My "Perfect" Marriage and The Liberating End.

I'm in love. . .

I was in beautiful, sparkly, cologne-scented LOVE. In my eyes, a love like ours was so perfect that it seemed surreal. I was sitting atop a pink unicorn in a gown sewn from diamonds, while he flexed his beefy muscles and fed me chocolates he made from a Pinterest recipe that tasted like a pumpkin–spiced mocha. Yeah. It was that amazing. As I sat upon that mythical creature, gazing down at the charming, handsome gentleman who had chosen me to give his heart to, I felt like the luckiest girl alive.

If only I wasn’t so oblivious to the rose–colored glasses that he had discreetly placed over my eyes. I was oblivious to the fact that the graceful pink unicorn was actually the hard reality, my shimmering gown was my cloak of denial, his beefy muscles were his many layers of insecurities, and the chocolate wasn’t chocolate at all – much less was it mocha flavored. Those luscious morsels were really the many lies he fed me to keep me under his spell.

As time passed and our wedding date approached, his enchantment began to wear off. He was spreading himself thin with a growing list of lies and I was beginning to notice. Lies about money, about cars, about people. There was no limit to his dishonesty, but with a big shiny rock on my finger, I knew I couldn’t give up hope. I knew things would get better once the stress of the wedding plans blew over and we could begin our lives as a happily married couple.

He and I had been sexually active for a short time before the wedding and because of a temporary procedure he had received before he met me, he was incapable of reproducing until he had it reversed. Just to be safe, I went to my gynecologist a month before we were married to get on birth control. My doctor told me a mandatory pregnancy test was required and asked me if there was any chance I could be pregnant.

“Nope,” I answered and smiled, because I was sure.

She smiled too and handed me a thin box full of birth control before leaving the room to retrieve my results. I was examining the box and its contents when she came back, slowly shutting the door behind her.

“The test came back positive. You’re pregnant.”

Before that moment, I had never truly related with the phrase ‘the earth stood still’, but that’s exactly what happened. Everything just stopped. My heart, my lungs, the doctor. All I could do was stare into her huge, bright blue eyes rimmed with spider leg lashes, and wait for her to laugh and shout, “Just kidding! You should see your face!”

But she didn’t because it wasn’t a joke. I was pregnant. Instead, she reached forward ever so slowly, pinched the packet of birth control between her thumb and forefinger, and said, “So I’ll just take this back.”

I couldn’t be pregnant. I was only nineteen, I had big dreams of becoming an established novelist, my parents would totally kill me, and most of all he promised me that he was sterile.

I could hardly listen to a word she said after that. It took everything I had to keep myself together. How humiliating would it have been to burst into tears at the doctor’s office upon learning I was about to be a mother? It would be even more embarrassing to admit I was naïve enough to believe a lie so drastic. Once I got out of there and into my crappy, little car, I broke. I don’t remember a time that I had cried so hard. Everything I wanted for myself and my future instantly crumbled and landed with crushing force on my heart. I wasn’t ready for a child. I was too young to be a mother. Where would college fit into my new maternal schedule? My life was ruined because of a chocolaty lie that he fed me. How could I marry such a person? But with a baby on the way, how could I not?

My parents were devastated when I told them the news. They had higher expectations for my future than I did and neither of them had ever taken a strong liking to my fiancé. I continued to try to persuade them that he would change. I knew things would get better, especially once a bouncing, bright eyed baby was added to the equation.

Months later I was married, pregnant, and very emotional. My husband and I lived in a small apartment not far from my parent’s home and we both worked full–time. He was settled in a career in the Army and I was working retail. Things had been rocky between us due to arguments and lies, but I was optimistic as usual. How could I not be happy with a beautiful baby girl to look forward to in the spring? As my baby bump grew and I began to feel the little kicks of life from within, my attitude transitioned from defeated to excited and anxious! I couldn’t wait to be a mother and I believed that once our daughter was in the picture, he would work hard to be an honest role model. His lack of integrity began to seem like a sickness, but he scoffed at my attempts to get him into a therapist. As far as my future career as a published author was concerned, I promised myself not to let anything knock me off track. I found a new dedication in my writing directed towards making a life for me and my daughter.

I fell in step with all the stereotypes of a pregnant woman. I was emotional, nauseous, and I had strange, inconvenient cravings that continuously haunted me. One day while I was working a long shift, I came to the realization that nothing would complete my life like a bowl of cereal. All I wanted in this world was a bite of milky, sugary goodness. Knowing that my refrigerator at home was lacking milk, I requested that my husband stopped at the store on his way home from work. He agreed and I spent the rest of the day dreaming of the moment I would enjoy a bowl of pure happiness.

