Chapter I: Party Planning

A lot of you are probably wondering, “What the fuck happened?” Funny you should ask. I wonder about this all the time. And the truth of the matter is, I’m really not totally sure and we’ll probably never know what the hell he was thinking. Some people are just assholes.

For those of you just tuning in, in May 2017, my boyfriend of three years, whom I loved dearly, proposed. It was pre-wedding bliss. The date was set. September 8th, 2018. A beautiful fall wedding set for the Langham Chicago. The dress? Check. The church? Set. All the down payments? Paid.

Fast forward to March 2018. I had wanted to do something nice for my fiancé’s birthday. He had proclaimed many times that nobody could ever pull off a surprise party; so naturally I wanted to prove him wrong! I reached out to his two best friends to start the scheming.

The week before his secret party, I had invited him out with a group of coworkers. Being the jealous type, he asked me who I was texting during the night. I said nobody, considering we were scheming for his party and I had mentioned it to many of my friends to help with logistics and food. When he asked me to show him my phone I obviously said “no,” with a mischievous smile.

Fast forward to later that night. We got home and he set up a bed on the couch in the living room (insert eye roll), began yelling so all neighbors could hear and demanded my phone. I had obviously deleted all evidence of the party and kept laughing to myself about how stupid he was going to feel in a week’s time when this all came full circle.

“Baby, this is all gonna make sense in a week. Please just relax and trust me.”

Instead, he went through my phone and latched on to a conversation I had with a male friend of mine. He fumed and threw my phone at me. It hit me hard, too; leaving a mark on my foot still 10 months later.

“Why did you say good night to this guy 3 days ago?”

Are you fucking kidding me?

He slept on the couch for three days until I left on a work trip.

Just to be clear, this wasn’t a normal reaction. Shit had changed with him. I wasn’t sure what it was. Pre-wedding jitters? Male PMS? I figured it would pass. And at the end of the day, I knew I wasn’t being unfaithful and that I would never hurt this person. I thought he was the love of my life. I trusted him and thought he trusted me. I was planning a future and children with this person. Turns out someone else was planning a future and children with him, too.

Chapter II: March

March 8th, 2018: I remember waking up excited about the meaning of this day. It was exactly 6 months to our wedding date and I remember shamelessly posting a countdown picture out of excitement. At this point, his anger had died down a bit. I figured some time apart while I was on this work trip in Seattle would help. Unfortunately, I was traveling with many male coworkers/friends for a conference, which didn’t help ease his nerves. But I knew as soon as he saw everyone at his birthday party, it would all be wonderful again and he would know everything was for him.

We had texted during the trip. Everything seemed more normal. I don’t know exactly what time he did what he did, but we chatted on the phone before bed, said our I love yous and goodnights as we did any other night I was on a work trip.

March 16th:

The plan was in action! It was the Friday before his birthday and I told my fiance that we had dinner plans the next day for his St. Patrick’s Day Birthday. “Perfect,” he said. His friends were coming in from the suburbs to take him out for drinks after work.

“Exxxxxcellent,” I thought.

I remember letting his friend into the apartment that afternoon to talk logistics as I frantically threw the food I had spent all day making in random drawers since he decided last minute to stop at home before going out. The plan worked, thankfully, and his friend and him later left the apartment (I was hiding) giving me a few more hours to gather everyone and finish preparing the food, drinks and decorations.

Everyone slowly gathered. My friends, his friends, even his friends from out of state! I had told my partner in crime about his jealousy incident and they even said to invite any male friend in question to prove there was nothing to worry about. I agreed.

After much coercing, we were able to get him back to the apartment earlier than he would have expected. My poor neighbor called him to tell him there was a small fire in the building and that he had to come home to check on our unit. To think I actually felt really bad

SURPRISE!!

At first, I thought he was tearing up; perhaps realizing he had been too hard on me or perhaps realizing how much we all loved him. I went to give him a hug and he barely took notice. I took it for shock at the time but the more I look back on it, I’m not sure what it really was. My parents were there. They loved him. My mom later told me she had taken him aside and told him he never had to worry about me and that I loved him. She said she thought it resonated but what he said to her was odd.

“I wish you had told me that earlier.”

Chapter III: The Dress

There was a time many years ago that I worried I may never get to walk down the aisle in a flowing, white gown. The truth is this hasn’t been my lowest low or even the worst heartbreak of my life. When I met my fiance, I thought that all the pain of the past was exactly that; a thing of the past.

It is hard being back at a point of wondering what the future holds. Now, instead of wondering if I’ll ever get to wear the dress, I wonder about bigger, harder things.

In the summer of 2016, my dad was diagnosed with a rare cancer. And while he has been in remission for over a year, I cannot help but tear up whenever I sit through the father-daughter dance at weddings. I’ve had two since my ex-fiance did what he did and, while I had no problem standing up beside my friends, being there for them and forgetting about myself for the night, I couldn’t help the tears during the dance.

I painfully, truthfully can’t say for sure if I’ll ever get that moment or if my dad will be around to see me marry the man I love. Will they know their future grandchildren? My dad, and mom for that matter, both know this to be true; the hurt that he caused has extended to so many people in so many ways.

***

The dress I had picked out meant so much to me. In typical girly fashion, it had come down to two finalists. I slept on the decision, came back with my mother and two bridesmaids the next day and tried them both back on.

As I was standing on the platform in the spotlight, a song came on in the bridal salon. “Never Stop,” by Safetysuit. Not only was this an incredibly obscure song, it was one that my fiance loved and had introduced me to, and one we had even considered for our first dance.

I remember thinking in that moment that it was a sign. I stood there in my dress, put my hands over my face and, for the first time during the wedding process, I cried.

“This is my love song to you
Let every woman know I’m yours
So you can fall asleep each night, babe
And know I’m dreaming of you more …”

I couldn’t wait to marry him.

***

Wednesday, April 25th, 2018

My dress was in and my mom and I had an appointment for my very first fitting.

It was perfect; everything I had wanted and fit like a glove. I paraded around the salon trying on different belts, headpieces and, of course, the veil. My mom and I sipped champagne and reveled in this special moment that most every mother and daughter dream of having together.

I had called off work for the afternoon so we stayed there looking at other dresses. I wanted my mom to feel just as beautiful on my wedding day. We picked out a black gown that looked absolutely stunning on her and I also found an adorable, white cocktail dress. It was very Carrie, from Sex and the City, which was ironically a show that my fiance loved. I knew it was right up his alley.

We swiped our cards and made both non-refundable purchases that afternoon.

***

After the fitting, we decided to go to Eight Bar & Patio, right below Maple & Ash. It was our new favorite spot for wedding planning dinners. Still completely engrossed in all the excitement, I texted my fiance to see if he would join my mom and I for dinner. He told me he was in Schaumburg, IL, almost an hour out of the city, for work and that instead he wanted to meet his friend at Hooters out there instead.

I laid it on thick, I’m not going to lie, I wanted him there with us.

After dropping an F bomb out of frustration, he told me he was on his way. I started to feel bad. I just wanted to spend time together during the wedding process; I knew he was coming as a chore and not because he wanted to. I remember my mom noticed my mood changed.

“I’m fine,” I said.

He showed up an hour or so later and we ate. He spoke very few words and a pressing feeling in my chest became almost too much to bear. I knew something felt wrong, but I was mute; paralyzed to say a thing. I knew I would be the overbearing bridezilla; the crazy girl. So I put on a smile and pushed forward.

I later came to find he was not at work during my wedding dress fitting; not with a “friend” at all.

He was with her; and not doing what you all might think. What he was doing was, in fact, much worse.

So much worse.

Chapter IV: A Love Story

I feel I cannot do this story justice without speaking to the good times. Our love was a whirlwind romance, or so I thought. He acted; put on a show starring as what we all thought was the perfect boyfriend, fiance, and future husband for many years.

There were red flags back then, I realize now. Though love is blind and so was I. A product of past turbulent relationships and a believer in love, I took the opportunity to fall and fall hard. I didn’t want to look back.

We bonded over music; a private part of my life many people don’t know is there. I’ve played the piano since I was five, and it always got me through the best, but mostly the worst of times. During high school and college, I began writing songs. Tons of them. No words. Just notes. Words didn’t come as easily back then. Piano did. I guess because sometimes there are no words; just feelings. Though, I must say it has been nice finding a voice for this tragic tale. It is a large part of why I emotionally function after the trauma; trauma he still tries to inflict on my family and I to this day, almost a year later.

I had known who he was. We had worked for the same company and he began hanging out with my group of friends there after I had moved firms. I still kept in touch with everyone, so he and I formed a friendship as well. I knew he was dating her, he said they weren’t serious and always made comments to the others about how she wasn’t the ‘one’ and was just convenient. I had been dating someone else at the time and didn’t think much of it.

One night, a group of us got drinks in a hotel lobby. There was a piano there and in my tipsy state, I let go and just started playing. He soon joined me on the bench and we just started playing together. There’s actually a picture that captured this moment as our friends could feel the intensity in the room; completely palpable. It was truly magical; like everything just clicked and someone got me for the first time; understanding what I meant by my songs with no words.

This moment just haunts me now.

As the months passed, we got together. Things clicked almost immediately. Within the year, we had said our “I love you’s,” met the parents, and even bought a home together. People may have been surprised by the speed at which we progressed, but “when you know you know,” we both would say. We had discussed marriage and children in the first few months of dating and knew we both wanted the same things in life.

I had one of our mutual friends warn me at the beginning not to trust him; that he wasn’t a guy a girl like me should get involved with. I didn’t know what to make of it at the time. I knew he had a rough exterior, but I thought his softness and sensitive nature he had showed me in private was his true self. I wish I would have listened to my friend. I later figured out what they meant.

There were many things that I loved about him. He paid attention to the details. The little things that girls hope for. Flowers for no reason, dance classes, surprise tickets to the theater sitting on the entryway table when I got home on a Friday afternoon after a long work week. And love letters.

Love letters; so many fucking letters. On yellow sticky notes. Every morning he wrote them; a small yet significant reminder that I was loved and life was all coming together; meant to be.

I still have them all in a plastic bag. I’ve often wondered what to do with them. Send them back? Burn them? Send them to her? Perhaps, I just set them in the trash; exactly where he set me. Something pushed aside that you never think about again. Where does trash even go? Lord knows Chicago doesn’t actually recycle. Would someone find them? Find them and be inspired by a love that was all a lie? I can’t even imagine a worse fate for the lies he spewed at me for over three years.

The last month of my ignorance, April, the letters continued. The same way they did every day for the past three years.

“Good morning, baby. I hope you have a good day at work. You’re the love of my life and I can’t wait to marry you. Don’t work too late today.”

Such a farce, I realize now. Him just stuck in a muscle memory act of pretending to care, to love someone. He wrote them even when he was mad. I recall the incident of the green dress.

On a trip to Seattle, after his blowup and the exact day he drove over an hour in my car to see her and sleep with her, I bought a green dress.

I wanted it for his birthday. I wanted to look pretty and find a way to make him notice that I only wanted his attention. I wore it on a special night with my family and him to Alinea and to our one-on-one birthday dinner. I recall so clearly how upset he was. He yelled at me; accusing me of buying this dress to wear with my male coworkers on my Seattle trip. I recall swearing to God that I had never worn it before. And even after I professed my love and that I just wanted to look nice for the occasions we had coming up, he rolled his eyes and in his signature sarcastic tone, “Yeaaa, okay…”

While he barely spoke a word to me that night; I still got the love note the next morning. I never knew how to feel. I started feeling unsafe, insecure in a relationship that once brought me such inspiration and joy. Fortunately, I was about to be off his emotional roller coaster.

He confessed 4/27/18.

Chapter V: These are My Confessions

I want everyone here to know that this entry has been the hardest to wrap my head around. It has taken so long to unveil because the material is sensitive; not just for me but for an innocent child in this situation. While I am trying to get my story out there and think it is important for this audience to learn from my mistakes, please know I didn’t make the decision to speak about this lightly. I agonized over how to say this; how to explain what he did or if I even should. Unfortunately, the truth here is ugly and, in my opinion, we are not dealing with a logical, empathetic human being. We are speaking about someone that truly cares and loves only one person in his life; himself.

***

Friday, April 27th, 2018:

Things were off between us; however, I had been looking forward to this night. Every other Friday, we had dance classes together. We were choreographing our first dance to a song. Our song. Goodnight, Moon by Go Radio.

It’s funny, isn’t it? How there are songs that could mean so much to you then but now you can’t even stand the sound of the melody. Like a bad case of food poisoning, the mere taste or smell just sickens you. That’s how many songs have now become since he confessed.

I remember I dressed up in a green pleated, velvet dress; the same one I wore when we had shot our engagement pictures. I knew it would sway whimsically as he spun me around during our routine.

After our dance class, we took an Uber over to Ramen-San in River North. We sipped cocktails and made small talk, but the air was tense. I knew something was on his mind. He ordered dessert, something he rarely did, like he was trying to sweeten the news. I took my first bite and he said, “We need to talk.”

At first, I thought he was going to want to rehash my friendship with my male coworker. We had become close friends and my fiance was not having it. In previous relationships, I never had any issues maintaining male friendships. I even had a best male friend through high school and college that I had platonic sleepovers with. We’d watch movies and hang out in his basement until we both fell asleep on our respective couches. I did this even while dating others; they trusted me and respected the relationship. That’s how I felt it should have been with him.

Trust is so important; however, sometimes people project their own guilt onto others. He knew he had been doing something wrong and projected that onto me. I suspect, in a way, it made him feel better about what he had done and what he was doing.

So let’s get one thing straight, since he is out there claiming this is my fault. I never cheated on him. I never would have. I was crazy about him and loved him completely. I’m not perfect and certainly have my faults and made mistakes in the relationship but I did not do that. All good? Great, moving on…

Funny thing is, that’s how he started his confession, telling me all I had been doing wrong. He finally stopped and said, “there’s more to this but I don’t want to discuss it here.”

I don’t remember quite how he said it but I knew something was wrong. I actually texted my mom on the way home:

“Something’s wrong; I think he’s going to break up with me.”

“Text me when you can,” my mom replied.

We got home and we sat on our respective couches. He on one couch and I on the other that faced him. He slouched over his knees, head down and hands folded. I didn’t know what was coming but I knew it was going to be bad.

Then finally, after what seemed like hours of silence:

“I cheated on you.”

I was in a state of shock for the rest of the conversation. I never would have guessed that he had cheated. I began just asking matter-of-fact questions calmly and rationally. I wasn’t mad. To be honest, in that moment, I wasn’t anything.

“When?”

“While you were in Seattle.”

“When?”

“March 8th.”

I remember I was dumbfounded. He cheated on me while I was planning his surprise party; admittedly before.

“I don’t understand. You gave me such a hard time about my friend but you had done this already?”

“I know.”

Our conversation was a slow and steady ping pong game of short questions and answers.

“Why did you do it?”

“I thought you were cheating when you were planning my party.”

“So you first inclination was to go sleep with someone?

He had no answer for that.

“Who is she?”

He said her name. I knew who it was. His ex he had dated before me. A hair dresser up North.

“You drove all the way out to McHenry to see her? That’s a pretty blatant and calculated decision to hurt me.”

He had no answer for that either.

“Okay, so what do you want to do? I told you I thought we should go see Todd again about these trust issues but you didn’t want to. Do you want to go see him and figure this out now?” I said calmly.

Todd was our marriage counselor that we had seen previously as a prerequisite to get married at St. James Cathedral downtown. I had left him a message after my fiance’s outburst the month before to make an appointment for an extra session. I wanted to go and make sure we had no issues with trust. He refused to go with me but cheated that next week.

He looked at me almost bewildered; puzzled. I think he thought I was going to throw him out as soon as I heard what he had done. To be honest, I think he was hoping for that, because then he didn’t have to tell me what was coming next.

I remember so clearly this point of the conversation. It took a turn. He stood up and threw his hands on the back of his head; pacing behind the couch he was once calmly sitting on. He started to cry.

“That’s not all, Lindsay.” He never said my name unless it was bad.

“She’s pregnant.”

At that point he burst into tears. I am not sure if it was because he was sorry he hurt me or if he was sorry he had made this mistake for the second time.

See, here’s the thing. He had gotten her pregnant while they dated. She wanted to keep the baby, but he didn’t love her and thought a baby would ruin the life he had worked so hard building. He had confided in me regarding this at the beginning of our relationship. Back then, I felt for him. Mistakes happen. This time, however, it was not a mistake. It was a calculated decision. For him, a calculated decision to cheat. And in my honest opinion, a calculated decision for her to have a baby with him, and maybe get back at me a little for being the next girl he dated; the girl he left her for. (Honey, you can have him!)

The tears kept flowing for him. The only time I teared up was at this point. I started to cry because I was watching the person I loved so much struggle though so much pain. I went over to the couch next to him and hugged him.

“You know how you had your dress fitting and I said I was in Schaumburg?” He said through tears.

“Yes?”

“I wasn’t. I wrote her a letter and brought it up there. I pleaded with her not to go through with it. I tried, Lindsay. I’m so sorry.”

I don’t recall much more of that night.

He made a bed on the couch. I went to the bathroom and threw up.

***

Chapter VI: My Island

I recall over the summer, when I was walking to my desk, a co-worker and friend stopped me to ask how I was doing.

“Getting over him was the easy part,” I said.

It’s not difficult to stop loving someone when they show their true, twisted colors. Colors of someone only sorry if it meant they might still have a chance with you. Colors of someone who, realizing you are gone, begins to manipulate, twist the truth, and blame you for their own actions and situation. Colors not of a man, but of a coward.

I told her I wasn’t sad; that’s not the feeling that lingered. While I was constantly surrounded by friends and family, it was the loneliness that remained. Not loneliness because I was alone in a big house with empty walls or because I no longer had someone sleeping next to me; but loneliness in the wake of such deception. Nobody could ever truly know the pain, the strange freedom and the sadness all rolled into one constant, ever-evolving emotion. In that respect, I was completely alone.

