On the first night it happened, I wasn’t aware, and I believed you. It was just a long day for you and you would be home soon. I went to bed without a second thought.
On the second night it happened, I waited up for you, and you came home at 3, with a loose tie and messy hair. We went to bed and I held your hand.
On the third night it happened, I left a note for you, telling you where dinner was, and how to reheat it. I was too tired to think.
On the fourth night it happened, I started to think. I didn’t know why you had started to come home so late now.
On the fifth night it happened, I called my friend and told her about it. She was suspicious, and said I should ask you. I trusted you, and didn’t ask anything.
On the sixth night it happened, I drove to your work. Your car wasn’t there. I thought you went out with co-workers.
On the seventh night it happened, I waited up, and I asked you. You told me that your boss was launching a new program and had been making you help out.
On the eighth night it happened, I called my friend again, and told her about what you said. She told me it was a lie and I got mad and hung up.
On the ninth night it happened, I called your co-worker and he didn’t know where you were. I got mad at him too, and I hung up.
On the tenth night it happened, I went to bed with tears in my eyes because my mind had wandered.
On the eleventh night it happened, I made dinner later, in hopes you’d make it. You didn’t.
On the twelfth night it happened, I got so drunk that I threw all of our pictures in the sink disposal.
On the thirteenth night it happened, I figured it out and didn’t want to believe it.
On the fourteenth night it happened, I called your cell phone, and heard your voice. I was too scared to say anything, so I hung up.
On the fifteenth night it happened, I followed you all day, to a gas station, to work, and then to a house 20 minutes away from ours. No one you knew lived here.
On the the sixteenth night it happened, I took too many pills and called 911 after I knew I’d made a mistake.
On the seventeenth night it happened, I was still in the hospital. I didn’t want you to come visit me.
On the eighteenth night it happened, I told you I was fine. You left it at that.
On the last night it happened, I made you dinner and left a note on how to cook it. That was it. And then I walked out the door.
It wasn’t just one time. It was over and over again. It was all the nights you had to “work late”. It was all the times I fell asleep by myself with the television on to comfort me. It was every time I would have dinner waiting for you, but had to throw it out because it got cold. It was every night that I wondered what I had done. It was all the time I was alone at home, waiting for you, when you never came.
It was that night I got too drunk and upset and crashed my car into a river. It was that night when I tried to get out of the car but couldn’t. It was that night that all my anger went away. It was that night that what you did didn’t matter. It was that night that I didn’t come home.