Why I Won’t Forgive My Husband Just Yet


You know that popular piece of advice that makes the rounds during weddings? No, not the ribald one. The one about never going to bed mad, or holding something against your spouse? Yea, well I have to admit to something. I have yet to forgive my husband for the stupidest thing he has ever done.

So, imagine me as a new transplant in the US. We were living in an apartment, and I only knew one family. In the building next to ours.

The hubby had to go somewhere one evening. After he left, the phone rang. I picked up.

A deep voice said hello. Then he went on to whisper that he lived in the same building we did, and he knew my husband had just left and I was home alone with a baby. His voice started to sound threatening. I started to panic. 

Imagine me, then a big fan of John Grisham, Tom Clancy, Patricia Cornwell, and Agatha Christie, checking that the front door was locked. My brain went on overdrive. Then it shut down.

It got quiet for so long the stupid guy on the other end must have realized I was as white as a sheet.

“Babe! Babe, it’s me!”

Nervous laughter.
Laughter I recognized. 
My face turned red. I think I hung up. 

Over ten years later, I still haven’t forgotten. Or forgiven. 

Yup, despite all the apologies.

And the gifts to make up for it.

And that dream trip to PEI.

And all the serenading with sappy country songs.

I’m still plotting.

I will get him back.

And then I’ll forgive him.

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