Chapter 10 – Triggered
It’s October 2017, Jacaranda’s are in full bloom and the Highveld heat is excessive, just like our marriage. There’s more arguing, the lies, I can’t stand the lies, and of course the beatings. This, of course, is my fault.
He cannot handle the accusations and decides it’s time to visit his mother. Why don’t I stop the questioning, why don’t I trust him? Well, my instinct does not allow me that peace and neither does his pseudo-clandestine trips.
For the trip to Cape Town, his hometown, my hometown, where we have family, this WB (Woman Beater in case you forgot) books a B&B. With all OUR friends and family there and his mother, he books a B&B. The reasoning is this: he wants peace, you know, to be alone. He even shows me the email confirmation of this B&B for one.
Anyway, this WB also leaves home four hours before the flight is supposed to take off. I’m convinced she is going with, I ask nothing and I say nothing.
I call the B&B only to find out that he is not checked in, he cancelled the booking.
I call him and demand to know where he is. He retaliates by accusing me of being crazy, that I don’t trust him, the usual bullshit and he not only cuts the call, but he also switches the phone off.
I’m mad as the day is hot but the next day he calls, sobbing, telling me he told his mom about OUR problems and that he cannot handle this because he wants us to work and I need to trust him and so on and so on.
Did he tell his mother how he beats me, how I had to conceal my bruises? I don’t ask him this, I listen. I listen to the nonsense that I heard about 1000 times before, I listen.
He lets me know about his return, that the flight is delayed. I call the airline and a delay is confirmed. I feel a sense of relief that it’s true, maybe he was alone, and maybe he just needed the time away.
I decided to take my son to the airport, to WELCOME (read catch) this WB in the act. But he walks out alone and while I am slightly disappointed and relieved, I do feel stupid, his point is proven.
We are back to normal (fighting) and a week goes by before I check his phone. To my utter disgust, I see this message: “It sounds like she has an unforgiving heart, I am sorry that you are going through this my son, I am praying for you.”
What did he tell her? Why would she say this? Is he the one with blue marks on his body, did I choke him, what the actual fuck?
This one statement from his mother broke me. I cried. I felt a sadness that was already deep but somehow just got deeper. How can someone, a MOTHER, side with her son? Does she not know? She doesn’t care that her son is a menace – to his wife.
Or he just told her his side. He just played the victim. A grown-ass man, a father, a husband, that for the past year fucked me up, and not just in a physical sense.
I never had love for that woman, neither did she love me. I didn’t need it though, my mom got my back, but this lack of respect from his mother was another low blow to my battered body.
My mind and my heart could just not comprehend this insensitivity. In that early Jozi summer heat, I was fired up, a switch went ON and I decided to fight back.