When I reached our apartment complex after my shift was over, my husband was enthralled in a video game – as usual – and I passed him without a word and went straight to the kitchen. I plucked a box of my favorite cereal from the shelf in our pantry, poured its magical contents into the shiniest bowl we had, twirled to the refrigerator, and flung the door open. My eyes raked the fridge and the longer I looked, the more I died inside. No milk. I felt a stifling disappointment flood my heart, but I knew the situation didn’t warrant tears. Promising to be strong, I closed the refrigerator door and went to my husband. I silently stood near the T.V. until he noticed me, like a serial killer stalking her victim. Without warning, my pregnancy hormones took the wheel and drove me off Sanity Street right into Lunatic Lake. I burst into tears and I spoke between sobs while he stared at me, clearly shocked and concerned. “You . . . didn’t . . . buy milk!”

Once he realized why I was having a meltdown, he smiled like he was trying not to laugh and apologized. I collapsed in his lap, unable to bring a halt to the tears. He held me and continued to apologize and explained that he had completely forgotten. As I cried about milk, wrapped up in his arms, it occurred to me that I was so lucky to be with a man as sweet as him. I was being completely crazy and he was coddling my insanity. Sure, he lied. A lot. But every couple had their struggles and dishonesty was ours. It was a problem we could work on and fix and we would live happily ever after. I knew that if I was married to a man this understanding and considerate, things had to get better. Things needed to get better. Because I needed him.

Soon after, my husband learned that he was being transferred to work at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, where we would live for the next three years. Not only was the city about a 20-hour drive from my family with whom I was extremely close, but it was the last place any writer would move to start their career. I knew how important his career was to him though, so at eight months pregnant I moved away from everything I knew with a smile plastered on my face. It was a choice I will undoubtedly regret for the rest of my life.

I knew not more than a single soul in Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. We moved to a small home on post, but we had to wait two weeks for all of our furniture and belongings to arrive, including my car. All we had was an air mattress, whatever could fit in our suitcases, and a small T.V. and DVD player that we rented. Despite our empty home and the long hours I spent alone during the days while he was at work, those first couple weeks will always be my favorite time I spent in Missouri. He was uncharacteristically sweet, respectful, and thoughtful. He was trying to make our move as pleasant as possible for me because I was the one leaving everything behind for the sake of his career. There was something about the way he treated me with such careful kindness that made me incredibly sad. I knew it was only a matter of time before he began treating me with disrespect and lying again. I wondered often how we got to that place and figured it was the gradual change that I had failed to notice. He used to treat me with so much love. I held onto his generosity with all that I had in the short time he was willing to give it.

Just when it seemed he was tiring of the effort it took to put a smile on my face, I was blessed with another reason for him to remain pleasant: The birth of our daughter. I was in excruciating labor for nearly fifteen hours before Melody finally came into the world, red faced and limbs flailing. She was more beautiful than I could have ever imagined and I knew by looking at her that suddenly, everything was better. He would be better. How could he not be, looking at the little angel we had created and knowing she would depend on him with her life? Hell, I wanted to better myself in every way possible! I would try harder to bake chocolate chip cookies that were edible, I would stop correcting everyone’s grammar, and I would stop spending money on high heels that I knew I would rarely wear! My daughter was the greatest thing to ever happen to me and I was floating on a cloud of sheer bliss.

Interestingly enough, the ever present cry of a newborn and the unfortunate lack of sleep have the ability to break through a fluffy cloud of sheer bliss. In fact, they have the ability to reach through your cloud, snatch you up, and hurl you right back into Lunatic Lake. Melody had the condition referred to as Colic and I, being a 19-year-old first-time mom, had no one. The only person I knew in the state of Missouri was at work every day from 7am-5pm and was surprisingly unhelpful whenever he was home.

“She has been crying all day,” I explained one evening when he had come home from work. I was a mess. I hadn’t had any time to shower in the last three days, I didn’t know how to soothe my baby, and my self-esteem was at an all time low. “I can’t set her down without her screaming. Will you please take her so I can have some time to myself? I just want to shower.”

He was annoyed with my request and responded by saying, “I’ve been at work all day doing my job. The army is my job and caring for the baby is your job. Do your job.”

That was how my days played out from then on. He was rarely home; he worked all day and fished with his new friends all night. Sometimes he would claim to go night fishing and he wouldn’t come home till 3:00am. My naivety and the thrills of being a new mother clouded my judgment and kept me busy, but I couldn’t ignore the constant feeling of being unloved and unwanted. He treated Melody and me like a burden, two beings he was tired of taking care of, and grew more and more controlling in regards to money. I was desperate to return to the love we once displayed in the early stages of our relationship. I struggled to be the woman I thought he wanted, prepared dinner every night, and cleaned the house every day before he got home, all while tending to a newborn. Despite my attempts, things only got worse as Missouri said its goodbyes to spring and stepped into summer.

One day I noticed Melody was running low on baby wipes, so being the new mother that I was, I packed a diaper bag filled with enough supplies to last us a weekend trip and we headed to the store. He drove a shiny, red Audi and I was still suffering with the crippled car that he had been promising to replace since we started dating. The engine started up with a thunderous roar and the air conditioner was broken, but Melody and I braved the thick heat of Missouri on our quest for baby wipes. The usual routine for spending money was that I had to call him and let him know exactly what I was buying and how much it would cost us so he could yell and lecture me about saving every dime HE worked hard for. Irritated from the heat, I decided to skip that process and the tongue lashing. Baby wipes were a necessity.

