Five
five
LOVE THE WAY YOU LIE - EMINEM FEAT. RIHANNA
CALLIE - APRIL 4, 2013
B efore I found out I was pregnant with Sara, Adam was obsessed with trying to get me to bring women home. He’d constantly push for threesomes, saying things like “You like girls, anyway. It would be so hot.” Typical. Just another guy trying to fetishize my sexuality. How original.
Red Flag #302.
I caved more than once, but only after numbing myself with alcohol to get through it. He took it a step further and asked if I would be interested in swinging and introduced me to a couple he’d found online. To add insult to injury, I didn’t find either person remotely attractive. The moment I saw Adam with the woman, I felt sick. I kicked them out and locked myself in the bathroom, sobbing until I was so exhausted I fell asleep on the floor.
Red Flag #323.
The following day, he acted like nothing ever happened. He stopped pushing the issue for a while and things went back to normal. What the fuck was I still doing with him?
Red Flag #326.
Not long after that night, I found out that I was pregnant with Sara, and I was ecstatic. But then I borrowed Adam’s laptop and found Skype calls between him and a woman from one of the couples we knew. He claimed he was helping plan her fiance’s bachelor party, which made no sense. Adam had never planned a party in his life, wasn’t close to the groom, and was only in the wedding because of his friendship with the bride.
Maybe even a little too close.
Red Flag #400.
My rose-colored glasses were extra hazy, apparently. Becoming a mother was supposed to fulfill all my dreams. I had the house, the husband, and soon, the perfect little family with two-point-five kids and a dog. Isn’t that the dream I was chasing?
When we moved back to Iowa from Seattle, Adam told me he wanted to have an open marriage. I told him I wanted a divorce or, at the very least, a trial separation. The expectation during the separation was for us to keep things quiet until we figured out what we wanted. I was so embarrassed at the idea of my family finding out.
As a result… he started looking for hookups on Craigslist.
Red Flag #704.
This wasn’t the first time I’d seen this side of him. And apparently, won’t be the last.
It’s been three days since we moved in, and the new house is slowly starting to feel like home. Sara’s giggles echo through the rooms, and even Adam has been more helpful than usual. There's a cautious sense of optimism in the air, but it feels fragile, like it could shatter at any moment.
Then I see it—Adam’s phone, left carelessly on the kitchen counter, lighting up with a new notification. My heart sinks. He never leaves his phone unattended. It’s practically daring me to pick it up.
I know it’s wrong, an invasion of privacy. But after all the times he’s broken my trust, the resentment burns hotter than the guilt. Screw it. My hands tremble as I grab the phone and check the notification.
There it is–FlameFinder, a dating app, bold and blatant on his screen.
Red Flag #751.
My heart sinks, but anger surges even faster. Really, Adam? Not even a week into our new home, and you’re already looking for your next fling?
I stand there, frozen in disbelief. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe he just hasn’t deleted the app since we moved in. I knew he had it during our trial separation, but now? Now, when we’re supposed to be rebuilding? I don’t know his password, so I can’t check the details. All I see is that flame icon, a symbol that now haunts me. I have no proof he’s using it, but the doubt gnaws at me, eating away at whatever hope I have left.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. Logic tells me to confront him, but fear and frustration hold me back. Instead, I download the app on my phone and create a profile. I upload a recent selfie and add a headline :
I’m just waiting to see how long it takes for my husband to figure out he’s been caught.
Subtlety has never been my strong suit.
Throughout the day, Adam is his usual self, even sweeter than normal. He makes breakfast for Sara and me, and for a brief moment, it almost feels like we’re a happy family again. But the sight of his phone sitting on the counter nags at me, a relentless reminder that things are far from perfect.
Later that evening, while Adam is in the shower, his phone lights up again with another notification from FlameFinder. My patience is wearing thin—I can’t keep pretending nothing’s wrong.
I head into the bathroom, determined to confront him, but as soon as I open the door, I’m met with the unmistakable sound of his fist slapping against his own wet skin. His back is to me, but it’s obvious what he’s doing, even through the steam clinging to the glass shower door.
The pit in my stomach deepens, but this time, it’s not just disappointment–it’s rage.