“Yea, you’re kinda on an island all alone,” she said.

She was right.

***

After the confession, my time on my island began in my room. After I dragged myself out of the bathroom, I got in bed fully clothed and just sat there. I texted with two trusted friends to explain what had just happened. It was late but they responded. I remember my hands shaking with every word I typed. One didn’t know what to say; utterly speechless. The other called me and we talked for a bit. I truly don’t even know what was said. I couldn’t bear to call my mom that night. I had to think.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. A few times I walked out and asked him more questions.

“Was she on birth control?”

“Yes.”

“Then how did this happen?”

“She said hers takes three months to work.”

“What?!”

I’d march back in the room, shut the door and think some more. He said it was one time. How could that be? This is the person who said I should never be in contact with an ex, the person who said I must delete all pictures with them; never speak of them again. Yet, he was clearly back in communication with this person long before he cheated, long before he was upset about my text messages while planning his birthday. He had told me that they had been in communication for some time. He said she reached out to him to speak about her retirement account; did he really think I was that stupid?

I was trying to understand how one could be so deliberate. He had to take my car and drive 52 miles in Chicago traffic to go see this person.

“Did you know it was going to happen when you went up there?”

“I don’t know.”

If he didn’t know, why would he go and risk it? Did I mean so little? Or were you so self-centered to not even think about me at all?

“Well I felt bad when I left.”

Oh. That’s good? What do you even say to that?

The dialogues you replay in your head over and over; disconnected rambling of a mess always replaying and skipping like a scratched CD from my childhood. In all reality, just him stuttering as he thought of what lie to tell next.

***

The truth behind what I was thinking on my island of blankets and tissues in my dark, forlorn room, was how I was going to make this work. Its nauseating to think that’s what I was trying to remedy. I was truly trying to figure out how I could stay with this person. How I could be there for him, his child. Was I a strong enough person to do that? Would I be able to marry this person in September and become a step mother two months later? Was she even pregnant? Was it even his?

That was the other thing. If you sleep with someone “one time,” would you really not request a paternity test? I recall researching and discovering you could do that before giving birth. I thought it was telling that he didn’t want to and hadn’t already asked if it was his. It took me time, but I eventually knew it wasn’t just once. Due dates don’t lie. He did.

That next morning I emerged from the room and asked what we were going to do. He said he was checking into a hotel to think about what options we had and that he’d give me a solution in the morning.

He left and I went back to my dark island and waited.

***

Chapter VII: Babies

It’s funny how life has a way of reminding you of things you don’t want to face, but should. After he told me what he had done, all I saw were babies. Everywhere.

Working in finance, its not often you see children at all. No babies in strollers around the loop, no hearing the coos and giggles of children at all really in the life I lived. In the life we lived, together.

Once I knew that he was going to be a dad, and that she decided to keep it, I saw babies. Everywhere.

The next Tuesday after his confession, after literal days of sitting motionless, sleepless in the bed we once shared together, I was forced back into reality as I had a work trip scheduled for Seattle. A work trip with one of my colleagues who had previously elicited jealous outbursts from my now ex-fiance.

I recall sitting in the waiting area as I watched the A-group board the Southwest flight. Right in front of me, was a little girl. I remember her little pink hat and how cute she was with her mom and dad; happy as could be, looking at them with awe and wonderment. My colleague, sitting next to me, somehow knew exactly what I was thinking.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

That trip was the first time we sat next to each other on a flight. After the flight took off, I put on my headphones. The first song that came on was “Goodnight Moon,” our first dance song we had practiced together not hours before he told me what he had done. For the first time since his confession, I started to tear up.

My coworker and my friend, grabbed my hand and in that moment felt safe enough to break down.

*****

Any single woman my age knows exactly why it wasn’t just the cheating that was troublesome.

Being 31 at the time, I already felt the scrutiny of that number and what it meant for what was left of my child-bearing years. I didn’t want to feel the pressure of rushing down the aisle or immediately having children. I don’t think I will ever have baby-fever, truly; however, I felt like the possibility of me, myself being a mother was drifting away slowly. I’ll admit I was angry. I was angry that he could possibly be the reason I never would have a family of my own. How dare he? How could he?

It also wasn’t just my age. It was the baby. An innocent figure not yet even born. A figure who hadn’t even taken his first breath but yet somehow already had so many people rooting for and also against him, including his own father at the time.

An unborn figure who was ultimately the reason why I wasn’t going to try to make the relationship work. Of course now, I hate now that I even considered making a relationship work with someone who is so very clearly a sociopath. In many ways though, I am grateful for the baby. If it weren’t for him, I may have stayed. I would have married a cheater. I would have had children with this person and found out later about all the times he was stepping out. He would have subjected our own children to a life of misery, divorce and, with his temper, perhaps even worse. So the truth is this baby, who was painfully given the name of what my ex-fiance wanted to name our first son, is one of the many heroes in this story.

Thank you, little dude. You saved me from marrying someone I shouldn’t have. You saved me from becoming an unwilling step mother not two months after I would have walked down the aisle. And, above all, thank you for allowing me the freedom to find myself and discover that the person I was actually meant to be with was someone else. Someone unexpected, wonderful and honest.

You deserve to have the best life. I hope you never have to know about me.

*****

Chapter VIII: Monster

I remember being in a haze when my flight landed at Midway. I was dreading going back; home to an empty house that no longer felt like home. My ex had spent the time I was away on my work trip starting to move his stuff out. I remember thinking how fast he did it all, almost as if he had been planning it for some time.

When I turned my phone off of airplane mode, his name was the first thing to pop up on my screen.

“Landed?”

He had asked me earlier in the day if I was going to stay at our place for the night. He wanted me to; which disgusted me. For all I knew he was seeing her while I was out of town. I didn’t know who he was any more and I was starting to realize quickly that I never did.

I wanted to sleep in my own bed. I wanted to see my cats, Paisley and Halsted. I wanted to just curl up with them and sleep. Sleep to forget my own reality. It was the only time I was free from the truth that was so quickly swallowing me whole.

My friend and I pulled up in our Uber outside my condo to drop me off first.

“Are you sure you are okay going in there with him?” he asked.

“No, but I just need to be at home.”

He offered up his couch or to take me to my girlfriend’s house instead.

I shook my head.

“Call me if you need anything. It’s going to be okay. Love ya, bud.”

He gave me a hug and helped me get my luggage out of the car. I held back tears the whole way inside. Praying, hoping, begging that my ex wouldn’t be there.

He was.

***

I opened the old door and walked into our grand, pre-war entryway. He had been waiting and was sitting on the bench with his hands folded and head down; the exact position he was in before he told me about his baby. He smiled eerily as he unfolded his fingers and stood up over me.

“I’m so glad you’re home.”

***

I remember so little of the conversation we had. What I do recall; however, is he had done all sorts of “chores” for me. It was as though he thought it would somehow make me forget what he did. That I would be like, “Oh shit dude! You cleaned, bought groceries, and moved out all by yourself? You are a fucking saint!”

He got no such reaction and the fact that he seemed surprised by that is truly astounding. It was around this time that I started reflecting on all the little idiosyncrasies of this strange individual still living in my home. It was then that I actually started researching what it meant for someone to be a narcissist; a sociopath. It was also then, that I started fearing him.

***

People often commented on how well I handled the breakup emotionally. In reality, I was drowning in my own thoughts. Drowning in 30 foot waves of nausea, panic attacks, and moments of complete and utter darkness. The emotion that I didn’t have? Sadness. I didn’t miss him. I didn’t miss him at all.

I didn’t miss him at all because his reign over me was over. He no longer had his mask on and the spell was immediately and completely broken. The power was back in my hands to realize who he really was:

A monster with a key to my apartment.

I started reading through whitepapers on sociopaths and their prey. You see, men like him don’t know how to love anything. They lack all emotional depth, empathy. They get off on power. They go through three phases of abuse. Assessment: sizing up their victims to see how they tick, what insecurities they have and how to best pursue them. He knew when he met me that I was coming from a relationship that lacked a certain level of romance and depth that I craved. He knew I loved music. He knew and used these things against me. He knew exactly how to wrap me around his finger. The next phase: Manipulation. Feigning love and togetherness to meet this goal of emotional domination. What was his ultimate goal? Power. He wanted power in the form of control, money and the envy of others. He came from nothing and wanted to be rich in all sense of the word. He wanted the big house, the powerful job, the pretty wife, the big diamond ring. Anything to establish his superiority over others. If he saw anyone as a threat to this power, he would do anything he could to prevent me from being exposed to those individuals. If he saw no threat, he welcomed them with open arms. The third phase of the abuse: Abandonment. He grew bored. The problem with wanting the pretty and smart wife, is we eventually do start thinking for ourselves when you start slacking on your mind game. We stop doing things to solely please you. We start speaking up and we no longer live to serve you and your fucked up version of happiness. We start questioning why you deserve us and wonder if you even do.

He slept on the couch that night and I did exactly what I needed; locked myself in my room and passed out. I wanted to sleep and escape from the realty. I needed the break from myself, from my life. I wanted to wake up and not have him back, but wake up and have it all be over.

***

Monday was a surprisingly typical day. My ex was completely out of the house; living in a dingy studio in Lincoln Park. I couldn’t bring myself to keep on my engagement ring anymore, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone at the office. The embarrassment would have been too much. My work friend from the Seattle trip was the only one at the office who knew. He checked in on me from time to time; taking walks with me when I needed to clear my head or grabbing a quick dinner when the thought of going home to an empty house with empty walls was just too much to bear.

It slowly came out during the week to some of my close friends. I didn’t know how to really say it. “He cheated. She’s pregnant. And that’s that.” I think it shocked people that I didn’t break down in tears every time I uttered iterations of the story. Perhaps it was the denial, though my denial very soon became a raging tsunami of hopelessness and anger. I was so very lost. Constantly wondering what I had done to deserve the struggles and traumas that this life has never ceased to provide to me, my friends, my loved ones. I was already exhausted from spending years working to free myself from paralyzing anxiety caused by other wounds. Now, most of all, I was angry. Angry at him. Angry at her. Most of all, angry at myself. I spent hours trying to figure out what was wrong with me. Why I wasn’t good enough. How he fooled me, my family, and everyone. For years. How did I not see it coming? What should I have done to make him not want to look elsewhere?

I knew deep down I’d be okay. I always was. But this time around, I had had enough. Enough manipulation. Enough abuse. Enough of me keeping quiet because its the proper, lady-like thing to do. This time around, I wasn’t going to stay silent.

***

That next Friday, the word was out to my inner circle of close friends. I asked a few girlfriends to grab dinner with me. We went to Beatrix in River North and, after a few drinks, I walked them all through the story as they quietly listened. They glanced subtly back and forth at one another; left, right, me. None of them quite sure what to say. Two friends started tearing up listening to me talk about the surprise party and him throwing his phone at me. It felt almost worse knowing I had brought them down the deep, dark rabbit hole with me.

We decided to take the group back to my house because, despite my facade, I was drowning. I didn’t want to be alone.

My brother and a few others met us there as well. As we all congregated at my front door, I told them to brace themselves for what was next.

***

As we walked into the hallway, my friends and I were greeted with hundreds of yellow sticky notes. All over the walls. All over everything. I hadn’t yet been able to take them down. This was his attempt to dig his claws back in me one last time; it was working.

“I will always love you”

“You’re so pretty”

“Don’t forget to feed the cats”

“I can’t wait to marry you someday”

My childhood friend’s mouth had to be pulled off the floor. He was disgusted as were the others. I couldn’t handle reading them all but the group walked through the hallways looking at them, baffled.

“What kind of fucked up person does this?”

One of my friends walked into the bathroom. On the mirror in my lipstick he had written song lyrics from a song I loved:

“Little do you know how I’m breaking while you fall asleep

Little do you know I’m still haunted by the memories

Little do you know I’m trying to pick myself up piece by piece

Little do you know I need a little more time…”

My friends, one by one, plucked the notes from the walls, and scrubbed the lyrics off my mirrors. I sat with the others on the couch and opened a bottle of wine. My brother; a man of few words; visibly shaken by what he had seen and heard. The others not sure what to say. I tried to joke; poke fun at my unfortunate situation because, more than feeling grief itself, I hated feeling like I had hurt or disappointed those close to me. I hated it but all the while loved them so much in that moment.

One by one they slowly exited my condo; the last leaving a little after midnight.

“He doesn’t have a key does he?” they asked.

“No, he left it on the front table when he took the last of his things.”

“Change your locks anyways.”

***

As my last friend left, I shut the door, latched all five of the locks, and let out a sigh. I abruptly set my forehead against the door and felt myself begin to tear up. I turned around and slid my back down the door and wept like a child; letting out all the ugly tears that had been waiting patiently until it was safe to come out. I sat there in my entryway, legs folded, mascara running until the sobs subsided into smaller, less pathetic whimpers.

After composing myself, I got up and stared at the keys he set on the table; I started to wonder what he was truly capable of. Nervous; I hurried to check the back door. It was locked. I walked back through the dining room and as I walked past the now empty guest bedroom, I began feeling uneasy. I had always mentioned to him that if anyone was going to break into the house, it was going to be through the windows in that room. The locks were rusted and someone could easily access them from the fire escape behind our building. I often times felt like we were being watched through those windows. Like I would turn the corner and there would be a face staring back at me. Daytime or nighttime, the windows always made me tense. And now I was completely alone.

Like a small child afraid of the boogeyman, I rushed back into my bedroom, locking myself in with my two cats. I hadn’t eaten or slept in days; medically exhausted. As I rolled over to my left side, Halsted came up and nestled his 17 pound body next to my chest. He let me put my arm around him and pull him close. Paisley slept on the other side between me and the door. As sad as it sounds, I felt safest when they were there. I knew they’d protect me from his ghost; a memory of a monster I would soon come to know all too well.

Chapter IX: Transition

As I laid in the darkness of my bedroom, I was jolted awake by violent pounding. Pounding followed by the noise of claws scraping against the hardwood floors; the cats bolting out of the room and down the hallway to make their frightened escape. Through the gray drapes swaying from the reverberations, I could make out parts of what was outside. I saw shadows of multiple hands pounding on my bedroom windows.

I could make out flat palms and then fists; slamming back and forth on the panes. They wouldn’t stop. The drapes now rapidly curling like vertical waves in a tumultuous sea.

I was frozen; completely paralyzed by what I was witnessing. Multiple figures outside my windows trying desperately to break the glass with fists and get into my home. I tried tirelessly to move, jerking back and forth yet somehow completely anchored to my bed. I knew any wrong movement might be my end.

I tried to wake myself up; I had to be dreaming.

I finally gave in to the paralysis, hoping that my stillness would save me from whatever was lurking beyond the walls. Where was my phone? I thought. My eyes darted left to right. In the pitch black I tried to make out any semblance of an iPhone. Just as I saw the outline of it on my nightstand, the pounding stopped.

In the same abruptness that the clamoring ceased, so did my immobility. I immediately sat up and grabbed my phone; violently trembling from the terror that has just ensued. In a crazed state, I started to search the contacts in my phone. I needed to call my friend, Ben; he would know what to do. I could barely get a grasp of my current reality; unable to get my fingers to properly dial or search for him. Before I could press any definitive button, I heard my closet door slowly start to creak.

I knew it wasn’t the cats.

My closet was right next to my bed; a massive walk-in so deep and dark and not three feet from my face. I could hear the small, old knob turn and could make out the faint outline of the door as it started to slowly push open towards me. All my childhood fears rushed to the back of my skull like blood. Perhaps the Monster in the closet was real all along; not make believe or in our heads as our parents would have us believe.

I could make out the large shadow that was now towering over me; its hot breath I could feel on my face as the hairs on my body stood at attention. And as the door swept wide open to reveal what had been hidden in its depths, I channeled every ounce of rage left in my body and screamed at the Monster that had now emerged.

This time, I was the one eliciting fear. I stood up on my bed. My slender 4’11 frame now the one towering over him.

“Try something, Monster. I fucking dare you.”

***

I woke up that next day around noon; the sun peaking through the same gray drapes that haunted my dreams not hours before.

I looked at my phone; dozens of text messages from friends and family just “checking in.” They knew I hated the attention; I’ve always been that way.

I had dreams like that often. Sometimes they were less scary than the reality of the adjustment to a new life. I once was able to escape in my sleep; but now I couldn’t escape there either. I knew I was going to have to get away. For the time being; however, I stayed away from the house as much as possible.

I was the first to suggest happy hours after work and, on the weekends, I would do everything in my power to not spend time in the house alone.

I spent many nights sleeping at friends. My work friend, Ben, often lending me his basement couch to crash on when I was too scared to be at my house alone for the night. There was something about his constant happiness that was refreshing. His optimism and laughter was always so contagious that he made it easy for me to forget my troubles for a few hours each day. He knew when to be sad with me but knew when to crack a joke or switch the subject. He read me like a book.

I spent a lot of time on his old plaid couch; occasionally able to doze off for minutes at a time while he watched TV on the other couch, played video games, or socialized upstairs with his roommates. Often times, I would wake up with a quart of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and a spoon sitting on the table in front of me.

The days turned to weeks. Before I knew it, it was mid-May and my ex and I were negotiating via text about the $50,000 my family and I lost from non-refundable wedding deposits. All my savings were gone. He mailed a check to my parents for the first $20,000 with a note apologizing for what he had done.

His letter read this:

“Words cannot even begin to describe how deeply sorry I am to both you and <my dad, my brother> and most of all…Lindsay. What I did is completely inexcusable and blatantly wrong. I know that and I regret my poor decision. Lindsay is a once-in-a-lifetime love and destroying that love is something that I will always have to live with. I wish it didn’t take me so long to realize that, like I used to in the better half of Lindsay and my relationship. Lindsay is truly a special and remarkable girl and it is so easy to fall in love with her. Her love is uncanny, unlike any other. Somewhere alone the way, I forgot that. I shut down. I shut down on her, which is not fair to someone as special as Lindsay.

