I Need You Like A Heart Needs A Beat, But It's Nothing New, I Loved You With A Fire Red, But Now It's Turning Blue
You remember listening to the noiseless fury outside, the calm collection of silence and anger that hearing bad news entails. This wasn't your husband. He wasn't your guy. Your husband wouldn't hurt you like this. Not like this. Not him. But the news was true. He wanted the two of you to seriously consider getting a divorce.
"How can you even be mad, Breanne?" he asked in that delicate patter of his, belying his own ire. "You're the one who cheated on me, remember? You're the one who started all of this."
That was all the reason he needed. That was all the reason he was going to give you. And it was true, you're the one who had strayed first in this marriage. You had placed your own impulsiveness before the health of your relationship. You had decided to tear down all the trust you had built up in the last five years for something ephemeral. You had struck the first blow. But to have him question your right to feel betrayed yourself was rather insulting. Just because you had cut out his heart first doesn't mean yours suddenly becomes invulnerable. You may have brought the wrath of Heaven down upon you, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt something fierce. When you decided to work it all out, after you had reconsidered, you thought that would be enough to get the two of you back on track. You thought all you had to do was show your penitence and that would be enough of a first step towards reconciling with your husband. You didn't expect that he would want to drag out the proceedings himself. That wasn't your husband. That wasn't your guy.
Yet here he was, asking for a pound of flesh. If you didn't know him better you would have thought he was raking you over the coals for retribution. No, this was something different entirely. This was your husband telling you in no uncertain terms that he had lost faith in you, in what you represented. This was him telling you he wanted out. You had caused him to suffer and he wasn't sure you weren't about to do it again.
"I'm trying here, honey. Can't you see that? I don't see why you have to decide this now, now that we're in the midst of finally working our way back..."
"Back to what? Back to what we once were? We'll never be that again."
"Back to something better than we once were," you said simply.
"And what do you think that is? Where do you think we have to go from here?"
The truth was you didn't know. You hadn't thought it out that far. You knew you wanted your husband back. In what capacity you had no clue. Your future was cloudy. Your future days were blurry at best. But planning for the future was never your strong suit. Breanne doesn't think; she just goes--that's what the saying was. And what your mind was telling you right now was that you had to be together with your husband. No more detail than that was necessary. To separate, to divorce, was not in your plans. You couldn't let that happen. You would never let something opposite to what you wanted happen. You always got your way. That's why it was called your way.
Maybe it was foolish to think that you could just come back and he would just take you back. You've always had an easier time dispensing forgiveness than asking for it. That probably stems from your sense of infallibility, your vanity, or maybe your sense of entitlement. But you weren't asking for much. You weren't asking him to forget what you'd done. All you were asking him was to forgive you. That didn't seem so difficult. Divorcing you wasn't forgiveness. That was quite the opposite, actually. Divorcing you meant that whatever your efforts to show contrition had been met with failure. You hadn't done enough, said enough to show just how sorry you were.
You would think this would prompt you to do more to earn his trust once more. That's not how you approached obstacles, though.
If he couldn't forgive you that was a failing on his part. You were always taught that all you had to do was show you were sorry, apologize earnestly, and then await the inevitable blessing of being forgiven. It had never occurred to you that if you went through the prior steps that the result would be any different than absolute forgiveness. You weren't even aware of there being any other consequence. From Church to your own business dealings to television and movies--you do wrong, you ask forgiveness, you were forgiven. That's how the progression worked.
"You can't just wish yourself out of this situation. I don't know if we can ever work around this. I don't know if I can ever trust you again. I'm thinking this would be the best solution for both of us."
"How can it be the best for both of us if I don't agree with it? For it to be the best for both of us we both have to want it, to see it. Right now I don't see it being the best solution at all."
"I know you do. I just don't understand why, sugar."
And that's when he walked away, without any further explanation. At the time you thought you had won. He didn't mention any talk of divorce for the rest of the night. But it wasn't till a few weeks later, in therapy, that you realized he hadn't let go of the idea. He had just come to the realization that you weren't ready to see the truth yet. You weren't ready to see that asking forgiveness isn't the same as being deserving of it. You weren't ready to see that wanting to be cleansed of your sins wasn't the same as being clean. You weren't ready to see that wanting to be somebody's wife wasn't the same as somebody wanting you to be their wife.
It would take you a few more months to realize that in a marriage, more than any other relationship, was about giving what you want and what you thought you deserved, and putting in the effort to make sure your optimal outcome came to pass. You couldn't just expect your dreams to happen; you actually had to put in the spit and gristle to make sure that they did. It took you awhile to realize that being in love meant sacrificing being happy sometimes. Sometimes being in love meant making the other person happy in every way at the expense of your pride, your vanity, and, yes, even your stubbornness.