13. 13
Annabelle
Then
I spent the day cleaning out the girls’ closets, sorting through the clothes they’ve outgrown and making room for new ones. Some went into grocery bags for donation, while my favorite pieces went into plastic tubs to keep. It’s probably silly to hold on to them, but I’m sentimental.
With hands on my hips, I survey the storage shelves that line the rear wall of the garage. I’m going to have to do some rearranging to accommodate the new bins.
Though it’s only mid-afternoon, the sky is growing dark, and the wind is picking up, signaling the approach of a summer storm.
Eager to get this chore completed before it starts raining, I rearrange bins, shoving them into tighter spaces and stacking them on top of one another. I tug one out that Kyle has labeled Christmas Lights – Exterior, but when I lift the bin, it’s incredibly light, as if it’s empty.
Giving the tub a shake, I hear something rattling around inside it.
I lift the lid on the container and pull out an unlabeled manila envelope. What on earth is this? Curious, I open it, to find receipts, a card, and an iPhone.
What are these things? Why did Kyle hide them?
I turn on the phone, and while I wait for it to power up, I flip through the receipts.
There are some from restaurants and bars and even a couple from hotels.
I look at the dates for the hotel stays and my heart sinks.
From what I can remember, they align with dates when Kyle said he was out of town on business, but the hotels are all in or around Nashville.
At the bottom of the box is a small square stationery card, like the kind that accompanies a floral arrangement. With shaking fingers, I withdraw the card from its envelope, and my heart breaks upon reading the typed message.
Kyle,
Happy birthday! I live for the way you look at me and the way you love me.
There’s nowhere I feel more at home than in your arms. I often wish we had met under different circumstances, in a world where loving you was simple.
But even so, I’m endlessly grateful we found each other. You’re the best part of my life.
XOXO,
G
My mind freezes, the card slipping through my fingers, before my thoughts go into a free fall.
I gnaw on my lip, and tears spill down my cheeks.
I’m frozen with indecision and shock. The world as I knew it has shifted, toppling off its axis.
In a split second, everything changed, and nothing will ever be the same.
Kyle is having an affair.
What the hell am I going to do?
What do I tell the girls?
Do I stick it out and make it work with Kyle?
Does he even want to save our marriage, or is he ready to leave me? To leave us?
Realizing that I need more information, I turn to the phone. The screen lights up and prompts me for a passcode.
Three tries. That’s all I get before it locks me out.
I stare at the screen, unsure what numbers to enter. The passcode for his regular phone is our anniversary, but I doubt he’d use that on his burner phone. The one he uses to talk to his mistress.
His mistress.
My husband is having an affair. The information hits me anew, swift and sudden, like a punch to the gut. My husband is having sex with another woman. How the fuck did it come to this?
Stupidly, I punch in the numbers of our anniversary.
Wrong.
Next, I enter Kyle’s birthday.
Wrong again.
One guess left.
I stare at the screen, my mind blank. How can I have been married to this man for over eight years and not even have three solid guesses about his phone password ?
Wiping the tears from my face, I stack the discarded tubs on the side of the garage. Who cares if they’re organized or not? I slide the burner phone into the pocket of my shorts and close the garage door.
I feel stupid for loving Kyle blindly. He took advantage of my trust and abused my loyalty. Is this his only affair or have there been others?
Has our entire marriage been a sham?
I’m angry at Kyle for upending my life, but I’m terrified for Grace and Claire. How will this impact them?
I switch on their favorite movie and get them set up on the couch. Tucking in blankets around their little legs, I drop a kiss on each of their foreheads before I wander into my bedroom and sink onto the bed. I take a few slow, deep breaths, but it does nothing to quell my anxiety.
Do I want a divorce?
I don’t know if I can stay married to a man I no longer trust.
But I have children. Every decision I make affects them, too.
If our marriage doesn’t survive Kyle’s affair, I want to look my daughters in the eye and honestly say I did everything I could to save our family.
For them, I’m willing to fight—for my marriage, for the life we built, for a second chance.
But it can’t be just me. It depends on Kyle, too. If he’s not willing to fight for our marriage, then what’s the point?
I need to know.
I dial his office number.
“Hey, Anna. What’s up?” He answers on the second ring, sounding a little harried.
I can’t control my emotions, and my voice cracks. “Kyle.”
“Is everything okay?” His voice is full of concern, which should ease some of my fears. If nothing else, it proves he still cares about me. But instead of comfort, it only fuels my agitation. If he cared at all, how did he let this happen?
“No, nothing is okay!” I whisper-scream. “I found your box in the garage. How long, Kyle? How long have you been having an affair?”
“What? No—it’s not what you think!”
“Don’t lie to me!” I slump onto the bed, sadness seeping into my voice as I fight back sobs.
“How could you do this to me? To us ? To the girls?” I press my fingers to my eyelids, trying to stem the flow of tears.
“Was I not enough to make you happy? Not a good enough wife? Not a good enough mother? When did I stop being enough for you?” My voice cracks as my words taper off.
When he finally speaks, his voice is thick with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Anna. I never meant for this to happen.”
And somehow, the remorse in his voice offers a strange vindication. At least now I know I’m not the only one drowning in the pain that he caused.
“That’s bullshit, Kyle! At any point along the way, you could have been the man I married.
The man who never would have flirted with another woman, much less taken part in a full-blown affair.
Don’t you dare say you didn’t mean for this to happen!
Be an adult and take responsibility for your actions! ”
“I’m so sorry. You’re right. I-I… I don’t know why I did it.”