Lindsay was the love of my life and I destroyed it. I’m so sorry you now have to try and put her back together. But Lindsay is the strongest and most courageous person I know. She’s the best person I know. She will love again. She will be happy again. It may never be me in the future, but she deserves every ounce of happiness and love and she will find that once again.

I know you put a lot of time, energy and money into this wedding. And I am truly grateful for all your help and support throughout the entire wedding planning process. I am also truly grateful to know such an amazing family and I will cherish the happy memories we all shared together and the many nights yelling at each other and calling each other “dumb f**ks” over Catch Phrase. I will always love every one of you, just as I will always love Lindsay.

Accompanying this letter is a cashier’s check, as I wanted to put some repayment in your hands immediately. This will be the first repayment installment until Lindsay and I figure out what we are doing with the condo. I know Lindsay is broken, and I take fully responsibility for everything. I just wish I would take every bit of hurt within her and put it on myself.

Regretfully and with love,

<insert sociopath’s name here>”

***

It’s pretty convincing, isn’t it? I remember my parents and I reading it and feeling badly for him. I had moments of worrying that his life was crumbling to the ground; wondering what I should have done to prevent it; to save him from himself. I found myself wanting to reach out to see if everything was okay, but then realizing I was just falling for his meticulously placed trap.

Isn’t it funny how sometimes you want to believe something is real or good to the point that you start to convince yourself? I finally started trusting my instincts, something I wish I had done years ago. That’s the problem with always seeing the good in people, you start to put blinders up to what is real. Deep down you know what demons lie beneath but you are able to ignore. Perhaps because you just don’t want to know what the demons look like face to face. You revert your attention, never having to face the evil in the eye. Now, over a year and a half later, there are days where I wish I wasn’t so callous with certain people or in specific moments, but I now know why this has changed. Perhaps one day my faith in people will be restored. Restored while always remaining cautious.

***

My ex still had a remaining balance with my family and I. About $30,000. I took nothing from his first check myself. How could I? The guilt of what my parents had spent, the time they had invested; it was too much. It was hard enough seeing their faces and the looks I now got; knowing how they ached for me and my misfortune. Knowing how they had saved up slowly over the years to afford the nicest wedding they could imagine. I couldn’t take a dime more from what they had already generously provided.

My ex and I texted about the condo. He told me the week after his confession that we would sell it and he could use the proceeds from the sale to make my parents whole. It was at that time that he said he would only keep paying the mortgage through June.

“That’s not fair,” I told him. “This is my home and why should I be uprooted because of your foolish mistake?”

Despite my hating to be there, I was determined to keep my home. The symbol of my many years of hard work. I finally had something of my own. I was proud of my home, I loved my neighbors, and I didn’t want to be forced to change one more thing in my life. The walls were bare, but I would restore them with new pictures of my friends, the rooms would hear stories of my adventures and, if I was lucky, one day I might share it with a person that I loved; a love unprecedented, honest and real.

After crunching some numbers, I told him that I wanted to keep it.

I did research and knew that if he deeded the property to me, I could refinance the mortgage myself and it would no longer be a joint property.

The way I saw it, it would be best for both of us. I would no longer be financially tied to him and he would no longer be financially tied to me. I wouldn’t have to lose my home. If he agreed, my family and I would forgive the rest of his debt and he could walk away a free man; free to live his life however he chose without having to liquidate his other property, 401K, or any account in his name.

It was that simple. I was willing to take the risky gamble on the property. The gamble that one day, I may not be able to sell it for a profit of $30K or even a profit at all. A gamble that meant my family and I may never be made whole. This gamble; however, was worth it because it would have rid me of him forever. If he ever cared for me at all, if he meant what he said in that letter about my future happiness, why wouldn’t he agree?

“You don’t make enough money and you’ll never get approved,” he said.

He was wrong.

My friend and co-worker, Ben, had previously worked in the mortgage industry. He gave me the number of his old colleagues and I was pre-approved. All I would need from my ex would be a signature.

“I’m done paying the mortgage after June,” he said again abruptly.

I couldn’t believe what I was reading. He wouldn’t agree to my terms but he was saying he was done paying. We hadn’t even listed it yet and, even if we had, it certainly wouldn’t have sold that quickly.

The Monster had begun to emerge and back me into a corner.

May 21, 2018, 7:02 PM: Text Messages

“I’m not putting money in the joint account come July first,” he said.

‘That’s wrong.” I said. “I do not need that added pressure. If we list, you would still need to pay.”

“Figure it out, because I’m not paying.”

He then demanded I find a roommate or begin the refinance process. Both of which, didn’t give me much time. I had a little over a month before complete and utter financial ruin.

***

As the month of May slowly progressed and transitioned into June, panic slowly overcame me. I hustled to try and find a renter that could live with me; to rid my ex of his burden to the condo while I worked through the refinance process. I didn’t want to live with just anyone; I wanted to feel safe. A few acquaintances and friends of friends came for a showing; however, nothing was panning out.

As my search continued, the tension with my ex seemed to cool down bit; switching back and forth from backhanded jabs to business discussions around the condo and paperwork. Despite his snarky remarks and attitude, things seemed to be progressing. I knew in the very least I’d be able to sustain the condo bills alone for a few months if I absolutely had to.

The paperwork was in and soon a third party would be sending over the deed documents to my ex for him to sign. Once that was done, I would be free.

***

As the days went by, I still struggled with my time at the condo. I spent more nights out with friends during the week than I care to admit and I continued to sleep on Ben’s couch whenever I felt the anxiety coming on. One night at his house, before I was going to turn in for the night, I saw him start to inflate a blow up mattress.

“Come on,” he said. “You’re gonna sleep in here from now on.”

He moved it onto his bedroom floor and gave me proper pillows and sheets.

“This way if you need to talk, I’ll be right here,” he said.

***

That night I struggled to sleep. I quietly tossed and turned on the blow up mattress, trying desperately not to wake Ben up from the squeaks of my body against the plastic bed.

“Can’t sleep?” He whispered.

“No,” I said softly, painfully choking back tears.

“Do you want to sleep here instead?”

“You don’t mind?”

“‘Course not.”

I slowly climbed up to his bed with my blanket in tow and laid on my back next to him. He asked me what was on my mind and I slowly began to unveil all the words that had been hiding in my head for weeks. I explained the feelings of shame, fear and anger; verbally walking through the quiet suffering I had been experiencing alone on my island. Tears dripped down my face and into my hair. I tried to muffle the sound of crying but I knew he could distinguish the faint quiver in my voice as I spoke.

What was only five or ten minutes of talking felt like an eternity, and the release of my emotions felt like a heavy burden had been lifted off my broken soul and into the air.

After a few minutes of silence, Ben spoke softly.

“Everything is going to be okay; I promise.”

We said our good nights as he rolled over; turning his back to me as I turned mine to his. For the first time in weeks, I was able to sleep through the night.

***

June 13th, 2018

I had been dreading this week.; my birthday week. My work team had an outing to the White Sox game on the South Side. A group of us took the red line home late that night, one by one my friends getting off at their respective stops. I recall walking home with one of them from the Belmont El stop. As he turned right to head South down Broadway, we parted and I turned left; walking the rest of the way alone in the dark. I spent the walk dreading the looming birthday wishes I would be receiving in a few short hours. I dreaded what my ex would do or say; wondering what could possibly bother me more: well wishes or no acknowledgment at all.

As I walked home a text message came in from Ben.

“Birthday plans tomorrow?”

I hesitated to respond; I knew I’d feel pathetic saying no. My parents had offered to come up, but I told them I wanted to be alone. I couldn’t bear looking at them even months later. The shame was too much; and it was for a long time.

“No plans,” I replied.

“Well, let’s do something then.”

***

The next day came. I woke up feeling better than usual; dressing in a blue sundress and taking more time to do my hair and makeup. For the first time in a while, I felt pretty.

As I walked to the bus stop, a text came in from my ex:

Friday, June 14th 8:24 a.m.

“Happy birthday, love ya!”

I rolled my eyes and closed the screen. I wasn’t going to think about him today.

After work, Ben and I got on the red line and exited at Addison. We stopped by his Wrigleyville apartment briefly, where he grabbed a large gift bag.

“What’s in there? And where are we going?” I asked.

He shot me a devilish grin.

We walked West down Waveland, right onto Southport and then into one of my favorite BYOB spots in the city, Tango Sur.

We sat outside; it was a beautiful night. Ben had picked out a bottle of Cabernet to bring; one I’m sure he had seen me drink at his house while I was simultaneously cramming my face full of ice cream.

The waiter brought two glasses and poured for us both. I laughed as Ben sipped; knowing all to well how much he disliked wine.

He grinned; knowing exactly why I was laughing, smacking his lips together like a true wine connoisseur.

“Ah yes, this vintage; flinty and austere,” he proclaimed sarcastically.

Everything always fell into place when we were together; like friends who had known each other for years. I had always adored Ben. We had the same sense of humor and our time together was always spent laughing, singing and talking about anything and everything. Him being seven years my junior, I always gave him unsolicited life advice and told him how lucky his future girl would be. He was a big kid with a heart of gold. We both were. I was glad we had become close friends.

“Want to open your present now? He asked.

Hating the attention, I begrudgingly pulled the bag to my lap and started taking out the tissue paper.

“Oh my god; you didn’t,” I said.

I burst out laughing, pulling out a brand new Nintendo Switch and Mario Kart game.

We had spent many of our work trips to the Pacific Northwest wandering around Target stores; getting snacks and killing time. Every time I would stop in front of the Nintendo Switch display in the electronics section, bargaining with myself over why I needed one; Ben always using his sales tactics to try and push me over the edge to pull the trigger.

“Is this a present for me or for you?” I joked.

He laughed, “Both! And now we can play each other on the plane to Portland for our trip in July!”

I smiled and he smiled back.

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for everything.”

***

As June came to a close, I walked into work one day and sat down at my computer. Before I could settle in and open my laptop, my manager came over and asked to have a word. He escorted me to one of the small conference rooms on our floor.

We sat down and he slid over a piece of paper to me. It was an offer letter; I was being promoted.

While he and I never spoke a word about my situation, I knew he knew and I knew he would never ask. I looked at the number on the paper and felt a sense of relief. The raise couldn’t have come at a better time.

I thanked him and went back over to my desk. As I sat down, I felt elated but then suddenly overwhelmingly sad. This meant that Ben and I no longer would be partners. No more trips, no more target runs, no more sing-a-long car adventures.

I asked him to go for a walk so I could break the news. He knew it was coming and was happy for me; I knew he would be.

He asked if I’d be accompanying him on our last trip to Portland and I said I still was. Because it was going to be my last trip out West, I told him I was going to rent the car and drive the coast.afterwards. I needed to clear my head.

“Where are you headed?” He asked.

“Carmel.” I responded.

I had lived there as a child and it was always where my mind escaped to during difficult times. Sitting on the cliffs overlooking the sea. I needed to see the ocean. I needed to feel small against the vast sea; knowing that all that was happening to me was insignificant and temporary. I needed to make a new memory. I needed to cry. It was calling to me like a siren to a weary traveler. I needed her now more than ever. I needed to clear my head; to drive the winding coasts of California Highway 1 with no plans and no reservations. I needed to feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my face. I needed a reminder that I was free. I needed a great escape.

Sometimes you need to go back to where you came from to see where you are going.

Ben looked at me and smiled.

“I’m coming with you.”

Chapter X: Great Escape

The month of July was coming to a close. I sifted through my closet as I attempted to pack a bag for the escape I was about to embark on. The first few days we would be driving through Oregon, visiting clients in different cities across the state. What my plan was for afterwards? A big question mark. I put in a few work dresses and heels into my bag, unsure of what to grab next.

I had no plans, hotel reservations or anything for the remaining three days that my co-pilot and I would be traveling across the vast western wilderness; exploring and searching for an adventure.

I wasn’t sure what to expect. From the trip, from Ben, or from myself.

All I knew was that I needed to get out of Chicago. I needed to gain a new perspective. I needed to forget about the sickening reality that had swallowed my life and I whole.

***

There was always something about California that drew me in. I knew I had to get down to the sleepy, little town where my soul lived; where the air smelled of sea salt and the Monterey cypress trees grew out of the cliffs. Like crude brush strokes in a painting, her trunks grew out of impossible rock formations; thriving and reaching their odd, alien-like branches towards the sun. Against all odds she thrived; growing and conquering the rock. Fighting against the elements in a world where she wouldn’t usually exist, yet somehow, she persevered.

We lived in the foothills of Carmel Valley when I was a young child. I was shy back then; spending most of my days daydreaming and living in my own magical, ethereal world. I was not seven years old when we left the valley to head back to the Midwest; however, it left its mark on me and calls to me often during times of struggle and reevaluation. Once I arrived, I thought, I would know what to do next.

***

Tuesday, July 24th, 2018

Ben left town in the morning. He had some other meetings to attend to in Portland before I needed to be out there, so I booked the later flight alone.

After what seemed like hours at Midway, I finally boarded the plane. I got to my seat, set my head against the window and let out a big sigh. I enabled the Southwest wifi, pulling up my Spotify playlist titled, “Fuck You,” and letting it shuffle. I took off my sweater, clumping it into a ball and putting it in between my head and the side of the plane. I shut my eyes trying to sleep, but instead lost in all the thoughts going through my mind.

I looked at my phone. A text from Ben appeared.

“When you get into Portland, Uber to the Starbucks in Lake Oswego-I’ll pick you up there.”

A rush of nervous adrenaline overtook me. All in a matter of months, Ben and I had become so close; cosmically forced into each other’s lives; more than we ever could have anticipated. A self-fulfilling prophecy of my ex; so scared and intimidated by Ben that he took fatal, vengeful action; ultimately thrusting Ben and I into a deeper friendship at his expense. I cringed knowing what my ex might do or say knowing the friendship we had forged. But, the truth is, he forewent any and all rights to pass judgement on me the day he had sex with her. He no longer had domain over my actions, decisions, or the people I chose to spend time with. He would reap what he would sow.

I knew what people might say, what rumors would be started, what my ex would try to pass off as the truth. For a while, I cared; I cared very much. I had already been shamed and forced into a deep, dark place. I didn’t want anyone saying that I had brought this upon myself. I knew I hadn’t but I was scared others might think I had.

Then I remembered all he had done. Getting another woman pregnant. Having unprotected sex while I had a ring on my finger symbolizing his “love.” I remembered that he was having a baby; a son. I remembered that he was posting Instagram and Facebook pictures of baby shoes only a few months later, forcing me to field texts messages and comments of “congratulations” from friends and acquaintances who thought the baby was mine. I remembered having to explain what he did to these people, some I hardly knew. I remembered seeing their faces of disgust when I told some in person. I remembered the sadness in my parents and brother’s eyes every time they glanced in my direction. I remembered the bruise on my foot where he had violently thrown a phone at me in a fit of rage, accusing me of infidelity. I remembered the endless shame he had so selfishly forced upon me time and time again. It is these reasons why I stopped caring what other people would think, what he would think. This was my life now and mine alone. Anyone who knew and loved me would know the truth. And for those who don’t believe me? Well, he’s a damn good liar and, one day, you will discover the monster that he truly is. Good riddance to him and, until then, good riddance to you.

As we made our final descent into Portland, I opened the shade and took in the sight before me. The beautiful snow capped mountains emerged, clear as day, with not a cloud in the sky. This trip was going to be exactly what I needed and as we landed on the tarmac, all thoughts of the monster in my life faded away far into the closet. I closed and locked the door.

***

I got into the Uber ride, typing in the local Starbucks near where Ben’s last meeting would be held. I sat outside in the beautiful patio weather, my back to the parking lot as I waited for him to pull up in his compact rental car to drive us to his last meeting for the day.

As I sat drinking my coffee, I saw a BMW out of the corner of my eye. It hovered right behind me and I heard an odd mechanical hum and clank that made me look behind me. I immediately burst out laughing.

There was Ben, in a baby blue BMW 430i, smiling like a little kid, while he sat idle in the parking lot waiting for me to notice him as he hit the button for the retractable roof of the convertible.

“You told me you got us a HI-YUN-DIAH!” I say with a sick karate chop move.

He laughed, knowing I could never quite pronounce “Hyundai.”

“Yea, well…I lied,” he chuckled. “I told the girl at National that we were driving Highway 1 and needed something special. This is what she brought!”

I could feel myself smiling the biggest, cheesiest grin.

He is so wonderful, I thought to myself.

***

Our first night in Portland went as it usually did. We spent it walking around the city, stopping in at Andina, our favorite Peruvian spot, for tapas. We eventually met up with one of Ben’s friends from back home in Cincinnati at a rooftop bar for a drink. Afterwards, we retired back to our hotel on the outskirts of the city and tucked in for the night.

***

Wednesday, July 25th, 2018

The next day in Portland was jam-packed with meetings. We hurried to get through our last one, knowing we had the daunting task of driving many hours through the valleys of Oregon to get to from Portland to Medford before the wee hours of the morning.

Sitting in the hotel parking lot around 3:00 p.m., Ben pulled out his phone. “It’s 272 miles to Medford,” he said while sitting in the driver’s seat. “It’ll take us about five hours, but we can stop for dinner in Eugene.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said as I threw my bag into the back seat of the convertible.

Off we went.

***

Car rides with Ben were always quite the adventure. We had set up a playlist for ourselves, “L&B Cali Road Trip,” which included some of our mutual favorite jams like those from Kelly Clarkson, Maroon 5 and Walk the Moon. Ben made sure to turn the volume all the way up so he could sing as loud as he could without drowning out the song; his head bopping back and forth to the beat like an adorable cartoon.

He mentioned we could take turns driving if I wanted, but he knew all too well that I loved just gazing out at the horizon at all the natural beauty of the Pacific Northwest; getting lost in the music, like a score to my life that is this movie.

The upbeat sing-a-longs turned to our softer playlist as we slowed down and mellowed into the rhythmic patterns and soft murmurs of the car wheels over the highway road.