You’d think I’d want to join him, maybe take care of him. Nope. I’ll see myself out. I don’t need to see anything more than that. No, thank you. It hits me in that moment just how much I’m no longer attracted to my husband—in any way.
The next morning, Adam is up early, heading out to do who-knows-what, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I spend the day unpacking, but the weight of his potential betrayal hangs over me like a dark cloud. Every time I hear his phone beep, my stomach tightens into knots.
Days blur together, each one indistinguishable from the last. Adam continues to play the role of a devoted husband, but the cracks are starting to show. Then, out of nowhere, he asks if I’ll go with him to a funeral visitation. Apparently, his high school friend’s dad passed away. We went to high school with the same crowd, but I don’t recall anyone losing a parent recently.
Turns out, it’s Janelle’s dad—Janelle, the girl he dated all through high school. The girl he broke up with just before he and I started dating the first time.
"Adam," I say cautiously, the unease clear in my voice. "I don’t think Jess would be comfortable with me going. If you want to attend, I won’t stop you, but it feels inappropriate for me to tag along."
I never really knew Janelle VanPelt. She was homeschooled, and our paths never crossed. Still, I remember their breakup wasn’t exactly amicable, and she definitely didn’t appreciate finding out that Adam and I got together soon after.
“I already talked to her about it,” he says casually. I wasn’t aware they still spoke, and the thought unsettles me. “She said it would be okay. I think she would actually appreciate it if you came with me.”
A knot forms in my stomach, but despite my reservations, I reluctantly agree to go.
A few days later, we attend the visitation. It’s awkward—funeral visitations always are, especially when you didn’t know the deceased. I hang back, trying to offer Adam whatever support he needs. He holds my hand as we go through the line, and Janelle isn’t outwardly rude, though the tension between us is palpable. Of course, she has other things on her mind, but the undercurrent is undeniable.
Ten days after we moved in, I saw the messages. Explicit. Intimate. Unmistakable. He hasn’t just been talking platonically with Janelle—they’ve been having an affair. And it’s been going on since before we moved back to Iowa. She’s been right here, in Burlington, this whole time.
He moved our family to Burlington at the recommendation of VanPelt Realty. As in Janelle fucking VanPelt. How I didn’t make that connection when I saw the listing just further solidifies how blind I was to all the shit Adam was pulling behind my back.
That night, when he got home, I didn’t hold back. “Care to explain these?” I asked, my voice calm in a way that scared even me. The laptop sat next to me, the messages pulled up from his Skype account, synced across all his devices. I watched his face drain of color as he saw the undeniable proof of his betrayal. You would think that considering I've caught him using this account for things like this before, he would have changed his methods. He obviously didn’t care enough to try and hide it more.
He stammered, "It's not what it looks like, I swear. Those are old messages from when you and I were separated.”
A bitter laugh escaped my throat. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Adam. I’ve seen the dates on these messages. They’re recent. Some of them are from after I went with you to her dad’s funeral visitation. I won’t even start on how fucked up it is that you’re screwing around with someone who just lost her father. But the bottom line is—you’re still cheating on me.”
Why am I even defending Janelle? She knew he was married, she’s just as guilty in this mess. This has all been going on since long before her dad died. But I can’t unpack that right now—there’s too much rage boiling inside me.
Adam stepped closer, reaching out as if his touch could somehow fix the damage. “Baby, please. Let me explain. I love you. I’m trying to make things right.” The words hung in the air, empty and meaningless. He was still trying to play the part of the devoted husband, but I wasn’t falling for it anymore. Not after everything.
I step back, shaking my head. “You’ve had plenty of chances to make things right. I’m done. This was your last chance, and you blew it.”
His face hardens, the desperation shifting into anger. "You’re overreacting. We just moved here. We’re supposed to be starting fresh. Why are you doing this?”
“Because I deserve better. Sara and I deserve better. I won’t let you keep hurting us.”
He scoffs, trying to brush it off. “You’re overreacting. We’re just catching up.”
“Catching up? Really? Because it looks a lot more like catching feelings.”
He denies it, of course. Gaslights me, like he always does. But this time, I’m not backing down. “Since when does catching up include seeing what her fucking tits look like these days?”
He storms out, slamming the door behind him, leaving me seething in the wreckage of my anger and frustration. I grab my phone and call Brooke, telling her everything. She’s furious, livid on my behalf, and she promises to do some digging of her own.
