Finally, the nurse asked Jane to feed me because I was still coming out of the medication. I told the nurse we were getting divorced, but she said that was not her problem and that I should be thanking Jane. She said Jane had been there to help, and I was being very ungrateful. Then she left.
I refused Jane’s help and tried to eat, even though my movements were very clumsy. I was making a mess with the soup, and Jane begged me to let her help me. I felt like a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum. I just said, “Fine,” and let her feed me.
I had never felt so vulnerable before. She behaved very maternally and affectionately. I could take a close look at her. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and I saw more expression lines on her face. She also has crow’s feet now.
I felt better after I finished eating. She took the tray out of the room. She was in a good mood. I saw a patient in front of me, a man in his fifties, checking Jane out when she went out and came back.
I was not surprised. She was wearing a coat and jeans, but she is very pretty. I didn’t like the feeling of being in debt to her. When she sat down, I said, “Thanks for being here.”
She looked me in the eyes and smiled. “Anytime.”
She tried to comb the hair on my forehead with her hand, but I was able to reject her this time. She looked hurt, and I said nothing. She tried to grab my hand, but I removed it. Then she asked, “Can we talk, please?”
I remained silent. There are only two reasons for me to at least be cordial to her. The first is the twins. They were not baptized when they were toddlers, but after my sister-in-law’s ex went away, Jane and I supported my sister-in-law and the twins.
I love those two little rascals with all my heart. When we babysat them, I told Jane it would count as parenting training for when we had our own. That will never happen now. My sister-in-law asked us to be their godparents, and I teared up with emotion.
They are the closest thing I have to a daughter and a son. I know Jane loves them too. I don’t want any drama near my godson and goddaughter, and I miss them so much. I haven’t seen them since about a week before D-Day.
I also haven’t spoken to them because I was avoiding Jane. So I told her, “Okay. Let’s talk in the condo. I’ll contact you soon.”
She offered to take me home the next day when I was discharged. I told her no, I would ask my parents to come for me, and I would see her again in the condo. I wanted to talk to my parents. She noticed I was looking for my clothes.
She opened a cabinet next to my bed and gave me my phone. I looked at her suspiciously, and she gave me her guilty face again, meaning I was sure she had snooped through my phone, and she admitted it. We didn’t utter a word. That is the language we developed after being married 11 years.
I didn’t care if she snooped. I had nothing to hide. I texted my parents, and they called almost immediately. While I was talking to them, the same old nurse told Jane visiting hours were over.
Jane wanted to say goodbye, but I ignored her. She whispered in my ear, “I know you keep your word. I’ll wait for you to contact me. I love you.” Then she kissed my hair and left.
I do keep my word. My father always told me a man is worth as much as his word.
I asked my parents if they knew what happened after I passed out. According to them, one of my co-workers showed up at the hospital to give information about my medical security. That was when the staff saw the emergency contact and called Jane. My sister-in-law contacted my parents after the hospital called.
When Jane came, she met my co-worker, and he left. Jane was waiting for the doctor assigned to me when my parents arrived. My dad was very cordial to her and asked what she knew. After a while, a nurse called out for the relatives of patient OP.
They stood up, and the nurse guided them to the doctor. They had already tested my blood and told them I was physically healthy. My anxiety attack came from a psychological aspect. The doctor asked for Jane to see me because she was the emergency contact.
She promised my parents she would call them after seeing me. When she came back, she was surprised my parents were still there waiting. She gave them a ride home while telling them she had helped the nurses undress me and put the hospital robe on me. They didn’t talk about our divorce.
My parents thanked her for the ride and agreed to visit in the morning, then she would switch with them in the afternoon around 1 p.m. I also called my sister-in-law to thank her for calling my parents. Luckily, my godchildren were still up, and I could speak to them. They were drawing get-well-soon cards for me.
I promised to visit the next weekend. The next day was Thursday. I was discharged from the hospital, and my parents took me to my new home.
A week before my panic attack, I had started moving into my new place. I took my personal belongings. Everything else will stay in the condo because I will rent it fully furnished. Luckily, there are three universities nearby, and I know there are students who would kill for a place like mine.
I have already bought the basic furniture: a refrigerator, a stove, a bed, a table with chairs, a desk, and cleaning tools. I have to learn how to cook my meals from now on. For the first time, I felt thrilled that I could call this little apartment my own place.
I bought a nice warm jacket for Mr. P. I gave it to him, thanked him for his help, and told him I would visit from time to time. I didn’t attend my neighbor’s dinner. I don’t feel like dating yet.
I think I need more therapy and more healing. At my new home, I reflected on my goals for meeting Jane. I concluded that I needed closure. I needed to understand her actions, make her understand there is no possible reconciliation, and end things amicably.
I will divorce her and move on. But I don’t want to lose my in-laws: my sweet and incoherent mother-in-law, my stubborn and strong sister-in-law, and her twins, whom I love. I don’t want to miss their birthdays or future achievements. I want to be at least cordial to Jane.
At work, my boss gave me five days off starting the next week. I didn’t want to stay in, so I went to the beach. It really helped me be away from everything and rest.
I realized I do love my wife, but the chubby one. The one who got excited when Pizza Fridays arrived. The one I married 11 years ago. The one who supported my dreams and hopes.
The one who hugged me when life got rough. I don’t know what happened to her. Did vanity kill her? Was it lust? I have no idea.
But I loved my wife deeply. And the one who betrayed me is not my wife.