As we started to see signs for Eugene appear more and more, Ben grew excited.

“Can we stop and see the stadiums at the University of Oregon?!” He was grinning ear to ear, hopeful for an affirming head nod from me.

I let out a quick laugh, “I mean, sure?”

He gripped the steering wheels and smiled dramatically, like I had just made his day.

***

We drove through the campus, getting a glimpse of everything from Greek life to academic buildings. As we pulled up to the new basketball arena, Ben pulled the car over and we got out.

Matthew Knight Arena, it read.

We walked up to the glass door entrance, hoping to get a glimpse inside at the famous basketball court design; known for the grove of trees painted on the hardwood floor.

We pulled the doors towards us, resulting in a loud clanking as it buckled shut. Locked to the public.

As we started to walk away and back down the stairs we heard a voice come from behind us.

“Can I help you?”

We both looked over our shoulder.

An older man had emerged from the stadium. He was a stout fellow, with gray hair, khakis and a polo shirt on. He reminded me of a minion overseeing and guarding the gates to his kingdom.

“W-we were just leaving, sir,” I answered nervously.

“We are just traveling through and wanted to see if we could get a glimpse of the new court,” Ben said. “We’re big college basketball fans.”

He stared at us for a minute; sizing us both up. Ben and I looked at each other and back at him.

“Well, I suppose I could give you a peak real quick,” he said through a muffled sigh.

Ben all but sprinted up the stairs out of excitement. We hurried inside as the minion closed the doors behind us. As the man turned around, Ben already had a hand outstretched towards him.

“I’m Ben!” he said grinning. “And this is Lindsay. We’re from Chicago.”

I outstretched my hand.

“O-oh,” he mumbled; surprised at my small outstretched palm. “Nice to meet you. I’m Larry,” he said, grabbing my hand gently, with one, firm shake.

He walked us around the main level of the stadium. It was one of the nicest college arenas I had ever seen.

“Oh, uh..sorry it smells in here,” Larry said.

I looked at Ben, surely thinking he was going to make an ill-timed fart joke.

“We’re treating the floors and it has quite the aroma,” he explained. “We can’t walk on them but you can see it from up here.”

We walked into the arena and saw the vast court below us. All the wood planks had been separated for their chemical treatment. The smell permeated in the air; warm tingling in the nostrils.

Ben asked a myriad of questions about when the court was built, about Phil Night, and about Larry himself. We learned that Larry was the head of security for the stadium; working games, concerts, and anything else that passed through the small town of Eugene. He was a retired police officer, which made sense given his skeptical demeanor around us “kids.” Ben had a knack for people. He could talk to anyone and make a friend. Before long, I saw Larry’s lip turn upright in a crooked smile as Ben spoke and joked with him.

“You know,” Larry said. “I could give you a full tour if you have time.” He looked hopeful, like he wanted us to keep him company and stay awhile.

Ben lit up, “That would be awesome!”

We spent the next hour walking around the stadium. He showed us Phil Knight’s suite, the locker rooms, press rooms, and detailed the sad story of the stadium’s namesake; the late son of Phil Knight who had passed away, Matthew Knight.

“Do you want a Snapple, Lindsay?” Larry asked as we walked.

“Oh, no thank you,” I replied.

“Are you sure? We have a lot of drinks leftover from the Faith Hill concert. She’s a nice lady.”

He asked a few more times; I laughed to myself thinking that this was his home and we were his guests. He wanted to provide something for his guests just as I would force wine and food on anyone that was a guest in my house.

“You know, Larry,” I said. “I haven’t had a Snapple in years. That sounds great.”

His face lit up, “You betcha!” And we started walking down to the loading dock where his office was.

He let us into his security office, beaming with pride as he showed us all his equipment and cameras that he watched to help keep the establishment safe. He reached into his small refrigerator and gave us two drinks. He then turned to us, “You know, I also have these nifty bags and some bobble heads of Phil Knight,” he said softly. “Do you guys want some?”

“Heck yea,” Ben replied as Larry went to grab the items from a closet for us.

Ben and I looked at each other and he mouthed to me silently.

“THIS IS SO COOL.”

I laughed quietly, not wanting Larry to hear.

As he came back with the goodies, we made our way upstairs back to the main entrance together.

“This has been an absolute pleasure,” I said taking Larry’s hand to shake with my right and putting my left hand of top of his.

“We cannot thank you enough,” Ben said. “We will send you a gift from Chicago so be on the lookout!”

Larry shuffled his feet and scratched the back of his neck; his beautiful awkwardness a sign of true humility in that moment.

Ben shook his hand again and we thanked him again as we walked out the door.

“Dude, Larry is the man!”

***

We got back in the car, grabbing a quick pizza and salad to eat on the road, knowing our little pit-stop had set us back and we wouldn’t arrive in Medford for a few hours still.

As the road got dark, Ben and I decided to turn the music all but down to a whisper as we shared scary stories. I remember getting goosebumps listening to him as we winded through the dark, forested roads of southern Oregon.

As we neared our destination, Ben and I remembered that there was a single In-N-Out Burger in Oregon and we were about to pass it.

“Perfect timing,” Ben exclaimed. “We need gas too.”

We exited the highway at Grants Pass and pulled into the Shell station and the bottom of the hill next to the In-N-Out. Ben rolled his window down in anticipation for the gas attendant; in Oregon, you do not pump your own gas.

“Hi there,” a young man’s voice said. “What’ll it be?”

Ben told him what to fill up with as we scrounged the car for a few dollars to use to tip.

“Hey, man,” Ben said to the young attendant. “Can we buy you dinner? We’re going to In-N-Out.”

The man looked at us puzzled. He couldn’t have been much older than seventeen.

“N-no, I’m okay. You don’t have to do that,” he said nervously.

Ben insisted and I leaned over him in the driver’s seat to look at the attendant and nod my head as well.

“Umm, well okay.” He gave us his order.

We quickly went up the hill to grab the food. Both of us first ordering and devouring our “animal style” burgers and fries. As I waited outside finishing my drink, Ben went back in to order the attendant’s food so it would be fresh and warm.

I smiled looking at him inside at the register. Ben was one of the most thoughtful people I had ever met. I had witnessed countless times he took care of people; friends, family, neighbors, old men needing help with their luggage or crossing the street. It wasn’t any surprise to me he was buying a complete stranger dinner. The thought of him being in my life made me feel, for the first time in weeks, grateful.

I had moments like these often when we were together. He made everything magical. He stripped me of all my anxieties; a calming force in my life as I laid in the aftermath of a destructive, emotional tornado.

We dropped off dinner to the young attendant. His figure in the rear-view mirror slowly shrinking as we pulled away and back onto the highway. I’ll never forget his face as he thanked us and watched us drive away. Like he was witnessing something extraordinary.

We finally made it to our hotel in Medford around midnight. The sky was filled with stars and the moon almost full. We unloaded the car and carried our luggage up to our shared room with two beds. We brushed our teeth and changed.

“Just a few meetings in the morning and then on to our big adventure,” Ben said.

I climbed in bed next to him, as was now customary. He said goodnight, shut his eyes and fell asleep.

I laid there in the dark, looking at him and thinking to myself; wondering what exact moment it was that I knew I was in love with him.

The beauty of it, I thought, is that there wasn’t a moment at all. No grand realization or epiphany; just a simple notion and acceptance of what had been true all along.

“I always loved him.”

***

Chapter XI: Winding Road

I walked outside and a thick cloud of smoke overtook the normally light and crisp air of southern Oregon.

“Forest fires,” Ben said without me even having to ask. “Looks like we’re getting out of here just in time.”

I chuckled to myself about the irony of his comment.

“Sounds par for the course these days,” I joked, smiling back at him.

My life had become one big fire. A fire that it seemed I was escaping just in time; but barely. I had come out covered in soot and burns. My wounds exposed, publicly. I could feel eyes on me at all times. My sorrows like exposed flesh that nobody wanted to acknowledge but that nobody could help but stare at. I wondered metaphorically about the fire I had voluntarily walked into and was subsequently forced out of; the red flags that I had pushed down for years started to simmer and bubble up like the boils on my skin from the first degree burns.

Ben laughed at my joke, understanding that self-deprecation was my way. He always laughed at my quips; my silliness. As a matter of fact, he encouraged it.

I could feel my smiling face take a turn as the dread crept into my soul like monsters being summoned from their closets.

“You’re not funny. You’re just stupid.”

I hated how this always played in my head, like a bad song on repeat. He had said this to me over and over, so much so that I had come to believe it. A shell of the woman and human being that I once was. I wanted to cry but the tears didn’t come anymore.

“You okay?” Ben said grabbing my hand and smiling.

His face made everything alright. I knew they’d keep trying but, with Ben, my demons didn’t stand a chance anymore.

He let go of my hand and put his hand back on the steering wheel as we headed to our first appointment of the day.

***

January 2018

As my brother and I got older, it became harder to get everyone together for the holidays. His girlfriend of many years had family that would take them to Iowa for certain holidays and we knew it would be important to our mother that we schedule time for the six of us to be together and celebrate. I offered up our condo for a family dinner after the New Year so we could celebrate Christmas all together, finally.

“Lindsay’s making lamb,” my mom proclaimed to my dad enthusiastically as they entered the foyer of our large pre-war home. In tow, multiple bottles of wine to share with us while we ate, opened gifts and played games.

As he and my dad caught up about how business was going, I worked in our galley kitchen making sure the rack of lamb and accoutrements were prepared perfectly for our special night. My mom and brother’s girlfriend helped set the table and we all sat down to count our blessings and celebrate another magical Christmas season together.

Soon we would all be family.

Many gifts were exchanged, including new games to play together; my mom’s favorite pastime. We spent hours into the late evening playing “Reverse Charades,” laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

“Boys do the cleaning,” exclaimed my mom as the party drew to a close. My father and brother scurried off to the kitchen.

As we sat enjoying the last few sips of wine left in our glasses, a voice bellowed out from the galley.

“Eh Lindsay, I think you guys have a problem,” my brother said.

“It’s the sink again, isn’t it?”

Our old, vintage building had no garbage disposal and the pipes were on their last leg before our full kitchen remodel was to take place later that year after our wedding.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” my ex said with an air of fake sincerity.

He glanced at me and I felt the hairs on the back on my neck stand up. I was in trouble.

***

One by one, my family exited out the front door. I stood with the door cracked and waved my goodbye as the elevator door shut in front of their smiling faces. My ex smiled and laughed as they turned to leave.

I shut the door behind them and turned around. He stood there in the middle of foyer, both fists clenched tightly next to his hips. His clownish grin slowly curling around itself to show the anger that he had been hiding deep within. His once brown eyes, completely blackened. He wants to hurt you, I thought.

I walked back to the kitchen to help take a look at the sink.

“Don’t touch ANYTHING,” he scolded.

“W-what do you think is wrong?”

“You obviously put something down the drain that you weren’t supposed to, Lindsay.”

He only said my name when I was in trouble.

“Some of the meat probably got down there and past our little net catch,” I said trying to comfort him and ease the tension. “It’s late so don’t worry about it. I can work from home tomorrow and call the plumber.”

He glared at me.

“I’m just trying to make you feel better. C’mon let’s go to bed. It’s late.”

He walked out of the kitchen and started doing chores around the house. I had no idea what to do. Panicking, I asked if I could help. He ignored me and kept vacuuming.

It was now past midnight. I went back into the room to get ready for bed; my hands trembling as I brought the water up to wash my face. I stared back at myself into the mirror; the water dripping off of my chin and mascara still lingering in long streaks below my eyes.

“Who are you?” I said looking back the girl in the mirror.

As I tried to compose myself, I pulled out his toothbrush and covered its bristles with paste; a pathetic attempt to fix what I had done wrong. Whatever it was, I was going to fix it this time. I could feel my hands shaking as I held the toothbrush between my small fingers.

I walked to the bedroom door and saw him in the hallway.

“Hey, I don’t know what I did but I’m going to bed and I hope you join me soon.” I walked a bit closer and he walked towards our bedroom door as well, touching his hand to the knob. He stared right through me; his hand gripping tighter around the little brass ball, brow furrowed and eyes turning black once again.

“Fuck you, you ungrateful little bitch.”

The door slammed; complete and utter darkness.

***

“Lindsay?” Ben waved his hands in front of my face.

“Hi…..y-yes. Sorry, I’m just tired,” I said shaking off all bad thoughts once again.

He smiled. He was always smiling; always happy.

***

We finally exited our last meeting

“FREEEEEEDOMMMMM,” I sang in perfect George Michael fashion.

Ben looked at me blankly.

“Yea, I guess that song is past your time, huh.”

He laughed, “You’re old.”

We made a short pit stop at the Black Bear Diner in Medford; gorging ourselves full of breakfast food in preparation for our long drive to San Francisco. As I finished my cup of coffee and we waited for the check, we looked at the map for the best and most scenic route to take.

“Okay, so if we want to go straight to San Fran, it’ll take us about seven hours,” Ben said showing me his phone. “However, if we want to take the scenic route by the coast, its gonna take us…” He blinked at the map, looking confused. “Eleven hours and five minutes?!”

I laughed at his rhetorical question. “I’m game if you are. It’s a drive that everyone should do once in their lifetime,” I said.

“Let’s do it,” he said enthusiastically.

***

As we walked to the parking lot outside of the diner, we debated whether to keep the top up or down on the convertible. It was 90 degrees outside, so we secured all of belongings and waited as the beamer’s top automatically disappeared into the back of the car.

We spent the first few hours top down, belting out songs from my “Cali Road Trip” playlist on Spotify. We backtracked through Grant’s pass and made our way back down through Cave Junction; heading finally towards the coast.

***

“Spent 24 hours

I need more hours with you…”

“Cause girls like you

Run around with guys like me

‘Til sundown, when I come through

I need a girl like you, yeah yeah…”

***

My hair spun around itself as we weaved in and out of the s-curves and through the canyons and cliffs of the Oregon coast. It took me back to road trips with my family; back when innocence was my bliss and I only knew of the beauty in life. I lifted my head towards the sky, the sun flickering through the tree branches that sprawled over the road and onto my face. I closed my eyes and breathed in the fresh air.

Salt.

I could smell it in the air now; we were getting close to the coast. I breathed a sigh of relief and felt the calmness overtake me. Soon we would be by the sea.

***

We pulled over to a gas station in Crescent City, California. In the two hours we had been driving, the temperature plummeted over 40 degrees; the chilly wind roaring through the convertible and against our skin had become overwhelming as we drove the California Highway.

“Need a snack?” Ben asked as he opened the car door to get out and fill up the tank.

“Whatever you like,” I said. “We can share a few things.”

Ben smiled, got out of the car and closed the door behind him. He hesitated before he turned around and stuck his head through the open driver’s seat window. “Um, so where are we staying tonight?” he asked.

I laughed, realizing I hadn’t kept him in the loop about any of my plans for the weekend. It amazed me, though, that he had complete trust in me to just go along without knowing anything that we planned to do for the next two days together.

“Ha, sorry!” I said almost embarrassed. “I reached out to a friend from boarding school who lives in San Francisco. He said he’ll have clean beds and a nice bottle of wine waiting for us whenever we get there.”

Ben smiled, “Cool.”

***

We spent the next five hours driving down the California 101. We alternated between music, sharing different playlists with each other, and talking about life experiences and stories from our childhood. To be honest, I barely remember all that was said, all I know is I was miles and miles away from the life I once knew; daydreaming out the window and becoming a brand new person once again. I was now glancing at my best friend; someone I barely knew not months before. He was driving and leading us to a new place we had both never been before; a life with each other. We may not have known it fully at the time, but it was only the beginning for me; the beginning for the both of us.

In a matter of moments, it all began to make sense; like the winding roads we traversed together signified a greater purpose to my life, and perhaps to his. The hardships I had endured over the course of my life had become his burdens too. I had spent an earlier summer night explaining all that has happened to me over the years; explaining why I am the way I am. I explained how, this time, the pain was unbearable, but why, at the same time, I had become numb to it all. An odd juxtaposition that he seemed to somehow understand; I could tell my wounds hurt him just as much as they had hurt me.

He knew all of my secrets now. I was completely naked; nothing to cover me up, cover the truth about myself. Despite all this, he still chose to stay by my side.

***

“When you feel my heat, look into my eyes

It’s where my demon's hide, it’s where my demons hide

Don’t get too close; it’s dark inside

It’s where my demons hide, it’s where my demons hide.

***

I had been through the ringer over the years. My other demons resurfacing like bad memories when the monster left his final mark on me with his confession.

“You wanna know what’s crazy?” I said as we drove into the sunset falling over the rolling hills of Sonoma.

“What?” Ben asked.

“How all of this came to be. I always wondered why, ya know? Why me? What was so wrong with me that I deserved all that has happened. Not just this but….everything.”

Ben nodded; his silent way to ask me to continue my thought.

“Like, maybe all of it happened to keep me preoccupied; to make me ready, to make me able to clearly see you; to be ready and waiting for you.”

Ben smiled slightly. “I know what you mean. So many things had to happen perfectly for us to end up meeting, becoming friends, and now this.”

My heart felt so full yet so free. I smiled back at him, feeling a sense of peace; a sensation I knew could be fleeting, so I wasn’t about to let it pass. I turned up the music and we both started singing as we drove into the sunset and watched the full moon start to rise.

“Not a soul up ahead and nothing behind
There's a desert in my blood and a storm in your eyes
Am I the king of nothing at all?
Then you're the queen of nothing at all
Well I remember the fight and I forget the pain
I got my hand in your pocket and my key on your chain
Am I the king of nothing at all?
Then you're the queen of nothing at all

Oh, through the wilderness
You and I we're walking through the emptiness
Oh, my heart is a mess
Is it the only defense against the wilderness?

Cross my heart and hope to die
Taking this one step at a time
Got your back if you got mine
One foot in front of the other
One foot in front of the other
One foot in front of the other…”

***

We arrived at my friend’s condo a little bit after midnight. He was a funny guy; I had known him from my hometown and he also happened to attend the same boarding school I went to in Rhode Island, graduating the year behind me.