Adam doesn’t come home that night. Which is probably for the best because I really don’t want to have this baby in prison.
The next morning, Brooke calls me, her voice tight with disbelief. "Callie, I’m on my way to an appointment, and guess whose truck is parked outside the VanPelt house? Adam’s. He’s there right now. At her mom’s.”
That’s all it takes. I pack our things, my emotions swinging wildly between heartbreak and pure rage. And then I do what any rational woman in my position would do—I drive straight to Janelle’s family home, heart pounding with fury and resolve .
He must have gone to her parent’s house in Hawkridge to hide out last night. Why he would go to her parent’s house rather than the house she owns in Burlington is beyond me.
When I pull up, Adam’s obnoxiously huge F-350 is sitting there in the driveway, as if it’s mocking me, as if everything I feared has been right in front of me all along. I walk up and knock on the door, my hands trembling with adrenaline.
Janelle opens the door, and her stupid big, pretty eyes widen in surprise. "Callie? What are you doing here?”
For a moment, I can’t even speak. I just point to Adam’s “I have a small dick so I drive a huge truck to overcompensate” monstrosity still parked in the driveway.
Red Flag # I don’t even fucking know anymore.
God, why is she so fucking pretty? It’s almost unbearable. She looks like a Disney villain—Vanessa from The Little Mermaid, the human version of Ursula. Or worse, like Janelle Rabbit with jet-black hair. Hell, she’s probably named after that damn cartoon.
Why can’t she be as ugly on the outside as I now know she is on the inside? If there’s a God, he’s got a seriously twisted sense of humor. It’s no wonder Adam’s so drawn to her. And honestly, if things were different, she’s probably exactly the type of girl I’d go for.
Mother fucking fuck. Get your shit together, Callie!
“I’m here to see my husband. I’ll be in my car,” is all I manage to get out, my voice sharp, controlled, but seething beneath the surface. This fucking succubus is so infuriatingly beautiful it makes me want to scream. And I can guaran-fucking-tee Adam slept in her bed last night, not mine.
After what feels like an eternity, Adam finally slinks out of the house, looking as guilty as sin. He walks up to the car, panic flashing in his eyes. “Callie, it’s not what you think?—”
“Oh, it’s exactly what I think,” I snap, the rage bubbling over. “I warned you, Adam. We are done. You can keep your lies, your fancy new house that she picked out for you, and your fucking girlfriend. I’m taking Sara and going to my mom’s. Don’t you dare try to stop me.”
I drive in silence, Sara asleep in the backseat, a determination rising inside me like a fire that won’t be snuffed out. This is the beginning of a new chapter—for me, for Sara, for our future. One where Adam’s deceit no longer has a place. One where I am in control, not his lies.
When we arrive at my mom’s house, she opens the door and embraces us with warmth and love. “I knew this was coming, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you for standing up for yourself.”
“A heads up would have been nice then, Mom. I don’t need an ‘I could have told you that,’ right now.”
“Honey, do you have any idea how stubborn you truly are? If I had told you that I thought it was a bad idea for you and Adam to get a new place together, you would have done it just to spite me.”
Okay, she’s not wrong.
“You’re strong, Callie. You’ll get through this,” she continues. “But you had to get there on your own. You had to make this decision by yourself. No one could make this choice for you, my sweet girl.”
I nod in understanding, tears streaming down my face. “Thank you, Mom. I’m just… so tired.”
She hugs me tighter, her voice soft and comforting. “I know, honey. I know. Wayne and I are here for you. Every step of the way.”
I take a deep breath, feeling a glimmer of peace. This is the start of a new journey. It’s not the new journey I thought I was starting ten days ago. But it’s one where I’ll find my own strength and build a better future for myself and my children.
As I settle into my old room at my mom’s house, a wave of relief washes over me. Despite the circumstances, I feel grateful that I at least got what I wanted by temporarily moving with Adam to the new house. Now, I can stay here at my mom’s with Sara and not have to worry about seeing him. It’s a small comfort in the midst of this chaos, but I’ll take it. My mom and Wayne are a steady presence, offering support and understanding without judgment. It’s a stark contrast to the tumultuous relationship I had with Adam, and I find solace in the familiar surroundings of my childhood home.