival of glistening silvers in her hair, some new menopausal facial hair, as well as bags under her eyes.
Today, I admire the beautiful woman I see in the mirror. Any and all daily skin changes are acceptable by me. My face tells a story of tribulations with a triumphant end. I am truly my own best friend. Besides, I do invest in my body. I have my forties back. My mind is simply catching up to this fact.
Rosie and I played dominos on the little circular table that the hotel provided in the room that night. We played the game of dominos often together when we weren’t busy having sex or needing to put out fires. Rosie was more competitive than I was. He made me keep score most times. I secretly kept a thick pad of all our scores over the years. The list was in my memory chest for the longest time. I didn’t throw them away right away. I kept that notepad, along with Rosie junior, a bear he loved bombed me with for many years. I kept those until after I left him in 2023 in fact.
Rosie had no idea that I kept the scores all that time. I can be a wee bit over the top sentimental. I am also private about that, and proud of my soft heart. I naturally cry when I see people succeed. Seeing someone’s dream come true is music for my soul. That won’t change about me. I’ve been a sentimental cryer for most, if not all of my life. I’m good with it.
Whilst we played dominos that night, we were quickly getting drunk. I was becoming more relaxed and his sexy ass was becoming more appealing. We ultimately had sex that night. Afterwards, whilst laying in bed, I started thinking again. I had a thought that was playing in the back of my mind the entire night. I wasn’t talking about it because I didn’t want to accuse, nor speak out of turn by bringing up the topic. The traumatic night before was brutal enough. I was definitely concerned with the potential response I would have gotten from Rosie. I had to walk on egg shells every now and then.
If I was brutally honest, I knew what Rosie’s response was going to be. I wasn’t ready to feel more pain just yet. All I had wanted was a fun night. A, “leave all the drama outside”, kind of a night. It was Rosie’s birthday. I didn’t want to piss him off. I wanted him to have a nice night. As per usual, I put myself last. My need to know outweighed his comfort level towards the end of that horrific night though. I decided to ask him a question I dared to ask.
When we were separated, and before I met Joel in person, a picture of Rosie and Gemma had been circulating over the internet. I don’t remember how the picture had come across my screen. Nonetheless, it did. The beautiful universe was at play it seems. I asked Rosie about that picture and showed it to him on my phone. His light-heartedness changed to seriousness rather quickly. I think he was a bit stunned with seeing his picture in the tropics. Rosie did not see it coming.
“When and where was this taken?”, I asked with a soft and serious tone.
It was a picture of him with his arm around Gemma’s waist. They were standing under a palm tree. Rosie wore a snazzy blue and white beach shirt, long black shorts to his knees, and brown sandals. Gemma wore a bathing suit with a white mesh skirt around her waist, and no shoes on her feet. They were standing on a white sandy beach staring into the camera, smiling. I can see that picture inside my mind vividly to this day.
I sat beside Rosie on the hotel bed when I had asked him about the picture. Rosie was laying down in a relaxed and rather satisfied pose. I bet he was thinking all was smoothed over. Rosie thought sex was his treat for all women. When I asked Rosie about his tropical escape, he sat up, pulled me on top of him to straddle him like you would a horse, then looked straight into my eyes and said, “I have something to tell you”.
The first thought in my head was that he had gone away with Gemma when I was alone reeling over him breaking up with me at the highway motel. My intuition tells me today that his tropical getaway had been booked when we slept together right before my walk of shame. He broke my heart so that he could go to Mexico. He wasn’t expecting me to find out about it.
I suspect Rosie and Gemma were scheduled to fly out on the following monday. It makes sense in the timing of his car speaker being on when I had professed my psychological pain. My intuition is bloody strong let me tell ya. Call me Sherlock.
“Gemma and I went away when we weren’t talking over the past few weeks”. Rosie explained with trepidation.
“Are you fucking serious! Where did you go?” was all I could think to ask next.
“To Mexico” was his reply.
“When did you go? How long did you go for?” I prodded him for details.