He had done well for himself. His condo was a beautiful duplex in the heart of Pacific Heights. We pulled up to a side street, unloading our car and walking through the city engulfed in fog. It had rendered us completely unable to even see the majesty of the Golden Gate Bridge we had crossed not minutes before.

My childhood friend welcomed us in with open arms. We walked up the stairs into his kitchen and living room, where he had a blow up mattress and bottle of Cabernet waiting for us.

Ben and I put down out stuff next to the mattress and plopped our tired bodies down into the two upright chairs in his living room. My friend followed behind us and sprawled himself on the blow up mattress next to us. He laid on his side and held his already full glass of wine in the other.

“So, I heard what happened,” he said in a somber tone. “What the actual fuck?!”

My friend had a way of tackling a serious subject in a way that was straightforward but also sensitive. He kept a slight smile the whole time, not because he was happy but because the whole story was so ridiculous it was almost impossible to comprehend and take in without trying to maintain an air of levity.

I spent the next hour catching him up; rehashing the details of my ordeal up until that exact moment. After a few minutes, Ben grabbed himself a glass and poured some wine. He wasn’t a wine drinker, but knew it would help us all relive the past few months.

“I’m so sorry,” my friend said. “He’s clearly a complete moron.” He then changed to more lighthearted topics; reminiscing about the silly things we did as kids and at boarding school.

The three of us laughed as my friend and I dramatically reenacted his father’s hysteria when we shot off illegal fireworks in his driveway on the fourth of July during one summer in high school.

After the mood had been successfully shifted, he gave me a hug and left us to go to bed.

“We’ll be leaving pretty early in the morning,” I said to him.

“No worries. I’ll probably be up before you for my morning bike ride,” he said. “I’ll be sure to say goodbye before you head out.”

“Thank you for everything.”

***

The next morning, we woke up, stripped the sheets and waited to my friend to return so we could say goodbye.

As if he had timed it perfectly, my friend arrived home, opening the front door as we were finishing packing up.

“Yo! There’s a girl at the bus stop downstairs. She’s so hot! Should I give her my number?”

Ben and I both laughed.

He stood in front of us, a ball of excitement, in his high visibility bike gear and helmet.

“Shoot your shot,” I said through a muffled laugh.

Ben and I smiled at each other, listening to the clickety-clacks of his bike shoes as he ran down the hallway and back out the door.

***

After saying our goodbyes, Ben and I loaded the car back up and had our recurring debate of whether to have the convertible top down or up.

“I can’t believe how miserable and foggy it is outside,” Ben said disappointed.

“Don’t worry, once we get outside the city limits and down to the valley, the temperature will shift again,” I assured him.

We kept the top up.

***

On the morning agenda, a visit to Stanford’s campus and then that of my alma mater, Santa Clara University.

We drove down the 280 towards Palo Alto. As we slowly made our way south, the clouds parted and displayed the beautiful foothills to the west of us. The sun came out and we watched the thermometer on the dashboard make its way up into the 80’s once again. Ben pulled over at the exit to Half Moon Bay so we could put the top down.

We both put our sunglasses on, looked at each other and back to the front. Ben immediately turned on Katy Perry’s pop-hit California Girls.

***

We drove through Stanford’s campus, hitting all the stadiums and places Ben wanted to see. I remember thinking how large it was compared to my smaller Jesuit school just a few towns south. After walking around for an hour, we got back in our baby blue car and made our way to Santa Clara.

I took Ben past the house I lived in. It had been repainted bright yellow and the orange and lemon trees that had once flourished in the side yard looked to be gone.

We drove to a parking lot across from the main entrance where I grabbed my typical Starbucks order and introduced Ben to Kramer’s Bagels.

“Oh my God, how I’ve missed you,” I said with my mouth full of lox sandwich.

Ben laughed as he bit into his own lunch.

***

After eating, we walked across the El Camino Real and into the main entrance of SCU. We toured my old communications building, where my writing was born. I walked down the halls, remembering all of the classes and professors that had made such an impact on my life, my writing; my story.

We walked south towards the Mission Church and through the lush and vibrant rose gardens surrounding it. As we walked beneath the long garden trellis, its small, purple flowers sounded us, creating a beautiful violet-hued walkway. As we traversed the lavender road, Ben took my hand. I squeezed it tightly. In that moment, I was right where I needed to be.

***

We continued on our journey south. I had booked us for a night at a small bed and breakfast in Carmel-By-The-Sea, a sleepy and whimsical town by the ocean. It was a place that seemed to only exist in children’s books or fairy tales. Cobblestone streets and celestial cottages lining them. A village that looked like it had come out of a film; a happy film, where love was pure, real and stood the test of time. Where the ending was always happy, regardless of its tragic plot.

When we arrived to town, its seasonal fog had already rolled in. The low cloud shelf and smoke-like fog always gave the small city an eerie yet mystical aura. Mysterious, but in a way that soothed the soul and cleared the mind.

I was finally home.

We arrived at the little B&B around 5:00 pm; a sweet, old man working the front desk giving us the small key to our room and smiling warmly. We walked across the wooden walkways of the property to our doorway and entered. A long set of stairs led up to our lofted bedroom. We thudded up the stairs with our belongings, Ben throwing himself on the bed dramatically, visibly tired from our long journey down the coast.

“I made a reservation at my favorite restaurant here,” I said as I opened the old shutter window that faced the sea. “It’s a really magical place.”

Ben motioned for me to come over and rest.

I laid on the bed beside him; our noses nearly touching. He put his arms around me in a full embrace and I intertwined my feet between his legs to keep warm. He kissed me and shut his eyes; us both falling asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms.

I took a deep breath, letting the sea salt air fill my lungs. From the window, the soft murmur of the waves crashing on the beach in the distance. As Ben drifted asleep, I felt a tear slowly fall down my cheek.

***

Our dinner reservation was at 7:00 pm that night and only a stone’s throw away from our B&B. We both took a shower and got dressed for our evening. As I dried my hair, I caught a glimpse Ben in the mirror behind me buttoning up his dress shirt for the occasion. I could feel my cheeks flush as I smiled back at him.

We walked into Casanova’s and towards the back room. It was a crowded but cozy restaurant in the heart of the sea-side village. In the middle of the room a large tree grew with a string of lights loosely wrapped around its truck; the roof opening around its branches to accommodate for its place in their quaint establishment. The ambiance of the night was as I always remembered. The room lit only with soft yellow lights and candles. The bus boy coming by, meticulously placing ice water in our glasses atop the rustic, Italian-style table cloth.

I remember watching the condensation drip down the glass as I nervously paged through their vast wine list. I began realizing how nervous I had become sitting there, Ben facing me on the other side of the table. He smiled. Nerves in the form of stomach flutters; the thought of what could be. Fluttering thoughts knowing how momentous this dinner would always be for me, for him; us.

Ben voluntarily humored me by taking a look at the wine list and telling me to pick whatever I thought I would like best. I knew he thought wine tasted “funny,” yet he drank it with me as a gesture of kindness and solidarity; I loved him for that.

We ordered a bottle and sipped our pinot noir together, quietly talking and laughing over the dimly lit table. The food just as good as I remembered and the company, even better.

I pulled my gold pashmina up and over my shoulders and the sea air became cooler. I looked up at him over the table.

“I can’t tell you how much this all means to me; how much you mean to me.”

Ben smiled digging into our dessert. “Isn’t it great that we can just be together for days, spend over 14 hours in a car together and have it be one of the best times of our lives?” he said grinning from ear to ear.

I never really knew what it meant to date your best friend. I think I always just assumed if I was dating someone that they were, by default, my best friend. This was different; apparent from the beginning. For once, actually made for each other, meant to be.

***

June 1996

Midnight. Summer in Indiana. My mom and I stood next to our dining room table; both our hands propped on the table staring down at our work. We often would stay up late during the hot summers, putting together large intricate puzzles.

“Ughhhh!” my mom groaned.

I knew what she meant. All to often, we’d get stuck looking for that one piece missing in a section.

I ran around the dark brown table, searching for the missing piece. My mom laughed at my dramatics; my un-brushed hair always disheveled and my skinny eight year old limbs sticking out below the over-sized t-shirt I wore as pajamas.

“This piece looks weird,” I said giggling.

“Can I see it?” she asked reaching her small arm over the table.

She looked at it, spun it around in her fingers to look at it from different angles.

It didn’t look like it belonged; not to the missing part or even to the puzzle itself. It had an odd shape, the colors were off too, I thought.

“It couldn’t possibly fit or look right in that open spot,” she said giving it back to me. She paused for a moment and smiled. “But I bet it does.”

I took the piece back from her, my puzzled look making her laugh. I scratched my head and took it over to the empty spot and pushed it down between the other pieces.

It fit perfectly.

Meant to be all along; I took a step back and realized it had everything it needed. The right shape, the right colors, the right everything. It just fit.

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” my mom said.

I smiled.

***

The next morning we woke up early. Our flight back to Chicago was out of San Francisco in the late afternoon so we had some time to explore in the morning before we’d have to make the long haul back up the coast.

I had an agenda.

“Okay, this time I’m driving,” I said to Ben as we packed up the car. “I’m taking you on the 17 Mile Drive.”

Ben had heard me talk about it before; his brother had even mentioned it to him before we made our trip out west.

“Sounds good,” he replied getting in the passenger side.

***

We drove through seventeen miles of winding road, stopping at each attraction and taking pictures. I wanted to breath in as much of the sea salt air as my lungs could take. I knew it would have to last me some time. I didn’t know when I’d be able to get back out to the ocean again; this ocean.

We passed The Lone Cypress, my favorite land mark as a child. A symbol of strength, endurance and resilience. My emotion sitting against the fence staring at it must have been palpable.

We made our way back up the cliffs to exit the historical drive.

“Can we go one more place?” I asked.

Ben nodded.

***

We made our way down Carmel Valley Road. I drove slower than usual; I wanted to test my bearings but hadn’t been down this path in years. Just then, in the distance, I saw our destination and pulled in.

All Saints Episcopal Day School.

The lot was empty; summer break. I parked the car and took a few pictures as the intense nostalgia set in. Ben didn’t have to ask, he already knew where we were.

We walked around to the back of the small building of my old elementary school. I showed him where we used to play as kids; where the tetherball courts used to be, where my classroom was. We then came upon a small, odd tree. It’s limbs awkwardly positioned to where you could sit in it and lean back.

“This is what I wanted to see,” I said softly, holding back emotion.

There are some memories in life that hold significant purpose. Small and insignificant yet somehow so vastly profound. I’ll never forget being six years old and sitting in this tree. During snack time, during recess; I loved this tree.

I was a shy kid. Always nervous, always scared. I loved my time in my little tree, the tree that kept my secrets and provided me comfort when I was sick, lonely or sad. As an adult, a symbol of how far I’d come. Still a nervous child inside, yet strong, powerful; resilient.

Ben looked at me, knowing I was deep in my own head.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“When were you born?” I asked quietly.

He looked confused. “Um February 18th, 1993?”

“Sorry, I mean what time?” I said

“3:35 pm. It was a Thursday,” he answered.

12:35 pm pacific time, I thought.

“I was sitting in this tree when you were born,” I said.

I looked back at him and smiled.

Sometimes you need to go back to where you came from to see where you are going.

***

Chapter XII: Prick

Arriving home to Chicago, I knew my soul had been cleansed. The future was ahead of me and I had gained back the positive perspective that I had previously felt slowly escaping through my fingers, like fine sand held on the beach of Carmel.

Ben.

It had all come full circle sitting in my tree; like a wave of memories flashing to the center of my brain and center of my being. In an instant, it all made sense. It was as if my strange introversions as a child, sitting in my tree, would bring me back 27 years later to that exact moment; allowing me to sit and reflect and let the universe tell me whatever it was trying to say all these years. Letting me remember and gather all the puzzle pieces of confusion and start to place them together. Even if it looked like it wasn’t right; it was. Even if it felt like life was all wrong, it wasn’t. And sitting there, with Ben, it was as if I was being given a sign, almost embarrassingly obvious; like a clue in a life-long treasure hunt. It was as if the tree had been expecting me to arrive, at that exact moment, so it could whisper in my ear and encourage me that I was on right path and just needed to persevere, grow and conquer.

Ben was the proof I needed. Proof that there was a greater meaning to all of this; proof that someone was watching out for me. Not just him but, perhaps, something else.

***

Reoccurring dreams. My maternal grandmother, Grandma Jane, quietly sits at the table across from me. Blue bicycle playing cards, neatly fanned beneath her old yet soft hands. Grandma Jane was not the sweet old lady many of my friends would depict when they spoke of their relatives. She was direct, no bullshit; born from the depression era. She loved us, especially my brother and I; but she spoke the truth.

And when she did, we listened.

Grandma Jane died many years ago; 2006. In the months following her death, she appeared in my dreams nightly. In them, I knew she was gone and so did she; a silent understanding between us as we placed our cards in the middle of the table back and forth. Conversation was scarce, but the air was warm and the mood soothing. Sometimes my mother was there; sometimes my brother, DJ. They would move around the kitchen doing dishes or eating dinner, but Grandma Jane and I sat at our little table across from each other. Always.

***

August 2018

The swooping sound of cards echoed in my ears as she placed them pointedly on the rustic, wooden table in front of us.

The slap of the card against the table startled me and I looked up.

It always took a few moments to remember I was dreaming, but the realization came every time. A small sense of sadness overtook me as it always did, but it was nevertheless nice to see her. This was just how things had to be now.

“It’s been a long time,” I said smiling at her.

She rarely glanced at me, looking at her cards, contemplatively deciding her next move; humming and rocking her chair back and forth like she always did. I didn’t mind the silence. I knew she heard me, and I knew she was there. Her slight smile as I spoke, the only indicator I needed. Sometimes I wondered if she could see me. In this world, I was the ghost.

We played our hand for a while. I smiled at the fact that we never ran out of cards, a lucid dreamer’s trick I had learned to help make our time together last longer.

As we continued our game, I began to notice that nobody else was there this time. I also didn’t recognize where we were. Not a room, just a space; warm yet empty. I looked up and noticed she was now looking at me. She said not a word.

She looked back down at her cards and back up to me again. Her warm smile had dissipated; a new emotion appearing on her face. I knew I shouldn’t have been scared, but I was. She could be scary when she needed to be.

I could feel heat all around my neck and cheeks as her eyes stared directly into mine. She spoke not a single word as I saw her brow furrow and a look of intensity come over her face.

I had lost all control of my dream; this was now fully her domain.

My mind raced, thinking of what she was going to say, if she’d say anything at all. Did I play out of turn? Was something wrong?

She put her cards down and placed her hands palm down on the table, slowly standing up and over me.

I stood up too; she had somehow allowed it.

She looked me in the eyes. Her intensity never wavering yet turning to a look of anger and worry; not with me but, perhaps, for me.

She opened her mouth and in the sternest voice I had ever heard, she somehow whispered.

“Pay attention…”

***

August 16th, 2018

That summer I had sought legal advice. I didn’t think I’d need it but wanted it as a precaution should any issues arise with the monster. I was waiting on the paperwork that would deed my property to me. I needed that before the refinance paperwork could be submitted.

I waited.

And waited.

Finally it came. Vicki, a title clearing analyst I had been working with, called. The documents were ready for me to sign.

“I’m sending them over to you now,” Vicki said. She hesitated for a moment.

“Pay attention to this document, Miss Damrow.”

Pay Attention.

I refreshed my g-mail and saw her name pop up at the top of my screen. I immediately opened the document and read it top to bottom.

There it was.

Please enter the amount owed to you to be removed from the title.

I could feel my jaw drop and the dread crawl like spiders all over my back and up through my hair.

There it was. His meticulous handwriting; like that of a serial killer.

$15,750

I stood up immediately; the force of my rise sending the dining room chair flying behind me and slamming onto the hardwood floor, the same room we had all sat around laughing during Christmas not six months prior.

“FUCK YOU!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, the tears already streaming down my face as I picked up the phone to call my dad.

He owed my family so much. So much money of ours down the drain. What’s worse, I thought, was that he tried to sneak this payout in. I got not even a phone call or text saying that this would be part of the agreement. He knew. He tried to sneak this in; always games, always manipulations. It would never be over. It wasn’t just the money wasted, but so much time now gone. Wasted time of mine, my family, our friends. He was a thief; stealing our hearts with his deception, making a mockery of the love I thought we shared, and now he was demanding more money; stealing more money. A successful financial advisor by image but, in reality, just a cruel thief who cares for nothing but himself; his own wellbeing, his own reputation. Not a man; a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“So much he took from us, Dad,” I said through tears on the phone. My voice was quivering, I could feel how pathetic I sounded; hating every second of it. “Was it not enough? Is the pain we’ve endured not enough?”

Was I not enough?

I could feel my father’s rage on the other end of the phone “He owes us over $30,000 yet he wants you to buy him out of the property? Is he out of his God damn mind?”

Blood boiling on both ends of the phone, almost tangible. We had let him into our lives. We loved him, treated him as family; shared our table at holidays, our secrets. We had even naively worried for him as he embarked on his own tragic journey toward unwanted fatherhood.

Despite our kindness, he kept deceiving us at every opportunity. He never loved me, and he never loved us.

In that moment, I wondered if he had heard about Ben and me. If that, perhaps, had made him mad, lash out and do this.

Why wasn’t I allowed to move on? Why wasn’t I allowed to be happy?

“His letter was all bullshit,” I said collecting myself. “He doesn’t want me to ever be happy without him. He wants to control me and make sure I can’t move on.”

My dad went silent on the other end of the phone.

He spoke quietly, his voice now the one trembling, “I know.”