Later that night when he came home from work, he saw the sack on the kitchen counter containing a package of wipes. As soon as he saw it, I braced myself. “You spent money today? What did I tell you about spending money? Why didn’t you tell me?” He scolded angrily.

I played it off as no big deal – because it shouldn’t have been – and explained it was all I bought and that we were almost out.

“Stop spending money! I’m serious!”

I was indignant and slightly surprised that he was still angry. “They are baby wipes! Are you telling me we can’t buy the things our daughter needs?”

He continued to shout and my reply to each remark was the same question over and over again. I sounded like a broken record. “Are you telling me that I cannot buy the things our daughter needs?”

The thing about our arguments was that they all ended the same way. No matter the topic or who was right, he would begin throwing insults and malicious jabs my way, I would cry and fight for the respect I deserved, and he would end it by leaving or ignoring me. As the conversation grew more and more heated, we followed suit with our previous, unhealthy routines and soon I was fighting back tears.

“Look at your daughter,” I said, trying desperately to break through to the man I once knew. “Twenty years from now, if a man treated her the way you treated me, would you be okay with it?”

He scoffed as if the answer were obvious. “No.”

“Then why is it okay to treat me this way?”

He rolled his eyes and spoke witheringly. “Because it’s just you, Shannon. Don’t act like you’re perfect! Don’t act like you deserve the world!”

I was so stunned by his reply that the argument ended there with my defeat. I was speechless, hurt, and I just wanted to be back home. I wanted to sit on my old bed and cry, surrounded by my family. I wanted my mom to hold me, I wanted my dad’s enlightening pep talks, and I wanted my sister to cheer me up with silly jokes. I thought of the confident, ambitious girl with big dreams that I used to be and compared her to the insecure, lonely woman I had become, whose biggest goal was to have an honest marriage. As females, we’re warned from a young age about all the major dangers such as rape, kidnapping, breast cancer, and the fatal risks of wearing white after Labor Day. But what about all the subtle dangers that can quickly add up and potentially ruin your future? The liars. Putting your dreams on hold. Trying to be someone else’s version of perfect. The man who claims to be sterile just so he doesn’t have to wear a condom. Why wasn’t there a class taught in high school on the small perils that slip through the cracks? Or did I just miss the memo?

It wasn’t long after that incident when one morning I discovered he had a separate bank account that he had been hiding from me. I called the bank with his information and I was informed of the last ten transactions which included lunches, purchases at apparel stores, and worst of all, hefty cash withdrawals and transfers to another mysterious account. As I scribbled down all the information that the automated service gave me, I waited for the heartbreak that I had felt so many times since I had eagerly said the two life-ruining words: I do. Though I knew this was the final straw and meant the end of us, I didn’t feel crushed. I felt liberated. He had set me free with one last lie that was too significant to excuse. If he could hide a separate bank account from me so easily for the entirety of our marriage, then his dishonesty truly knew no bounds.

He was at work on a 24 hour shift called CQ and I knew it was the perfect opportunity to leave. I dialed his number with an unfamiliar thrill of superiority and was greeted with the typical, “What do you want? I’m working.”

“I know you have a separate bank account that you’ve been hiding,” I said bluntly.

He was angry, as usual, whenever I caught him in a lie. “That’s an old account that I canceled forever ago, Shannon. Stop trying to find lies where there aren’t any! Stop snooping around in things that aren’t your business!”

“It’s not canceled,” I snapped.

“Well, then they didn’t cancel it when I told them to. I can’t even remember the last time I used it!”

“You can’t? Let me help you remember,” I quipped, exquisitely smug. “Your last transaction was yesterday and your last transfer to another bank account was Wednesday.”

His silence felt like a personal triumph. For once in the two years that I had known him, he didn’t have an arrogant response.

“I’m leaving you. I’m through with your lies and the way you treat me. We’re done.” I ended the call with those words and yet again, anticipated the pain of heartbreak. I sat there waiting for it, but I only felt hopeful.

After several unanswered phone calls and text messages packed with excuses and lies from my soon to be ex – husband, he sent one last message: Don’t do anything stupid with your ring. I still owe a lot of money on it. With a roll of my eyes, I tossed my ring on the bed. I didn’t want it anyway. I wanted nothing to do with the liar I had unwittingly bound myself to.

I packed up my five month-old daughter, my dog, and everything that would fit into my rickety little car and prayed we wouldn’t break down on the way back to my home in Utah. I pulled onto the highway, homeward bound, and realized that our first year anniversary was in one week. It had only taken one year for me lose sight of everything I valued most. I left my family, my dreams, and the self-sufficient girl I used to be. I had made my mistakes, and I would value the lesson that came from each one.

As Missouri shrunk in my rear view mirror, the magic of the chocolates dissipated like fog. I knew without a single doubt that things were finally going to be better. I faced the long road ahead of me with my spirits high. I was ready for a round two at life and this time, I would do it MY way.