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What time is it? I wish she’d start turning off the television at night. It wakes me up every time. My eyelids peel back enough to search the room. That’s a first. Barb fell asleep in the chair. Something doesn’t feel right. It hurts to sit here knowing the problems we’ve been having. I glance back at the television and notice her phone sitting there. The perfect opportunity to find out what’s really going on even though it’s an invasion of privacy and can’t help thinking she could be messing around. Not to mention, she’s been different toward me.
There’s no lock screen or anything. I opened the first text thread and someone’s talking about coming over. She responds, “Now isn’t a good time. He’s here. I’m trying to figure something out.” There’s one more thread without a contact name and it reads, “I don’t love him anymore. He hurt me. I want to be with you.” My suspicion was right. She’s been cheating. I fought the urge to react so I put her phone back.
She’s right. I know walking out must’ve hurt her, but leaving never had anything to do with seeing someone else. It still hurts, even though I’ve been expecting this to happen. My guard’s been up for the entire relationship. She took me in when I had no one left. I lost count how many times she asked when we’d get married. I always said the time wasn’t right. Who wants to marry an alcoholic? Who wants to tie the knot with a junkie? She looked past all of it, and risked everything just to have me. But I was living for myself, and whoever got close, got hurt.
I walked over to Barbara and gently grabbed her shoulder. Baby, wake up. I need you. “Wait. What? What time is it?” She threw off the blanket, stood up, and went for her phone. “What do you want? It’s late.”
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