Rosie’s response was “you don’t need to know the details. Other than we didn’t get along most of the time. You’re only hurting yourself by asking questions when you know the answers would hurt you”.
I lost it. “You mean to tell me you berated me about being with Joel and here you are on a romantic getaway with her. I’m going to be sick”.
I quickly got my underwear only wearing ass off of him, then I grabbed my clothes. I went straight to the bathroom. Whilst I was in the bathroom Rosie fell silent. This was of course after he had pleaded with me to listen to him. Rosie insisted the holiday wasn’t a romantic one. I call bullshit.
According to Rosie, Gemma needed a break from the kids. She pressured him into going. Supposedly he had a horrible time with her. Gemma was miserable and they had fought most of the time there. Like I was going to believe all that after all the other shit that he had pulled. That guy could lie to the virgin Mary if he felt he had to. Just so he could hide his true nature from his highly fought for reputation. Rosie was a God fearing man too. Supposedly.
Whilst I was in the bathroom, something else had come to my horror. While Rosie and I were having sex, a tampon that I was using had lodged so deep inside of me. It was so deep that I couldn’t grab the string to pull it out. I would normally press the string against me during the humpty dumpty. With that said, I was drunk, so who knows what happened in that moment. I needed help. Rosie was the only one who could do it.
I called him into the bathroom hysterical. “Rosie, I need your help!”.
Rosie thought I was having another muscle cramps attack. I was seated on the toilet with my panties down to my ankles when Rosie had come into the hotel bathroom.
“It’s stuck. I can’t get it out”.
“What’s stuck?”, he asked.
“My tampon. You must have knocked it up there. Get it out! Please! I can get septic shock from one of these things”.
Rosie got down on his knees, in between my legs, and then he respectfully got it out. Whilst I sat on the toilet, completely humiliated. Rosie didn’t make me feel embarrassed. He was softly asking me to calm down and talk things through with him. I felt smaller than an ant.
I think Rosie wanted me to stay calm so that I wouldn’t stay angry with him. I on the other hand, couldn’t’ have felt any smaller than I did in that moment. After this ordeal, I got myself dressed, grabbed my bag, then went out the door. I didn’t say a word to Rosie. He was standing there wearing his boxers and tank top only. I had retreated within myself at that point. I was in no shape to have a one-sided, respectable, and empathetic conversation. In other words, my empathetic scared little ego didn’t feel like talking to myself through him.
Rosie unfortunately struggled terribly with empathy. It was one of our biggest and long standing arguments between us over the years. My empathy and his lack of it. There was no way I was staying with him a minute longer.
Rosie came running after me. “Don’t go! Let me explain!”.
Hell no was all I was thinking. I ignored him and kept speed. I walked as fast as my crippled, drunken, long legs, would let me. Rosie began to move a bit faster. After a few more times of him yelling “stop!”, I swiftly turned around, extended my hand straight out and yelled “leave me the fuck alone!”.
By then I was at a set of traffic lights. They were in my favor. I walked across the semi deserted four lane road. Rosie turned around and went back inside the motel.
I had every intention to walk several blocks back to my tiny little apartment with Liv. I was cold, embarrassed, distraught, and once again fighting leg cramps, when Rosie appeared beside me, driving on the road. He wound down his passenger side window and pleaded with me to stop walking and to get into his car. I wasn’t having it.
Then the cramps got worse. I crossed to the other side of the street at the next intersection to get away from Rosie. Rosie made a quick turn, drove back up the hill on the same side as me, and then he pulled into the parking lot I had decided to cut through.
Rosie had parked his car, got out of it, and then said, “Clair, please talk to me. It’s not what you think. I can’t make it work with her. You know what she is like. You have it all wrong. At least come back to the hotel so that you can get warm. You could always leave first thing in the morning.”
Rosie said anything that came to his mind to calm me down, so that he could take me back to the hotel. I didn’t believe him. Rosie still stands by his lie about his romantic getaway to this day. If this lie helps him to cope with his life, then so be it.
