My husband’s final exit from our life was not full of drama.  Our son was nearly six months old.  I knew he had been acting manic for a few weeks, and when I confronted him yet again, he confessed to being off his meds.  To never being on his meds regularly throughout the last six years.  He rushed into and over me, yelling at me that this was not my issue to control and manage. That he would not live this way. I cowered beside the coffee table, shaking, and begging him not go to.  He went for a long bike ride.  He would not take my calls or return my texts.  He reached out to his boss who came over to the house.  His boss asked him to check himself in to hospital – to be a man and to stand by his family. 

After a week in hospital, he was discharged and told me that he had moved in with a colleague to an apartment downtown.  I found out later that he had leased an apartment on his own.  He was done with this life with me and our baby.  He assured me that we would always have money, that he would always provide for us financially. That he would always be present for our son. He agreed to do a little counseling, but said that he could not commit to be healthy and did not want a partner who expected that. 

Three months later, he disclosed during a counseling session that he had been unfaithful “numerous times” in the marriage.  He had a year-long affair with a woman in NY early in the marriage and then another long-term affair during the course of my pregnancy with another woman in NY.  I felt like my insides were rotting.  I asked him to leave.  I wept like I have never wept.  And then I felt sane for the first time in years.  All of the drama and tension was not a falsehood like he always claimed.  It was real, and it was horrible.  In his disclosure, he had set me free. 



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