Despondent, I whisper, “What do we do? Where do we go from here? Do we get a divorce? Is that what you want?”
Kyle hesitates, and my heart breaks a little more at his silence. His pause is telling, providing me with the answer I didn’t want but needed to hear .
“Anna, please—”
I go on the defensive. He’s hurt me too deeply, so I bury my anguish beneath anger. “You know what, Kyle? Don’t come home! Our marriage is over.”
“Anna, wait! Don’t do this,” he pleads. “You can’t do this. You can’t end our family.”
“No,” I snap. “You don’t get to tell me that. You did this. You ended our family the moment you started an affair.”
“I know, I know, Anna. But please listen to me. Let me come home, and we can talk about this.”
I don’t know if I can talk to him tonight without completely losing my temper. I don’t know if we can have a productive conversation, not when I’m still reeling from the shock, the sadness, the betrayal, the fury.
I’m on an emotional rollercoaster, and I don’t know which way is up anymore.
“Please, Anna,” he says again, softer now. “Let me come home. Let’s talk. Please.”
I hesitate.
“Fine,” I admit angrily, through my tears. “But I’m not forgiving you, Kyle.”
He sighs heavily. He sounds so tired. “I’ll finish up what I’m working on and then I’ll head home, okay?”
I feel weary and beaten down, and it’s only 4:18. Despite my fatigue, I’m antsy, so I leave the bedroom and start straightening up the house. Maybe if I can keep my hands busy, I won’t go crazy turning over everything in my mind.
Once that chore is completed, I turn on another movie and throw a frozen pizza in the oven. Glancing at the clock, I see the time.
Where is he? I call his office line, but it goes to voicemail. Then I call his cell phone, but it also rolls to voicemail. I leave a message .
My mind alternates between anger and worry.
5:57.
6:13.
I call him on his office line again, but it rolls straight to his voicemail. I try his cell phone next, but it just rings and rings, so I leave him another voicemail. Then, I send him a text. It goes unread.
6:32.
7:08.
7:41.
Still no response from Kyle. I try calling him again. I leave another message.
My mind is spinning like a top out of control, turning faster and faster before the inevitable collapse.
Did he go to see his mistress one last time? Did he change his mind about coming home? Did he talk her into running away with him? Did he go somewhere to think and make his own decision before coming home to talk to me? Did he go somewhere to get drunk?
A sudden clap of thunder startles me.
The girls have fallen asleep on the couch. I thank my lucky stars that the raging storm outside didn’t wake them up. With care, I carry the girls to bed one at a time.
I make my way back downstairs, and I try calling Kyle again.
8:04.
I need to talk to someone. I gather my courage and call Laura.
She answers on the first ring with a chipper greeting. “Hey, girl.”
“Laura, I need you,” I croak, sniffling.
“What’s wrong, Anna?”
“Kyle is having an affair.” I start and stop several times before I finally continue, “He said he’d come home to talk to me, but that was hours ago. And now, he’s not answering his phone. ”
It still hasn’t fully sunk in yet that my husband is having an affair and that my marriage is ending but saying it out loud makes it feel real.
“What? Kyle’s having an affair?” Laura’s shock is clear in her response.
“Yes,” I sob. “I think he may have left me. For her.”
“Oh my God, Anna. Stay put. I’m running out to my car now. I’ll be there soon, okay? Do you need anything?”
“No. Just you. I don’t know… anything. Who he’s having an affair with, when it started, or how serious it is. Shit, Laura! Why is this happening? I don’t know what to do.”
“Hey, take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay.
You’re strong, and you’ll get through this.
Give yourself some time to wrap your head around it.
” She sighs. “Anna, it’s raining really hard, so I’m going to get off the phone.
I need to concentrate on driving, but I’ll be there as fast as I can. Okay?”
“Okay. Thank you,” I whisper.
I stand sentry at the front of the house, eyes fixed on the street outside. Every time a car approaches, I whisper a silent prayer that it’s Kyle coming home.
But each time the car doesn’t stop, the ache in my chest deepens.
8:32.
A car creeps slowly down our street before turning into the driveway. I’m overwhelmed with relief, believing it to be Kyle. But something’s off. The headlights are too low. It’s not his SUV, so it must be Laura's car.
Then the car glides up the driveway, and our exterior lights switch on, illuminating it.
My mouth opens in a silent scream as my heart leaps into my throat .
Throwing open the front door, I rush outside to meet the police officer. It’s pouring, but I don’t feel the rain as it soaks through my clothes. The only thing I feel is raw, primal fear coursing through me.
A middle-aged man in a state trooper’s uniform grasps my elbow, gently steering me under the cover of the front porch. He’s wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a bright yellow reflective rain jacket.
His eyes are kind but filled with sorrow. Before he even speaks a word, I know why he’s here.
I back away from him, shaking my head from side to side. “No. No! Don’t say it.”
“Ma’am, are you Kyle Morris’ wife?”
After that, it’s all a blur. Laura arrived while the state trooper was still at the house, so she took control of the situation. I was an absolute mess and in no condition to do anything.
Over the next few hours, she called relatives and began coordinating logistics while I sat on our couch wrapped in a million blankets because I couldn’t stop shivering.
The next morning, I had to tell Grace and Claire that their father was dead. Our families came to stay with us. We held a funeral and buried Kyle with all the pomp and circumstance befitting a young, loving husband and father who was gone too soon.
All the while, I was suffocating beneath the weight of it all—the secrets, the stress, the sadness, the anger, and the agony of mourning both my husband and the marriage I thought we had… but didn’t.