“I had to. It’s not because I wanted to. It wasn’t romantic”.
My intuition knows otherwise. I didn’t think too deeply about his lies at that time though. All I knew in that moment was I was drunk, cold, it was once again well past midnight, and I had cramp. Again, reluctantly, I went back to the hotel with Rosie.
I didn’t say two words to Rosie the rest of the night. The next morning I got up, brushed my teeth, put my long mixed brown and blonde hair up in a messy ponytail, and promptly left. This time Rosie did ask me if I wanted a ride home. I said no and then proceeded to walk to the bus stop. I didn’t see him nor speak with him for three days after that.
I have a ritual of taking three days of silence to process difficult experiences in my mind. It has always been a solo mission for me, and my way to stay connected to the divine. I revisit issues with the person I am upset with if it is beneficial. That’s after I process as much information as I can. I honor these three days of reflection to this day. Perhaps there will come a time when my Christy can help me with this? One can dream.
Fast forward to 2023.
I was sitting in Rosie’s office chair, thinking about that painful night six years earlier. Thinking about how I came to know the truth about Rosie’s romantic holiday was torment. I was so damagingly in love with Rosie. The emotional pain and mental turmoil I had held inside me was unbearable, and yet, I kept going back to him.
On the night of the illuminated tropical getaway, I thought, “Not this time! I won’t have anything to do with him ever again!”.
I was wrong. I didn’t realize back then how much trauma and pain I was holding from all the years with abusive men. I had a difficult time identifying the subconscious conditioning that I had received from being witness to my parents union. I had little awareness when it came to love from someone.
Rosie was no different to any of the men who had stolen my innocence. I didn’t fully want to admit it. I wasn’t ready to. I also wasn’t ready to have Rosie completely gone from my life either. I was emotional and I was needy. I did go back with Rosie a few days after learning of his trip to Mexico. I silently bore the emotional and mental anguish for years.
Rosie came unannounced to my apartment shortly after our horrific fight in the hotel. He carried a stuffed bear. Rosie smothered the bear with my favorite cologne that he wore at the time and then gave it to me. The cologne was called Prada, I think?
I named the bear Rosie junior. I slept with that bear every night we were separated from 2017 to 2023. I even brought it on my travels to and from Rosie’s over the years. He used ‘Rosie junior’ to apologize and tell me how much I had meant to him. The stuffed bear was a form of manipulation in order to get my sensory perception into a fond nostalgic state. In other words, Rosie wanted me to long for him by smelling his sent on the bear.
Rosie was relentless. Not only do Canadian soldiers learn how to handle bombs in the military. The training also teaches some soldiers, namely Rosie, how to use that training to Hiroshima love bomb the hell out of unsuspecting women.
Next thing I knew it was 2023. I was sitting on Rosie’s chair in Quebec, with Rosie junior sitting somewhere in Rosie’s bedroom. Reminiscing about one of the more painful times in our journey together. Once again, I found myself crying. Whilst making plans to leave him with a stuffed bear in tow. Toxic cycle complete, check. Does it roll around again? Yep.
It’s amazing how we live in the past, present, and future in our minds all at the exact same time. Oftentimes without even realizing it. Past, present, and future are ingredients for you to have the “I am” experience. They are poured into the same cooking pot at the exact same time when you start your earthly experience. That’s one of the reasons for time being an illusion. I was living in each year Rosie had left me or hurt me all at the same time, inside my mind.
The next day I had a difficult time with talking with Rosie’s daughter, Alyssa. She was doing her soft, somewhat manipulative best to get the details of mine and her dad’s disagreement.
“Are you mad cause I told you Wendy was Dad’s girlfriend? Was it me who told you?, or did you already know he had a girlfriend when we moved here?”.
I told Alyssa the truth to the best of my ability. I said “oh no sweetheart. It wasn’t you at all. I already knew about Wendy.”
Alyssa said “okay”. Then slowly walked away.
