My spouse had informed me that he would attend a childhood friend’s funeral that day. A few hours later, I discovered him burning the proof of a life I had no knowledge of behind our country home.
I’m Élise, I’m forty-six, and I thought that twenty-one years of marriage was an indestructible wall. Until my world fell apart last Saturday.
When I was twenty-five, Thane and I met in a little bookshop. A accidental meeting, coffee-related hilarity, and a straightforward but joyful wedding a year later. We created a kind existence with two grown children, a cozy house, and a devoted dog. There is a comforting stability, but nothing remarkable. That’s what I thought, anyway.
“I have to go up north this weekend… it’s the funeral of an old high school friend, Cal,” Thane said solemnly one evening last month.
I trusted Cal’s story even though I had never heard of him. I even suggested accompanying him. He declined right away, saying he would rather “go alone.” I found his rush odd, but I understood his seeming sadness.
His backpack was hardly packed when he set out in the rain on Saturday morning. Without him, the house felt empty. I made the decision to spend the afternoon tending to the garden at our country home, which is 45 minutes away. His car was parked close to the tool shed, though, and when I got there, my heart stopped.
I searched the home and called his name, but found nothing. Then I came across him while strolling around the barns. He was dousing a stack of items with gasoline. He leaped like a criminal caught in the act when I cried out to him.
— “Élise? You have no business being here!
— “And you? You have no business attending a funeral! What are you doing?
He muttered a ridiculous justification about “burning weeds.” But he struck a match before I could stop him. The flames erupted. I hurried forward to see the hundreds of images he was attempting to turn to ashes. Dispersed across the charred earth…
A few were still whole. They displayed Thane in a suit next to a bridesmaid. Then, with his own gray eyes, he held a baby in his arms. Additional photos showed family times, vacations, and birthdays … with a child and another woman. At the center of a second life is my husband.
My hands burnt and my chest was squeezed in dread as I did my hardest to extinguish the flames. Thane remained silent. At last, in response to my cries, he revealed the truth:
Nine years. Nora, a woman. Finn, a son. Their residence was two hours distant. Under the guise of seeing his brother, he saw them once a month. Two weeks prior, Nora and Finn had perished in an automobile accident.
As if a stranger had taken my husband’s face, I listened in disbelief. He had lived two lives in parallel for nine years. He acknowledged that he had loved me in addition to Nora. Two families, two loves, and two lives. And me, diminished to the mere shadow of his deception.
We each went home individually. He vowed to “repair” me at the house and to still love me. However, how can a nine-year betrayal be repaired? When I see the man’s smile in those pictures that were taken from another woman, how can you still trust him?
I’m not sure if I should forgive or move on from everything right now. Perhaps a love can emerge from the ashes once more. Or perhaps I have to make my own decision at last.
Nothing will ever be the same again, that much is clear.