***

There I was, the day after my mother’s birthday, crying alone in a condo I once shared with someone that I thought had my best interests at heart. Throughout the whole ordeal, he treated me like I was the one who got pregnant; as if I had been the one who trapped him into a corner. I was bewildered at the fact that he thought I was the one who ruined his life. I ruined it by being an honest, faithful fiancée. I ruined it by believing and trusting him wholeheartedly. I ruined it by giving him the freedom to come and go as he pleased. I ruined it by throwing him a surprise birthday party. I came to understand that, no matter what, this was going to be my fault in his eyes.

I had heard rumblings from friends that he was claiming infidelity on my part. I laughed every time but now started to wonder about his mental health.

Shit, I thought. If this monster is so manipulative that he could can make even the most skeptical people believe the lies he spewed at us for years, what’s to stop him from believing them himself? Perhaps an odd, psychosomatic side effect to make himself feel better, I thought. After all, he had to know deep down how sickening this all was; how much pain he had caused; he had to be sorry.

I caught myself. I was once again falling into his trap.

Why couldn’t I stop making excuses for him? He didn’t give a shit about me dating someone else; it was about his image. He knew it would be better to portray the image of a faithful fiancé who left his cheating, bitch-of-a-bride because he caught her red-handed with another man. He knew people might forgive him for getting a girl pregnant if he could sell that; sell that I drove him to do it. Sell the baby pictures with his son; portraying him as the now dedicated father.

“God, this asshole needs to be studied,” my friends would say.

He could never prove I was unfaithful because it didn’t happen; however, he didn’t need to. The way he could twist a story in his mind, the details would be so precise and well-rehearsed that I became sure he could make even some of my oldest and most cherished friends believe him. And some did; his word against mine.

At the time, Ben was the only explanation. We had begun dating publicly and that meant something to him, pushed him over the edge. If he couldn’t have me, or in the very least control me, nobody could. While my newfound dating life may have pissed him off, he knew this would work in his favor. He could now use my happiness to sell his fucked-up version of reality and, whether or not he believed it himself, it no longer mattered. All that mattered now was that it supported his narrative.

I was mad at first about the lies he spread. How could I not be? He had done some of the most unthinkable things to me yet turned it around to try and portray me as the villain. I started hating the few friends who believed him. Hate, something not in my typical nature. As time passed; however, the rage in my heart diminished. I missed them and felt sorry for them; knowing all too well how terrible it would feel when they finally realized they’ve made a huge mistake; that he was the liar, the monster.

I knew exactly how he would sell it. He’d bring up the fact that Ben slept over at our condo on one of the nights he was out of town for his bachelor party that April; not two weeks before his confession. He would say that’s when it all began. He knew I could never prove that I had gone out with Ben and friends that night and that Ben had offered to split an Uber with me home. He knew I couldn’t prove that, on the way back, we decided to grab Insomnia Cookies and eat them at my place before Ben continued on to Wrigleyville. He knew I couldn’t prove that nothing happened.

I still can’t help but laugh at the memory of Ben slowly falling asleep on my couch, cookie in hand. I knew he was down for the count. I went to our spare bedroom to make sure the pillowcases were clean and blankets were there for my guest. I went back to the couch to try and move him but to no avail. He was out cold.

The next morning, I woke Ben up; still laughing at the cookie crumbs he had slept in and handed him some Advil.

“I’ll drive you home, kid.” I said smirking, knowing he always took note of the moniker I had given him. “I have to go up to Lake Forest and help my mom pick out her Mother of the Bride dress.”

Ben could tell I was excited.

“Sounds good,” he said smiling, his eyes slightly wincing through the hangover headache that had slowly crept in.

At the time, I didn’t think twice about Ben staying on my couch. Why would I? He was a friend and he had been drinking. Like any other friend who had ever come through my home, I’d welcome them to stay in the guest bed or crash on the couch if it got too late or they passed out.

Even so, I knew my ex would be mad. I knew he wouldn’t believe me; he wouldn’t believe the truth. Every ounce of my being wanted to text him that day and just tell him. I hated secrets; I hated lies. I remember thinking how much this needed to change, that I should be able to have friends. I remember wondering why he didn’t trust me and why he questioned every motive.

Perhaps he the one with something to hide.

He noticed almost immediately upon his arrival home that a pillow had been out of place in the guest bedroom. It was almost as though he went looking for it; wanting to catch me doing something wrong, wanting to lay his claws deep into my skin, piercing it until I had no choice but to surrender completely to his will and control. I should just come clean, I thought, but then I remembered his surprise birthday; I remembered the phone. I remembered the large, dark bruise on my foot that I still had. I remembered how evil he could look; how much stronger he was than me. I remembered holding my foot, crying on the living room floor muttering, “it’s for your birthday…I promise…”

But above all, I remembered the laughing.

He laughed at my pain as he stood over me; monster of my nightmares. The sound of his cackle as haunting as it was simple. Something I can never quite explain, yet something I will never quite forget.

The truth, I realized, was no longer an option.

“Who was here?” he said angrily, glaring at me with those same dark, spiteful eyes of which I had grown so accustom. I saw his fists curl into their typical round shape, and, for a moment, I thought I might throw up.

So, I lied.

I lied.

I lied and I’d do it a million times over.

***

After I hung up the phone with my dad, I pulled open my text messages

I texted him in a fit of rage, demanding to know why he was asking for this money; why he was making any demands at all when he owed my parents and I more than double the number he had craftily written into the document. Looking at his handwriting was still making my skin crawl; feeling the familiar taste of vomit in my mouth and I looked back and forth from the PDF on my computer to the disquieting “…” on my phone as he typed out a response.

He claimed our attorneys had discussed this, me quickly snapping back at him citing his prior disapproving texts claiming my attorney wouldn’t call his back.

“I thought you said my attorney HADN’T talked to her. So, which is it?”

He was always so full of shit.

What’s worse is we had split our initial down payment. I knew it hadn’t been perfectly 50/50; however, he certainly had no right to the full amount back, especially given the debt he owed.

“My parents have been nothing but good to you. They worked very hard to pay for a wedding for us. In the letter you wrote them, you said you would make good on their nonrefundable expenses. Are you not going to honor that?”

“I’m not changing anything.”

***

Panic is a hard thing to explain. A black hole, a large mass of darkness; swirling and twisting its evil force around you anytime you have a moment alone to think. You’re drowning; slowly suffocating in dread, the worst feeling of them all. You know something is coming for you, but you can’t quite see it so you can’t quite prepare to fight it. All you can do is pray to God that, once the evil rears its head and exposes its true form, you are equipped with the proper instruments to fight it or outrun it.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Ben said quietly behind me at my desk.

“I nodded; too overwhelmed with nausea to utter any words at that moment.”

We walked to Daley Plaza near the office and sat on a bench. He knew what was happening and that I would talk when it was over; when the heart palpitations and irrational fear had subsided, and my breathing slowed back down to a normal pace. I put my head up to the sky to let the warmth of the sun beat down on it; a small but effective prescription I had learned to help ease some of the pain during these episodes.

“I just need to sit here for a bit if that’s okay,” I said feeling the familiar shame creep in as the physical symptoms diminished.

“That’s okay,” Ben said smiling. “I’m just thinking about all the fun stuff we get to do this fall.”

Ben was the social chairman of his friends, always planning trips and fun outings. It was the perfect match for me, an introverted extrovert, who loved a reason to be out of the house but was rarely the one to push the plans on the group. He had scheduled a trip for us to Cincinnati to visit his family for Halloween and a trip back out West to Coos Bay; he knew I missed the ocean.

After a few minutes of us casually talking about our plans, he changed the focus to me.

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

He already knew, but I rehashed all of the thoughts that had been swirling in my head for weeks.

***

It was the end of September and my ex has trapped me. He ceased paying his half of the mortgage and assessments, leaving me to pay over $3,000 a month on my own; something I wouldn’t be able to afford for long, considering my savings had all been allocated to our wedding and were gone.

I had wanted him to deed the property to me and call it even. It was a huge risk for me, but he selfishly refused to budge on his demand for $15,750 in exchange for the deed. He was leaving me no choice but to list and sell the property, which I asked my attorney to initiate.

The only problem? I needed his signature to list the condo. Knowing all too well what he was doing, he refused that, too.

Radio silence.

He wanted me to bleed money. He wanted to inflict pain. He watched e-mails come in from me and my attorney, pleading with him to sign the listing agreement, yet, nothing ever came. He wouldn’t pay but he wouldn’t let me leave. He wouldn’t let me move on.

Power.

Looking back, I’m sure he just laughed; loving nothing more than stealing money and making people hurt. He now had a front row seat and starring role in his own, sadistic game.

I sold the ring to stay afloat, shaking my head and holding back the tears when they told me what it was actually worth; a mere quarter of what he constantly bragged about. It would barely help make ends meet and it would never make me whole.

“I don’t know what to do,” I said looking at Ben, painfully wondering how much better off he might be without my problems dragging him down.

As we sat there thinking of other options, my dad texted me.

“Linz, can I meet with you tomorrow in the loop? Name place & time.”

***

Ben and I walked back to the office so I could call my dad and see what was up.

“Hey Dad-everything okay?”

“Yes, I want to have a business meeting to talk about our little friend,” he said in his corporate finance voice. He knew I was trapped and had been thinking about what to do. My dad and I have very similar personalities. We despised conflict but could be ruthless when the situation demanded it.

“What are you thinking?” I said, knowing very well he had devised a plan.

“I’m gonna pay that prick a visit.”

***

Chapter XIII: Paradise & Purgatory

September 24, 2018

I sat upright in the dining room chair. I had spent the day cleaning the condo, all 2,000 square feet of vacuuming and mopping left me aching. My ex had yet to sign the papers to list the property for sale, but I was trying to stay positive; hopeful that eventually he would, and I’d need to clean everything to make it nice enough for showings. I was hopeful my dad’s visit would be enough.

I had previously visualized making new memories in my home. Filling the empty walls with pictures where I had hastily taken down the collage of black and white photographs from our engagement session, wishing they had just been of me; a representation of the lack of color in my life by the end of our time together. I had thrown them in a closet. The closet where a bag full of his disgusting love letters also remained. A reminder of where he, the monster, lived. He was to be kept there; never allowed out and never allowed to hurt me again. Eventually, it would be burned or discarded as trash, I knew. But I kept it as a reminder of the evil. A reminder to never turn my back on it; to never forget, forgive or put my guard down.

I had worked from home that day so I could deep clean fully and, after putting the last of the supplies away, I sat back down at the dining room table. After responding to a few e-mails, I pulled up Amazon to order three items I needed: shampoo, lotion and protein powder; quickly shutting my laptop and sighing a breath of relief that the workday and cleaning day was coming to a close. As I sat there leaning back in my chair, my phone lit up.

“I’ll be over in about an hour. Can’t wait to see you!”

Ben’s simple note made me smile; the only love letter I’d ever need.

As much as I understood his aversion to spending time in a home he once visited to celebrate my ex’s birthday, he knew how much I needed to sleep in my own bed; how soothing it was for me to spend time cuddled up to Paisley and Halsted, a semblance of normalcy in an otherwise foreign home.

***

Ben and I spent many nights in my little galley kitchen. I’d offer to cook elaborate meals and he would entertain my need for this therapy as he sat on the old wooden stool next to the sink. It was our time in the little kitchen where we learned a lot about each other; talking about everything from our friends to our families to our work. He’d laugh and smile with me as I made a mess of the room day in and day out. He even smiled as he ate, saying how good it was, even when I knew all too well something wasn’t cooked to his preference or if one of my culinary experiments went very wrong.

“Are you excited to come see Cincinnati for the first time?” Ben said sitting at the end of the dining room table over his plate of steaming potatoes.

I smiled and nodded, though deep down I was incredibly nervous. I knew I was baggage; a problem. My past would eventually come out and be difficult to explain. Knowing how protective my own mother is of my brother, the youngest, I worried how that would translate into Ben’s family. Would I be accepted, or would I have to hide it all? I felt the familiar struggle ensue; longing for complete honesty yet feeling the need to hide. Hide the deep scarring on my heart, like a cutter wearing long sleeves to hide marks of the wrist.

I struggled internally; wanting to be authentic but hating what had become of myself, my story. It wasn’t the image I’d ever be proud of or want to portray. And as I sat there, I mentally walked the line of paradise with Ben and the tumultuous purgatory of my own self-loathing.

***

Ben and I brought our dishes back into the galley and began to clean the kitchen so we could retire for the night and go to bed at a decent hour. As Ben wiped down the counters, I began to scrub a large pot in the sink. In a matter of moments, the sink began filling with water, refusing to drain. My panic set in and the familiar wave of nausea came over me with a flash flood of dread.

Fuck you, you ungrateful little bitch.

I turned around to Ben, trying to hide my acute anxiety.

“Ben, the sink…. it’s clogged again,” I said feeling the tears start to well up.

“You know what?” He said straight-faced.

I looked at him, still nervous; worrying what he’d say next.

He smiled and paused. “It’s okay!”

He laughed, not understanding why a sink clog could be so traumatic. He gave me a hug and kissed me on the head.

“We’ll fix it tomorrow,” he said, smiling. “Now let’s get in bed.”

***

The chapel. It’s majestic buttresses and four transept spires rear their heads over the small, cobblestone wall I come upon in a field of long, wild grasses. I step up to the antique wall, setting my hands on two large stones to jump my legs over to the right side. Once over, I lean back in a standing sit against the wall, looking at my holy destination off in the distance.

Not a person in sight.

The flagpole near the football field in front of me hangs not its normal drapery of the shield of St. George; our protection. Instead, a large white tapestry in its place, perhaps a foreshadowing surrender to what’s lurking behind this beautiful paradise.

I give up.

The scent in the air is all too familiar; Rhode Island waves pounding on the shore a short distance away. The distinct smell of salt and red tide fills my nostrils as I traverse the long grass fields. The faded paint in the damped green blades, reminiscent of the games that were once held here; the laughter, the joy. In the distance, from the auditorium I suspect, a song; a single piano.

The familiar arpeggios start as a soft murmur, slowly reaching their full crescendo. The notes, I realize, pounding in tandem with the aggressive downpour that is now beating down on my face and hair. I stand motionless, realizing the theme of the tune; my chosen wedding processional. An odd choice for a bride and all at once it dawns on me with the claps of thunder on beat with the pounding of the piano’s base notes that it was a warning; a message I had given myself in my subconscious. Elijah Bossenbroek’s song.

“I Give Up.”

As I take a deep breath in, wanting to reap all the benefits of the beauty and nostalgia, everything goes silent.

Silence, except for a ringing that forcefully takes over my environment. I drop to my knees on the wet grass, cupping my hands over my ears, praying for it to stop. My mouth falls open to let out a scream, yet it is silent. No voice at all, just the piercing audial pain running through my ears and into my aching head. Just as soon as it began, it finally ceases, and silence ensues once again. No sounds remaining but the echoing of my panting; my heaving breaths reverberating across the vast meadowland. I bring my hands back down and face my palms up. Blood. Like a wave toppling over me in a sea of my own nervousness, the thought of what’s behind me is becoming all too clear. I don’t want to look; I know I shouldn’t. I know I should run for the chapel doors that I had set out to reach. I let my head drop down; defeated, frightened and panicked. Don’t look, Lindsay.

I look.

My head starts to turn over my shoulder, I feel my eyes start to well up with tears; for once, not out of sadness, but fear. I brush the wet, windswept hair out of my eyes and squint to make out what I’m seeing; hoping that it can’t possibly be what I fear the most.

Off in the distance, peering over the same cobblestone wall I had climbed over not moments earlier, it starts to emerge. First, its forehead; bald and sickly pale, followed by the bulging almond shaped eyes that haunted my dreams for over 15 years. Dark and foreboding; it’s eyes alone offering no emotion, not even looking at me but off in the distance, taking in his surroundings.

As his full head emerges over the cobblestone wall, I see the familiar mouth and jaw. His chin protrudes outward to a slight point, and his mouth seemingly thin and small, yet as it slowly, eerily turns its head, eyes meeting mine, his lips curl up and the small mouth opens; displaying the long pointed teeth within the insidious smile and, as he did years ago outside my second story dorm room window, he hissed a long, guttural growl and he lunged over the wall towards me.

I ran.

***

October 18th, 2018

My dad got in a cab from his office.

“I’m on my way.”

Ben had called around to my ex’s different office locations, pretending to be a client. He finally pinpointed the office he was at and gave my dad the thumbs up.

My dad showed up in his best suit. The place was empty, and he sat in the waiting area as my ex finished up with a client.

When the lobby manager went to go inform him that he had a visitor, my dad hid behind a pillar. He knew there was a long hallway for my ex to walk down and didn’t want to give himself away until he was front and center; my ex wouldn’t make a scene in the lobby, not in front of the tellers and other colleagues. My dad knew he would be too proud to refuse a meeting.

He heard the monster’s footsteps coming down the long corridor and as my ex entered the lobby, my dad popped out from behind the pillar.

“Hi, Monster. Remember me?”

My dad smiled and forced the two of them to immediately walk back down the hallway and into the monster’s small office.

***

I sat there at my desk. My legs nervously shaking up and down in anticipation of a text from my dad; Ben pacing back and forth next to me. We both just wanted this to be over.

I knew between the two of us, my dad and I, we could end his career. The more he acted out, the more ammunition we had. We wanted to let this go peacefully; be the better people, knowing all too well that karma would have its day without our intervention. My dad went into this wanting nothing more than for me to be free. He didn’t go to demand the money we were owed; he went to demand that my ex sign the listing agreement. He went there to demand that he stopped playing games; that he stopped hurting me, his little girl.

My heart struggled with the conflict. The guilt of needing my dad to endure such an emotionally draining encounter, yet pride knowing how tactical he would be. How he’d violently rip his throat out in his mind, while sternly explaining to the monster exactly how this was going to go, if he signed and if he didn’t sign.

Finally, the text.

“It’s done. I’ll call in a bit. Walking it off.”

I looked up at Ben, not sure if it was good or bad.

***

My dad called 20 minutes later as he walked through the zoo at Lincoln Park. He explained that the monster wanted 24 hours, but that my dad thought he would sign the paperwork. He explained how my ex made up a bullshit excuse of not wanting to sign because it was somehow a trap I had set; that this was my fault.