Alyssa didn’t know what Rosie and I were at odds about. Alyssa also didn’t know how long I had known her father. Rosie and I started dating when Alyssa was only a little over a year old. She used her own intuition, plus her logical deduction, to formulate a rather accurate hypothesis. She was a smart, insightful cookie.
Alyssa did let it slip about Wendy innocently enough. How was she to know her dad was being unfaithful? I also did already know before she accidentally, and innocently spilled the beans. All Alyssa did was act as a conduit for spirit to reaffirm what I had already known for myself.
Spirit has always had my back, front, and sides. They still do. Spirit used Alyssa’s voice to confirm Rosie’s infidelity with Wendy. Up until then, my suspicions had to be kept to myself until I had enough evidence to draw a factual conclusion. Alyssa’s voice became my salvation from mental torment. She did me a solid.
I didn’t tell Alyssa I that I had planned to leave. I didn’t tell Jean either. I stayed quiet about what the fight was about for the entire five days I was with them. They didn’t need to know about the condoms. I followed Rosie’s wishes when it came to informing the kids. He decided it best I didn’t tell them I was leaving. Rosie wanted me to leave in silence so, I did.
After those five days of intense stress, discomfort, and a little back and forth of slight effort apologies on Rosie’s part, it was the day to leave. Rosie isn’t someone who authentically apologizes. He didn’t know how to. A slight basic apology was all he was capable of.
I can’t remember the exact day that I had left during that first week in April of 2023. I do remember being extremely anxious and lost in my head when waiting for Bill to arrive.
Rosie texted me to ask me this question. “When are you leaving?”
Rosie was with his kids in Montreal when he had texted that question to me. Even on the weekend of me leaving, Rosie still decided to go to his mom’s with his kids. He may have had some sexy time with someone else during that same time too for all I know. After all, Rosie was having an affair with someone named Isabel at that point in time. I know that. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had chosen to be with Isabel. He did like to forget about his home life. Distraction was his favourite thing to do.
I had told Rosie I was leaving a couple hours later than I was actually scheduled to leave. He said “we will be home before you leave”, as in him and his kids.
I said “please don’t”. Rosie didn’t respond. Now I was the one pacing back and forth in a panic.
I packed all of my things that had any importance to me, and had placed them at the front door of the apartment. I was ready to leave in an instant. Bill had showed up about two hours after Rosie had texted asking when I was leaving. Rosie was in route, about a forty-five minute drive, back to his apartment with his kids when Bill had shown up. He had texted to let me know.
Do you think Rosie’s “friendly” innocent notification was his intent to get me to wait, so that we could talk things out? or, was it his way of setting me up so that he could tell his kids something along the lines of, “I even texted her to wait for us, and she still decided to leave without saying goodbye”? He could have quite easily gotten away with this believable message. Rosie would lie to his kids. He’s done it before.
I knew there was a hidden agenda when it came to Rosie. Rosie’s intelligence, coupled with his ego impulsiveness, scared the shit out of me. Rosie would not physically hurt me with his hands. He only did that when we had sex. It was more my awareness of the way Rosie could manipulate my mind. Psychological warfare was more Rosie’s cup of tea.
There was no time to waste. I had brought all of my stuff downstairs whilst Bill loaded up his Honda Civic. We were out of there in probably less than twenty minutes.
I escaped not having to see Rosie. I was anxious about what he might have done or might have said to me, or Bill for that matter, especially in front of the kids. He wanted to use a bloody billboard to paint as nasty a picture of me as he could. Rosie’s reputation was at stake.
I left quiet and peacefully. Just as Rosie had wanted. It tore me apart not to give the kids a hug, tell them I would always love them, and then say goodbye. The last time I saw them was the friday beforehand after school. It wasn’t for long either. They usually left for Montreal with Rosie within an hour of arriving home from school each friday.
I may have escaped Rosie. With that said, the long drive back to New Brunswick with my ex-husband was interesting and tiring to say the least.
Oh what a life I have led.
LivWithClairity 
Leave a comment