Burning Bridges

Over the next week, his parents and I tried everything to get him to sit down and talk with us, to try to find a way to work through this. Billy even wrote him a letter trying to explain and apologize.

I'm not blind, I could see how us constantly badgering him was affecting my husband. I could see the anger and frustration building in Doug. All someone has to do is watch his eyes, they're his 'tell.' The more they squint, the closer he is to exploding. But I didn't have any other choice, he just wouldn't listen!

I called him fifteen times a day and went to his workplace a couple of times each day. Was I 'stalking' Doug? I guess it could've seemed that way. But I've never backed away from a fight if it is about something important and there's nothing more important than my Doug!

When he finally did talk to me I almost wished he hadn't. He started with 'slut' and 'whore' and then got worse. By the time he finished, he'd called me every name in the book. He ended up pulling off my wedding ring while I sat there, petrified by his words. Up until then, I'd seen my husband's rage but was never threatened by it. Now I was its target and it scared the shit out of me.

About that time, Tom and Paula told me 'it's best to leave things be' and stopped helping me. Doug had said some things to them that shook them up pretty bad. Like I said, his rage can be scary at times.

I lost it when he moved to Alabama. For the first time, I considered my life without my Doug. It was black and cold and there was no hope or joy in it. The man I loved hated me. That night, I mixed a bottle of sleeping pills with a fifth of Jack Daniels.

I woke up the next day in the hospital with a splitting headache and on 'suicide watch.' They said I'd started calling people after Doug wouldn't take any more of my calls. They obviously found me in time and pumped my stomach.

After that, Doug Jr., that's the baby's name, went to live with Tom and Paula. I'm not allowed to be around it much. I'd like to say that bothers me, but it doesn't. The baby is a mistake, just a painful reminder that I don't have my husband.

It took a little while, but I was able to track Doug down in Alabama after I got out of the hospital.

I moved into the small trailer park where he was living. Needless to say, he wasn't thrilled to see me.

I got a job at a local beauty parlor and settled into my routine. Work... call Doug... work... visit Doug... work... call Doug. Soon, I was visited by the Bama cops. I had to change my routine a bit when Doug filed a restraining order on me. But I didn't stop trying to talk to him. I couldn't, because if I had I would've lost him completely!

It was about this time that Doug got his divorce. I guess the judge heard the baby was his brother's and figured we wouldn't be able to work it out. He just didn't know us very well.

A couple of months after the divorce, Doug moved again. It took me eight months to find him. He'd moved to Texas.

This time, when I moved to be near him I didn't pressure him like I had in the past. I met some of the ladies whose husbands and boyfriends worked with him. I told them some of the highlights of our relationship, mainly focusing on my desire to get back together with him. I never lied to them... I just didn't tell them everything.

I'd gotten another job in a salon so I could take it slower this time. If you're wondering about how I can get a job so quick the answer is simple. I'm pretty, I work fairly cheap, and I do damn good work.

It took a little while but Martha could see how much I loved him and how sorry I was I'd ruined it for us. I think she also saw how unhappy Doug was. So even though he said he wasn't interested in talking to me, we all knew it was just a matter of time before he would. That time finally came at his party.

What Martha and I had planned backfired in the worst way possible. What started as a promising night quickly turned bad. Doug told everyone his version of our story. It was condensed and very harsh.

I didn't dare interrupt him; I could see his eyes squinting. After he was done, I begged him to come home with me and he told me to go kill myself. I knew then, I'd lost him for good.

After the party, I fell apart. Martha got me to a hospital and several days later I found myself here, in an Atlanta hospital under another suicide watch.

You may be wondering about the baby. Well, I'm told it's doing great. I haven't been around it since right before my first breakdown. Tom and Paula are taking care of the baby right now. They'll probably end up adopting it because let's face it, I'm a shitty mother. What else would you call a woman who can't stand to look at her own child?

I know that sounds horrible but every time I see it, I remember my mistake and all it cost me. It's not the baby's fault, I know, but that doesn't change anything. Does that make me a terrible person? Hell yeah, in my eyes it does.

I guess the doctors were right, this did help me discover who I am. Of course, who I found out I am makes me sick. I'm a horrible wife and mother who lost her only reason to live.

I'll probably have to hide this little recording or they'll never let me out of here. They say they want you to be honest but when you are, it scares them. I've no doubt someday I'll figure out a way to deal with this. I pray it's soon.

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Epilogue

Doug

I stood on the California beach looking out over the Pacific.  The nightmare I'd lived over the past few years was finally over.  The ending had actually started several weeks after the party.  I'd received a text from my cousin in Georgia that Teresa had killed herself.

I was numb. It'd been like waiting for the Titanic to finally sink.  Hoping against hope that somehow things would work out but knowing they couldn't.  I still loved her, but I couldn't have ever gone back to her.

Then my path was clear.  I wrote two short notes, enclosed them with the small black jewelry box, and sent it certified mail to my parents.  

The first note was addressed to my parents telling them that since Teresa had taken the easy way out it was up to me, his uncle, to look after my nephew's future.  I said I knew they'd be able to take care of him financially after Billy and I were out of the picture.  I ended it by wishing them better luck raising my nephew than they had raising Billy and me.  

I'd addressed the little black box to my brother.  Inside were four things; the smashed remains of Teresa and my wedding rings, a single 9mm bullet, and a note that just said 'run.'

It took me a few weeks to catch up to him.  I finally found him in a crack house in Atlanta. He was living there with some of his other junkie friends.  I remembered his face when I put my Glock between his eyes.  The stink of his room didn't compare to the reek when he shit himself.

"Please," he'd begged.  "Kill me, Doug.  I can't live with the guilt.  I'm so sorry."

Some would call it weak, others might call it strong but I couldn't pull the trigger.  I took a bullet out of my clip and tossed it to him.

"Do it yourself, you piece of shit.  You're not gonna ruin any more of my life.  Go shit on someone else's life."

That was the last time I saw him, laying there crying in his own shit.  I left Georgia that night knowing I'd burnt all my bridges there.  I'd never go home again.

That was a couple weeks ago. I got a text this morning saying that they'd found Billy's body. He'd died from an overdose.  They found a 9mm bullet clutched in his hand.  That chapter of my life was over.

Looking out over that big-ass ocean, I noticed there wasn't a boat or ship on it as far as the eye could see. I felt a loneliness that matched the emptiness in my heart.  How do you live without your soul mate?  I was about to find out.

***