“Does he know how bad this will be for him if he doesn’t?”

“Yes.”

They had also gone over logistics of furniture and other items that I still had of his; a pathetic attempt in my mind of my ex shifting responsibility.

“He told me when he left, that everything there was mine,” I said confused. Then I realized his game. “I suspect he wants the piano he bought for me.”

My eyes welled up at the thought of this manipulation tactic; him knowing all too well how much I’d use the piano as a source of therapy through the whole ordeal.

“Fuck him,” my dad said, knowing exactly where my head was at. He paused for a moment. “So, I hate to ask, but did you use his credit card?”

I laughed to myself. “Well, not on purpose,” I said. My ex still had his card saved to my Amazon account, and when I had gone to purchase the three items a few weeks ago, I received a dispute notice and realized what had happened.

“I called amazon and took care of it,” I said. “They confirmed that the money was reimbursed, and I already saw the charges on my credit card statement. That was all resolved.”

“Can you prove that?”

I clapped back, almost offended. “Of course. I have the e-mails right here,” I said sternly. “You think I want to give him any more reason to lash out? No thank you.”

“How much was it even for?” my dad asked, almost bewildered.

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably around $190.”

My dad started to laugh, and I followed suit. The absurdity of him being upset over $200 dollars he was reimbursed given the thousands he still owed us. I wasn’t sure if I was laughing or crying, but it felt good to poke fun at him.

“God, he’s such a loser,” we both said simultaneously.

After our laughter died down a bit, an air of seriousness took back over.

“I lost it a bit at the end,” he said.

I understood. I knew it was a lot to ask of my dad. He was a gentle soul and, like me, didn’t prefer having to be the enforcer. Above all, he didn’t like to see me suffer. I was ready for the conversation to be over and so was he, but I had to know one more thing.

“Dad? Did he seem at all upset? At all ashamed? What do you think he was feeling?”

My dad sighed loudly over the phone. I could hear the faint sound of birds chirping in the background against the traffic on Stockton Drive.

“To be honest, Lindsay, he was completely void of emotion.” He paused. “It was actually pretty disturbing.”

***

Running.

Faster than I could have imagined. As I continue towards the large Gothic chapel, it starts to fade away from me like a camera effect out of a horror film. I wasn’t losing control this time.

I started sprinting through the wet grass as lightning sprawled across the dark purple sky overhead. It must have been yards away, yet somehow, I felt its hot breath on my neck as I ran.

I could hear it laughing; not human.

I knew it wasn’t human years ago. I knew it would be easier to sleep at night thinking that it was just a peeping Tom; a townie. I knew it would be easier to tell people that someone must have used a ladder.

I also knew it was a lie.

What they didn’t know was that the girl who lived above me had seen it too. She saw an animal; a large animal below my window that night. And another girl heard whispering outside moments before in an unidentifiable language.

I sprinted towards the doors of the church; grasping at the antique shutter ring handles and slammed the door behind me. I ran down the hall, turning left into the chapel. It’s vastness and long center aisle in front of me. I had always wanted to wear a white dress and walk down this aisle; and despite the panic, the irony set into me like a puzzle piece being put together.

I dashed through the nave and down the long aisle heading towards the altar. My wet footprints trailing behind me, left behind like the tears I had shed. I saw where I would be safe. Above the altar, to the right of the pulpit was 50 feet of scaffolding, leading up to a large hole in the wall near the ceiling; the future home of a new organ.

Leaving behind my acrophobia, I got to the scaffolding and immediately climbed, trying to avoid the clanking sounds of my shoes against the steel poles. Just as I had reached the top landing, I heard the chapel door start to creak open and I quickly ducked into the large, hallowed cave in the wall.

I sat with my back against the Eastern wall, peering down the aisle. I could see it.

It’s skinny, naked body and gaunt face; menacing while surprisingly lifeless. Without taking a single step, it glides down the holy path and its eyes meet mine. I stand up and face it, looking straight at its evil, impish figure below the scaffolding.

“The devil isn’t welcome here,” I said out of false confidence.

It looked up at me and started its slow eerie smile once again. I couldn’t bear to hear the laugh. So, I prayed.

And then the organ started.

The pipes bellowed out melodies. They were songs; my songs, thrusting the organ wind against the demonic creature. I watched as his impish body dissolved around him, leaving for a moment just the face. Face of my nightmares, face of my reality. I looked at it quizzically for a moment.

It was emotionless, stoic. Void of anything.

And in an instant, it disappeared.

It was finally over. I composed myself in the depths of the chapel walls, standing back up and brushing off the dust and debris from my clothes. As I looked up, I was immediately startled. I saw another person standing before me; myself. She was facing me, like looking in a mirror. And with an unwavering confidence I will never forget, she spoke to me.

“If the devil is real, then so is God.”

***

Chapter XIV: Mad World

I exit from the Japanese bar; stomach full of sake and wine. I laugh belligerently as I wave goodbye to my friend getting in the Uber waiting patiently on the misty roadside. Looking up to the dark sky I feel the haze settle on my ears and cheeks; the dampness bringing a shiver down my back as I tighten my arms and jacket around me closer.

I walk South on Broadway, taking my first left on Aldine. The long wind tunnel ahead of me causes a deep sigh as I begin the journey down the comically long block. The wind whistles as it flies past from Lake Michigan. I squint and lean into the bitter cold as it pushes back at me; its sobering effects painful yet welcome. I dart between two parked cars, crossing the street diagonally to get to my destination on the other side. Entering the prewar entryway of my building, I head straight to the mailboxes to the right; drunkenly fumbling with my keys to find the right one to open my small mailbox. The sticker inside the box, once etched in marker indicating my last name and his, now displays a large scribble through his surname. I snickered at this gesture each time. I hadn’t crossed it out, but it always brought me a twisted sense of joy seeing it. I wondered which anonymous neighbor, so horrified by the story that had undoubtedly made its way through all 60 units of our building, had crossed his name out so violently.

“Asshole,” I mutter as I throw my junk mail in the small trashcan below me.

Finally, I make it to the entryway of my apartment. I turn the lock and push the door forwards, Paisley waiting for me like clockwork as she sits on the entryway table directly in front of me. I come up to her, now chest level, hugging her completely as she patiently allows my suffocating affection; her feather soft fur providing a soothing sense of comfort that I didn’t know I needed. I throw down my work bag and unbutton my jacket, leaving it a pile on the floor.

Walking through the entryway, I stop right before entering the living room, catching myself in the faux gilded mirror hanging on the left wall. My face is gaunt and my eyes dark. With my hair pulled back, my head shape appears odd; almost unrecognizable. My once vibrant, youthful skin shows the wear and tear of life’s stressors; a dull opaque grey the only semblance of a human being left. I face myself in the mirror and put both hands up to my face while mouthing a wide scream; picturing the orange and and blue paint strokes of Edvard Munch swirling behind me. I laugh to myself.

I begin to wonder when I became so unrecognizable; when my spark, my liveliness starting to drift away. My gentle and positive demeanor had been taken over by a monster; but this time, the monster was the one buried deep within myself. It was weighing me down, forcing my emotional being, my soul, to fade away into nothingness. I feared that I too would soon become a stoic monster; unable to heal and unable to feel. I was engulfed in the nothingness that consumed my thoughts; the words and notes I could once find so easily in times of trouble, now gone.

He only said my name when I was in trouble.

The truth had become as clear as day; I had been conditioned to think of myself in the same way he had. I had become nothing. Not deserving of a name, not deserving of feelings. My name, Lindsay, had become synonymous with trouble; a problem. He had succeeded in tearing me down to bare bones; stripping me of my soul. I desperately refused to become the monster he was, not any version of it. I had to fight to find my voice, myself; I had to before I faded away into the nothingness he wanted me to become.

I look at the clock, five past midnight.

“This night is far from over.”

I make my way over to the upright piano; walking past as I drag my hand along the keys; nervously contemplating what would happen if I sat down. I move the bench back and take a seat, scooting myself towards the white and black keys.

I play a single, three finger chord; an ode to myself, questions to myself.

The chords and arpeggios begin to flow, drifting out of my hands as my whispered voice starts to sing muffled, shy lyrics.

“Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head, I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow…”

I feel the tears start to well up again; I hadn’t felt them in weeks. Sick of trying to be strong, I let my eyes start to drain as I slowly realize I had been pounding away full melodies in perfect rhythm and in my signature style. I quickly pull my hands back, almost frightened at how good it sounded.

I look behind me at my audience; Paisley and Halsted sit politely watching.

“Well,” I say to them. “It’s a start.”

***

Waking up the next day was a bit of a blur. Still in bed, I reach my arm over, awkwardly fumbling in my night stand for Advil to cure the hangover headache that had already begun.

I mosey into the bathroom and look up in the mirror, partially laughing.

“God, why do you do this to yourself?”

Just as I put a toothbrush in my mouth, my girlfriend I had been out with the night before sends a text.

Happy Friday! I feel terrible. Guess I’ll be working from home. Lol.

I second her notion; knowing that I have a day full of work and preparing the apartment for my guests. Ben’s older brother and his girlfriend would be coming to town for the weekend. On top of that, I needed to somehow get my life together before the concert we were headed to that evening; Maroon 5.

I text back, “I’m never drinking again.”

***

After nursing my hangover and finishing up most of my work, I head out the door to grab a cup of coffee and move my car. I wanted to move my car to a spot on the street so Ben’s brother could use my reserved spot in a nearby garage. They would be getting in around rush hour, a time when street parking would be scarce.

I made my way back down the long block of Aldine, laughing at my ultimate backtrack towards the bar that rocked my world not 24 hours before. As I walk past Wang’s bar, I put my hood up, hoping the staff won’t recognize me.

“Ohhh, hey! We gave you too much drink last night,” the peppy bartender laughs as she starts to walk into the restaurant. "You don’t look so good.”

I laugh and nod; realizing how funny this must be to her.

“Ah, yes. It’s me. Coffee time now,” I say bringing a pretend cup up to my mouth.

She laughs again, walking inside as I turn back around.

“Ah, fuck my life.”

***

Coffee in hand, I start to head down Roscoe where my car is parked in another residential garage. Once inside, I pull out of the garage and the hunt begins. I loop and snake around the one way streets of Boy’s Town, looking for an ideal parking spot. Each street is completely packed; an oddity for mid-day on a Friday, I thought to myself. After twenty minutes or so, I succumb to the inevitable and make my way back towards the garage.

As I buzz my key fob against the sensor, I feel my manual car start to shake.

No no no no no no no no no!

Just as the automatic garage door opens, the battery in my car shuts down; dead.

You have to be fucking kidding me.

I panic, knowing I’m blocking any car from entering and exiting the entire garage. I put my key up to the censor again and hope that the slight decline into the garage will be enough to propel me into my parking spot that is straight ahead and to the right.

I push myself forward against the steering wheel, a worthless attempt to shift my weight with the car down the small hill.

I might just make it.

50 feet…

30 feet…

20 feet…

10…

…fuck

The car completely stops in the middle of the one-way path, only feet from my paid-for parking spot.

I try to turn it over again. Nothing; a completely useless exercise.

I get out and try to push; convincing myself that I don’t need a man or anyone to help me. Another exercise in futility.

As I struggle on my phone to find the number to the building’s administration office, I hear the automatic garage door clank open behind me once again.

Can I just get a break here?

A small sedan pulls up behind me, and then a truck behind him waits. I wave like an idiot.

“You guys ain’t moving,” I say under my breath.

They both get out of the car and walk over smiling; something I hadn’t expected.

“Hi miss, is everything okay?” The first man asks politely.

“Ugh, no,” I say defeated. “I’m trying to get to spot 19 up ahead, but my battery must be completely dead and the steering wheel is dead set on sending me straight.” I point to the slight right where spot 19 sits vacant.

Just as the man was about to speak, the truck driver’s voice bellows out from behind him.

“We can push you into my spot,” he says. “I’m 23, straight in front of you.”

The miracle of him appearing at 3:00 p.m. that afternoon to grant me the exact spot I would need seemed impossible. Nevertheless, I was grateful. The three of us went to work, pushing the car with both doors wide open to get better leverage. Finally, we make it into spot 23 and I hop inside to pull up the E-brake.

“Thank you both,” I say through heavy breaths. “I’m so sorry for the trouble.”

“Not a problem; glad we showed up.”

As I walk back, once again, down the long block of Aldine, I call the Mini dealership on Diversey for a tow truck recommendation. They get me in touch with their ‘weekend guy’ and I schedule him to come that next afternoon; a large breath of relief exiting my body as I walk back into my building.

***

The concert was amazing. It was the first time I had met Ben’s brother and girlfriend, and the four of us spent the entire night dancing in the United Center to the beat of Adam Levine’s chart toppers.

I’ll never forget screaming the lyrics of my favorite song at the top of my lungs; an ode to the piece of shit I couldn’t wait to one day forget.

“You drain me dry and make me wonder why I'm even here
This double vision I was seeing is finally clear
You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone
Not fit to fuckin' tread the ground that I'm walking on…”

We arrived home late that night and got out a deck of cards.

“What are we gonna play?” Ben’s brother asks.

“Golf!” Ben and I both yell out simultaneously.

We spent hours into the early morning playing and laughing all together. The drinks were flowing and the music of Maroon 5 and other favorites played in the background. Ben looked over at me, noticing my big smile and refreshed demeanor.

He leans over to whisper to me as his brother and girlfriend have their own, separate conversation.

“Isn’t it nice feeling happy?” he says smiling.

I knew what he meant. This is how life should be; how love should look and feel.

I smiled back and him, leaning over to kiss his cute cheek, and we both face back forward to continue our card game.

***

The next morning came quickly. We had stayed up until 3:00 a.m. but emerged from our slumber in anticipation of the tow truck set to arrive. I was grateful to have more sets of hands ready and willing to help; Ben’s family being in town was a welcome blessing.

We walked over to the garage and assessed the situation. Roscoe was a one way street, I noted. We wouldn’t have much time to push the car out from the garage and get it up to the bed of the truck before a line of cars would start to form and honk loudly. The driver called me and I explained the situation. He said he would circle the block until we got the car out of the garage successfully.

With the help of Ben and his brother, we pushed the car backwards and onto the top of the sidewalk.

“Okay, Lindsay. Now you hop in and try to steer it,” Ben said. “We’re aiming to back it into the alley across the street so it will be out of the way until the truck comes back around.”

I hop in the driver’s seat and try desperately to force the steering wheel to right. Just as we’re getting close, Ben screams.

“STOP!”

My body jerks forward as the car comes to a halt. The loud bang; I already knew what had happened.

I get out, all of us with our hands on our heads. I had hit a steel pole attached to a gate in front of an apartment complex. It had been barely screwed into the ground; its rusted nails exposed as we examined it toppled over on the cement.

Ben pulls it back up to standing, wiping off the rust from his hands.

“What a useless pole.”

Just as we go to get back in the car, a woman starts screaming and walking down the sidewalk.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“Are you just going to walk away from this pole?” she yells, demanding an explanation.

“The pole was rusted out, ma’am. It would have toppled over if anyone touched it,” Ben said rolling his eyes. He looked back at me, trying to ease my obvious stress.

“I’m going to call the police on you,” the women yells as she walks inside the apartment complex behind the rusted pole.

I start to cry as we see the tow truck come back into view at the end of the street. We have to move fast to get in on the bed. I quickly hop back into the driver’s seat to steer it back out into the street as the tow driver passes us and double parks.

Ben, his brother, and girlfriend all push as I steer in into the middle of the street; lining it up behind the driver. As I work to get it in place, the same woman appears outside my open driver seat window, yelling at me as I work to get this stressful task done.

“You are terrible! Be a citizen! What’s your name?!” she barks at me as I shed full-fledged tears in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead.

“Leave her alone,” Ben shouts. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to back off.”

She stands next to me, pen and paper in hand, and starts taking down my license plate and description of my car. I reach to the glove compartment to grab my insurance card, knowing damn well she’s going to demand it.

It’s nowhere to be found.

The honks and yells from the line of cars behind me become too much to bear and I face her angrily outside of my window.

“My name is Lindsay Damrow, I live on Aldine and my number is ….” I said. “I don’t have my card on me right now.”

It’s a fucking 3 foot pole.

I step out of the car and face her directly; her small stature eye level with my 4’11 frame. I wipe the tears from my face as the tow truck drives away with my car.

“You have my number,” I said. “Call me and I’ll take care of your pole.”

She looks me up and down, grimacing before turning away to walk back inside.

***

I storm back into the condo, trying to compose myself around Ben’s family who had just endured the same stressful nightmare.

Where the hell is my insurance card?

My ex had switched our auto insurance in January of 2018. We were getting married and it no longer made sense for me to be on my parents’ plan. I also no longer used the car and he would need to be covered as he used it day in and day out for work.

I found the e-mail he had sent me with the new agent’s name and I called the number to get the information I would need for the miserable women down the street.

“I’m sorry, miss,” the voice said on the other end of the phone. “You cancelled your insurance in June.”

“There must be a mistake,” I said. “I had paid through July and was on an automatic payment plan.”

“No, your husband called on June 11th to cancel,” the agent said. “He transferred your payment to his new Jeep.”

It dawned on me. I had been driving my car uninsured for months. I told the agent to hold and I quickly scrolled back through my text messages with my ex. I got all the way back to June 11th.

Nothing.

You are nothing.

No notice or indication from him. I looked for any reason he might be mad but this was long before the anger began, long before Ben. He had no reason to try and hurt me. Why?

I got back on the phone, “He is NOT my husband,” I say sternly. “Can you please explain how a car in my name, that was insured and paid for by me, was able to have its insurance cancelled without so much as a notice from your company?”

“Well we sent the confirmation to him, so you did get a notice,” he says, clearly shaken.

“He doesn’t live here!” I said trying not to yell. “I have been driving uninsured for half a year and now need my insurance and this is how you notify me?”

“Um please hold,” he says as the call drops to music.

