Page 21 of June: Jess' Story

“Jamie didn’t want anyone to know. His family isn’t like our family, Jess. They don’t understand.”

“So now that Jamie’s ready, he says jump, and you do?” I ask, the hurt burning my airways.

“No,” he hesitates. “I’ve been trying to figure this out for a long time because I love you, Jess. But I also love Jamie. He’s my best friend, an-and I’ve wanted to be with him since I was 13.” My eyes well with tears.Not one fucking tear, Jess, and by sheer force of will, I swallow hard and hold them in.

“How can I compete with that?” I ask. I’m progressive. I’m all for polyamory, gender fluidity, sex-positivity, blended families. But when it comes to whatIwant, I don’t want to come in second place. I don’t want to be watered down to just some surrogate for their dream family.

Ugh! I want to scream.Is this how my dad felt? Just some sperm donor, some extra to the leading roles of Jules and May? I’m just the “mistake” to Tommy and Jamie, aren’t I?

“It doesn’t have to be a competition, sweetheart,” Tommy says, soothing me. I laugh inwardly, and roll my eyes.

I hate that I still love him, though. So when he pulls me onto his lap, I don’t stop him. When he peppers me with soft kisses along my shoulders, I let him. When he slips a hand under my nightgown, he finds me wet because my body still wants him.

I know I’m a sick bitch for still wanting him, I know that. But there’s this desperate part of me that has something to prove. That he still desires me. I’m still worthy. It wasn’t all a lie. And I am desperate — to prove all of that.

He lays me out beneath him, sliding my nightgown up my torso as he gazes at me intently. And it’s just like it’s always been. There’s still that same fire there. I can see where he’s bulging against his briefs. Nothing is different, nothing has changed…except me knowing.

His hand grips my breast as he trails hot kisses down my abdomen, and then, like a flip of a switch, the need within us both turns primal. There’s that desperation lacing each touch. There’s a torment in each tug of our garments. When he rips my nightgown, the sound makes me even more wet.

There’s a sort of tortured roughness when he pushes into me, and my head falls back, muscles already clenching and pulsing.I love my husband, I love my husband's cock, I love when my husband fucks me;the words play over in my mind.

But it’s all a lie, though.Myhusband? No. He was never mine, was he?

The needy desperation of fucking turns sour and my eyes clench tight as I focus on my pleasure and mine alone.Fuck you, Tommy DiAngelo.I put my hand on my clit and rub, bringing myself to orgasm within seconds. He comes with me, but I’ve already started the disassociation and I don’t care. I barely wait for him to finish emptying himself when I push him off me.

Every bad feeling seems to find me at once. It’s anguish, it’s disgust, it’s despair. I picture Tommy and Jamie.Does Tommy fuck Jamie like that? Is it better? Do they make love? It’s not fast and hard, is it? It’s not like it just was with me, I bet. Where Tommy is just dying for it to be over as quickly as possible? Probably not.

Stumbling to the bathroom, I shut the water closet door, pee, clean up, then come back out to grab my phone off the charger.

“Where are you going?” Tommy asks, a little befuddled.

“I love you, Tommy, but I can’t do this. It’ll eat me alive.” Even in our darkened room, I can see his face fall. “I’ll be sleeping in the guest room until we figure out next steps…and you’re on morning duty.” I look down at my phone,July 13th, 2023 at 1:27 A.M.It's officialnow. My marriage is over.

I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling when I hear the first cry. It's shortly followed by the sound of Tommy shuffling down the hall to get our daughter.

Normally, I’d get her and bring her back to bed for morning cuddles. That was our routine. Get the baby, family cuddles in bed. Then Tommy would get up first to bring me a coffee that I’d drink while he got ready for the day. It sounds picturesque, right?

But that’s the thing about a picture. You’re getting a one dimensional view of someone’s life. Just a glimpse of someone’s layered and nuanced existence. A picture tells the story of a fragment of a second. That’s all. Just an infinitesimal fraction of your life, representing such a small moment in time, it essentially amounts to nil in the scheme of things.

A quick snapshot glosses over the emotions, the hurt, the pain, and all the hidden secrets. (You won’t find those happily displayed on your Instagram feed.)

If someone took a photo of me right now, maybe they’d see some of the truth.

Hanging in some sparse gallery, a single photo is mounted to cheap cardstock. The work of art titled: “Sad Woman Stares at Ceiling.”

But if you’d have taken a photo of me at this exact time yesterday, the photo could have easily been titled“Marital Bliss in Capitol Hill.” And even I wouldn’t have known it was all a lie. (Wild, right?)

I can hear the front door opening, then there’s an extra pair of footsteps that join my husband’s downstairs. JoiningTommy’sdownstairs. (Have to stop referring to him as my husband, don’t I?)

I feel a bit nauseated when I sit up, hands already clammy. The nervousness is coursing freely through my veins.

But I’m not as furious as I thought I’d be. (One should feel that way, right?) When the person you’ve married (and thought was your person) is in love with someone else, you’re supposed to be burn-the-world-down pissed. And I thought I was yesterday, but today I’m finding it hard to give enough fucks to be irate.

What I am is nervous, because today is the day that starts a new life for me and for Eden. And I’m afraid that I have no idea what that looks like. Where do we live? Do I find a new job? Do I put Eden in daycare? Do we split custody? Do I babysit for their date nights?Hate that, though.

I softly pad out of the guest bedroom and down the stairs and…it’s as bad as I imagined it would be. (Okay, maybe I am a little fucking pissed still.)

Tommy is sitting on our living room sofa against Jamie with our daughter wedged between the two of them. I’ve never seen a more beautiful family.