I couldn’t believe it. I sat down on the edge of the bathtub and put my head down in my palms. Why did he keep stealing, keep inflicting pain? This wasn’t an oversight. As much as I hated to admit it, he was smart. He knew what he was doing.

Ben appeared in the doorway.

“He really is a monster.”

***

Thanksgiving

November 22, 2018

Ben and I had agreed to separate for the holidays. As much as it pained me, I thought I should spend time alone with my family. While my parents adored Ben, I knew they were still reeling from the financial and emotional burden I had caused them earlier that year. More than anything, I didn’t want Ben to be subjected to the ghost of my ex; any comments or uneasiness that might exist with extended family in the mix. It wouldn’t have been right or fair.

I remember feeling my stomach drop as I watched him leave for the airport to head back home to Cincinnati. The truth was, he felt more like family than anyone, and as much as I pushed it down, I knew there would be a hole in my heart not having him sitting next to me for the holidays.

I arrived home in Lake Bluff that morning, plopping my large Vera Bradley bag on the entryway floor of my parents’ home.

“Hey, Scoot!” My dad exclaimed as he walked down the hallway and wrapped me up in a full embrace.

“Hey dad,” I said as he kissed the top of my hair. “Smells good in here.”

“Yup, your mom is in the kitchen. Everyone else should be here around 3:00,” he said walking with me towards the kitchen.

“Hey, Linds!” my mom said as she starts to knead the stuffing in the large bowl on the island.

I walk over to her and ask what I can do to help. She puts me to work and and I roll up my sleeves, I ask if she did what I had asked her to do.

“I did,” she said in a serious but loving tone; assuring me that, per my request, nobody in the family would bring up my ex, the wedding or anything related.

“Good,” I said. “I’m sick of talking about it.”

As time went on, my brother, DJ, and his girlfriend, Cam, arrived as well. We crack open a bottle of Cliquot and toast to another year together, albeit rocky, and I enjoy the few moments we have together with just our atomic family present. I knew, even if it wasn’t said, I’d feel the shame and pity that was to come from the others later; the extended family that hadn’t seen me since everything had happened.

Before too long, the extended family started to arrive. I could feel the intoxication already in the air and I excused myself to go shower and get ready for our seated, formal dinner.

I took my sweet time in the shower; rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. I didn’t want to face anyone.

I step out of the shower; wrapping the towel tightly under my arms. As I step out of the bathroom and into my room, I am startled by a family member sitting on my bed. Waiting for me.

I can tell she’s already had a few too many and she tilts her head in a pitying way and begins to speak in slurs.

“I’m soooo sorry, Lindsay. What a complete disaster for you.”

No shit, thanks.

“So, like…what happened?” she asked.

“It’s Thanksgiving, I really just want to focus on the positive and not talk about this,” I said, annoyed that I was being cornered in my own room; unable to drop my towel and get dressed.

She continues to talk at me as I awkwardly dress beneath my towel, turning my back on her. I respond with the necessary ‘uh huhs’ and ‘okays;’ an indicator to any sober person of my displeasure rehashing the topic.

As I go to exit the room, she steps in front of me blocking the doorway.

“Do you have any idea how hard this has been on your family?” she asked.

My blood started to boil.

“This was not just about you, ya know.” she said.

I wanted to retort with a string of expletives, yet I remained composed, exhibiting self control worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize.

I moved her out of my way and turned back at her, visibly furious.

“Nobody is feeling pain like I am. Nobody has any fucking clue. This conversation is over.”

I ran past the door, ducking into my parents’ bedroom before she could see where I went off too. I scurried down the long hallway and into their private bathroom; the furthest and most secluded wing of the house. I sat down on the hard tile floor, my back against my dad’s sink, and I began to cry.

I look at my phone, not wanting to burden him anymore than I already had yet without thinking, I called Ben.

“Hi, cutie,” his upbeat voice somehow making my heart sink deeper into despair.

“Can you just talk to me for a little bit; about anything,” I said through tears.

“Of course,” he said.

***

November 23, 2018

I fumble with my keys in the door, yet again. Walking inside the apartment, the anticipation of seeing Paisley waiting on the entryway table dies violently with the emptiness and darkness of the foyer. I walk in, dropping all of my belongings. No Paisley, no Halsted.

Nobody. Nothing.

You are nothing.

I look at the pictures on the entryway table. All of me.

I look empty; void of life.

You are nothing.

I feel myself glare at them; a glare with a hatred more powerful than any love I had ever felt for him. In an instant, I feel myself lunge forward; swiping my right arm viciously across the table and knocking all images of me from the table. The clamoring of their dramatic fall on the wooden floor making the invisible cats scurry off into the unseen darkness.

I drop to the floor.

The pain overtook my body. I knew anxiety; I knew nervousness. This was something deeper.

Darker.

An unknown place where only demons lived; my demons. I began to cry. The wailing echoing throughout the corridors and beyond; a brand new world of sorrow, something inexplicable. The emotional pain manifesting in aches and convulses of the body; crying every inch of tears that this dark, gentle soul had endured.

“Children waiting for the day they feel good.

Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday…”

It was the beginning of the end, I thought. I must be dying.

My mind raced, like that of a drug addict. The thoughts of what could have been, even worse. The life I escaped, the life that I wasted; wondering if my life had been worth anything at all. What was the purpose of life? Suffering? It was all I thought I knew. The highs of life had all been a lie; a farce. I had loved a demon. I had slept next to him night after night; three years of unknowingly living in Hell. If I thought that was love, then what else had I royally fucked up?

I wandered down the hall, clutching my stomach; the feeling of nausea overtaking my shivering body.

I wash up. Unable to look at myself in the mirror

Pathetic.

I make my way, in the dark, back to my bed, sitting upright against the mangled head board.

I feel my frown begin and cup my hands over my face; the dread too much for my mind to process.

You ungrateful little bitch.

I was a nameless nothing. Invisible, meaningless, worthless.

I loathed every inch of my body; the essence of my being. I fell over; writhing in physical pain, like contractions delivering the birth and subsequent death of my misery; a necessary evil in the darkness I now lied within.

I called Ben.

Struggling to catch my breath, it slowly comes out in the mucousy breaths that refused to end.

“I can’t do it anymore.”

His silence, somehow a reassurance.

“Ben, I can’t pretend I’m okay. I can’t. I’m so angry. I’m s-so…”

The wails of my cries interlude between the heaving breaths as I try to regain my strength.

“I will never be able to explain how this feels; I can’t survive this much longer...”

“I love you,” he says calmly. “It’s going to be alright.”

I laugh between wails. “I love you, too. I’m so sorry.”

He quietly listens to my breaths as they calm into a soft whimper after a matter of many minutes; a seeming eternity.

“He’s gonna have a baby,” I said softly. “He doesn’t deserve a baby.”

Ben listens.

“He didn’t even want a baby.” I muttered. “Not with me, not with anyone. But I did. And I would have given that up…how stupid? I would have given up a family. For him!”

I hated myself.

Ben’s heavy sigh on the other end of the phone somehow sounding more confident and powerful than ever.

“You will have a family,” he said.

After hours of our slow back and forth, we said our goodnights and hung up the phone.

I bring my body back upright. With my crying ceased, I walk down the long hallway and towards the living room. I sit down at the piano in the darkness, pushing up the cover to the keys and setting my hands gently into their respective positions.

I play a single melody with the right hand as all other thoughts fade away into the distant darkness.

“Mad World…..

Mad World….

Enlarge your world….”

I didn’t know it at the time.

But she had just given birth to his baby.

11/23/2018

***

Chapter XV: You Should Be Sad

“She had the baby,” I said nonchalantly, swirling my Cabernet around the glass before taking a gulp suited for my own slot on the Real Housewives.

“I saw,” my cousin said gently from the other side of the table.

Kristy was going to be my matron of honor; the older sister I never had. Her dad and my mom were the youngest of seven and we were always close. I grew up idolizing her and her own older sister. As we sat at dinner at Ella Eli on Southport, I laughed to myself about how much I used to annoy her as a kid, five years her junior; stealing their toys and playing with their hair and makeup, tirelessly wishing I could be older like them. These days, I thought, I wish I could be that little girl again and do it all over. I didn’t want to be a grown up anymore.

I hadn’t seen her in a while. She, with her months old daughter, and me, with my own hectic work schedule, never seemed to be able to connect easily. I spent the majority of drinks and appetizers updating her on all that had happened. It felt good to purge all the anger, but I always caught myself droning on; hating how I hadn’t said anything positive other than the occasional joke at my own expense. I tried to stop myself, to make it not about me. I asked about her daughter, husband and how she was doing, yet somehow, we always came back to me and what I was going through.

“Do you think he was seeing her before all of this happened?” My cousin asked.

“I have no clue. Although miraculously getting pregnant from a one-night stand seems hardly feasible, especially if she was ‘on birth control.’” I said with overly sarcastic air quotes. “This isn’t the fucking immaculate conception,” I joked, taking another swig of wine.

“When did he say this happened again?” she asked. I could see her wheels turning.

“March 7th; he told me the exact day. He said it was because he thought I was cheating,” I rolled my eyes, though I knew she could sense the deep-rooted pain and anguish over his excuse.

“Lindsay, that just doesn’t make sense.”

There was a brief interlude; silence before she started to explain what she meant. You see, Kristy is a pediatric nurse and well-versed in the medical field. On top of that, she had just had a baby herself not even a year prior. I could feel my palms start to sweat. I wasn’t sure if I was hurt, mad or validated by what she told me next.

She explained how a full-term pregnancy is actually 40 weeks; 10 months. The gestational period is what we usually refer to as the standard 9 months; however, from the moment of intercourse to the due date of the baby would be 10 months.

“Holy shit,” I said looking down at my plate and doing the math quickly in my head.

“When was his due date?” she asked.

“It was right around the actual birth date,” I said. “So…around November 23rd.”

“So it would have had to have happened 10 months before that.” she said.

We both looked up at each other and mouthed, “January.”

I laughed out loud boisterously; partly because I was stupid for never thinking of this before and partly because even if it was nine months, that would have meant that they had sex in February; both dates quite far off from his bullshit claim of a one night stand on March 7th.

“And it’s not like he could even claim ‘oh, she was just early!’” I said. “We knew the due date was mid-November and a doctor wouldn’t just subtract an extra month or two on the off chance of a premature birth.”

“He sucks,” Kristy said angrily. She was always so polite, though I could sense her blood boiling.

I looked up at her again and caught myself in a momentary epiphany; a thought so simple yet so immensely profound. A thought that changed the tone of the conversation from the “got ‘em” rhetoric to something much deeper; a weight I had been carrying. I knew I wasn’t to blame for what he did, but now, for the first time, I actually accepted that it wasn’t my fault.

“Kristy, he blamed me for his cheating. He said it was because of jealousy; because of Ben.”

She sat upright in the booth across from me and realized exactly what I was thinking, “And you didn’t even know Ben in January.”

I nodded from across the table as my lips quivered slightly; the words replayed in my mind like a new mantra. I looked up at her and sighed, holding back all the tears that wanted to come, “It wasn’t my fault?”

“No,” she said.

It wasn’t my fault.

***

As we walked out of Ella Eli, stomach full of wine, Kristy offered to drive me home.

“Can you actually drop me at Ben’s place?” I asked. “He’s just around the corner.”

As we pulled up to his apartment on Clifton, I saw him standing curbside, waiting for us in the dead cold of winter. He hadn’t met Kristy yet and I knew he’d want to be introduced to my closest friend and confidante. As she pulled up in her Jeep, she opened the car door and, without hesitation, they hugged.

“Thank you for taking such good care of her,” she said to him.

His smile beamed from ear to ear. “Of course,” he replied.

***

As the weeks passed, Ben and my relationship progressed beautifully, organically. He truly was my best friend. We had a multitude of adventures; from skiing the grand mountains of Washington state to sipping fruity cocktails on a private beach in Naples, he always kept us smiling and laughing.

I had never seen or known a love so raw and honest. He held me as I fell apart time and time again and helped me put myself back together; not wavering once as I did it all over again and again. He never made me feel ashamed, and always helped me see the good, the beauty in it all; keeping my eyes on my future and not my past.

“Everything happens for a reason,” Ben said snuggling up to one of the cats as we got in bed at my apartment one night. I scooted closer to him and tried to keep casual conversation going, despite his visible fatigue and heavy eyelids.

“Why do you always do that?” Ben laughed in a slight whisper with his eyes closed.

“Do what?” I asked.

“Keep talking to me when I’m asleep,” he chuckled.

I laughed and poked him before rolling over myself. I didn’t want to tell him why.

I didn’t want to tell him that my demons come out at night, that I don’t ever sleep. I didn’t want to tell him that my anxiety at night forces conversations and events to replay in my mind over and over, constantly forcing me to analyze and reanalyze things outside of my control. In a way, I wanted to protect him from the dark space that nighttime had become for me. And as I watched him doze off into a peaceful slumber, the demons came…

***

While my life seemed to be heading in a positive direction, I was still bound financially to the monster through our shared condo. And, despite my efforts to bury any thoughts of the past, I grew more and more restless from Kristy’s discovery at our dinner. I was mad at myself for believing his lies, for not making the connection sooner. I still had this innate trust in everything he had ever said despite knowing he was a liar; a sociopath. It was as if his statements had been hardwired into my brain as fact and I found myself reliving every moment, every glance, ever conversation to try and figure out what, if anything, in our three-year relationship was real.

Like a hamster stuck on a never-ending wheel of grief, I relived all of the other statements he had made over the years; things that I believed because I trusted him.

I slowly got out of bed and walked out of my room and down the long hallway. I tip-toed delicately as to not disturb the uneven hardwood floorboards as Ben slept.

Without turning on any lights, I sat down at my computer at my grand dining room table and opened the screen. Its stark white light beamed eerily over my face as I pulled up Microsoft Word. Like a magnet to the keyboards my fingers began furiously typing.

I started documenting all the red flags.

***

“When we first met him, we hated him,” his best friend once told me. When I asked why, he explained how they thought he was a pathological liar; how he lied about dumb things: meeting celebrities, a modeling career, accomplishments, etc. I sat there thinking of this interaction, regretting not asking the obvious follow up question-Why did you stay friends with him then? Instead, I laughed it off. He must have been joking, I thought.

*

I remember my ex telling me he wrote a song on the piano; playing it to woo me before we dated at a hotel bar with friends. Years later, he tapped away the same tune on my piano and I reiterated how impressed I was by his composition.

“I didn’t write this; I never said that,” he said angrily.

Oh, but you did.

*

I remember seeing a text on his phone one morning while he was showering from a co-worker. I remember opening the phone and seeing flirtatious exchanges; exchanges about how they would be meeting up for a work event and he’d only go if she would be there. I remember confronting him about it and being called “stupid” and “insecure” as he laughed in my face as I cried. I remember him telling me that if I weren’t in the picture, he’d sleep with her.

*

I remember asking him if he’d go to a soup kitchen with me over the holidays in 2018. He looked at me with disgust and said, “Ew, no.”

*

I remember when his stepdad had a heart attack, he still went in to work and didn’t tell me. I remember arriving in the hospital room in McHenry and the first thing he said to his mom and stepdad was, “I told you to get life insurance and now you can’t!”

*

I remember him yelling at me for texting Ben back, my work partner at the time, when Ben texted to ask how my ex’s stepdad was doing post heart attack.

*

I remember asking my ex if he had any pictures from his youth; high school in McHenry or college in Las Vegas. They didn’t exist. Friends didn’t exist. I remembered him explaining that it was because his college girlfriend, Silhouette, burned all his things after he moved out of their shared apartment in Las Vegas. When I asked why, he said it was complicated.

I remember him telling me how he got Silhouette pregnant; how she had a miscarriage, and then got cancer. I remembered him telling me how hard it was on him; how he fell in love with another girl, Lyla, when he was back home in McHenry for a holiday. I remember him emotionally depicting his pain in knowing he couldn’t be with her because of his “devotion” to his sick girlfriend in Las Vegas. As I remembered all of this, disgust ran through my veins like a disease. I had never considered myself naive nor stupid. Looking back, how could I have been so blind?

Everyone has a story. I have many. I know pain and struggle, and, at the time, I truly felt for him as he explained his deep-seeded woes. He told his story with an air of sadness and regret, telling me how he knew he had made mistakes but that he believed in second chances for people and that he had spent his entire life since college rebuilding and re-branding himself. He said he wanted to become a better person and I believed him.

And as I sat there facing the brightness of my computer monitor, I thought of Lyla. I remembered something crucial he had mentioned during his emotional rant.

She had a no contact order against him.

A restraining order.

I did a quick google search. You can’t just go and request these orders, I thought to myself. He had made it seem so trivial of her; childish payback for staying in Las Vegas with his sick girlfriend. But no, I didn’t buy that now.

I pulled up multiple articles. A judge must approve of them. There must be cause, reasons, tangible evidence of a threat.

What did he really do?

I started wondering who else he may have hurt, who he would prey on next. I couldn’t contain this suffering and guilt any longer. How could he get away with this? Why did he constantly abuse and hurt women? What else had he done?

Without thinking I closed the window and pulled open a new tab, typing in a web address I hadn’t thought about in months.

The Blog.

I had written on The Chicago It Girl for years; a creative writing outlet to talk about fun things: my wedding, beauty tips, recipes, etc. Those days were over. Before I knew it, I had written multiple paragraphs starting from the beginning; an out of body experience I can’t quite explain. I didn’t know at the time why I had to do it; why I had to start writing out the story. It wasn’t revenge, but perhaps a purge; a release of all the toxic emotions I had been carrying with me for months. Toxic energy that had buried me alive, eaten away at my soul and personality, and affected my most precious relationships.

I went back to the title and sighed as I typed.

Chapter I: Party Planning

I hit publish and closed my laptop.

2:00 a.m.

Tears burst from my red shot eyes, covering every inch of my face and falling into my lap as I sat silently at the dining room table alone. I felt the soft stroke of Paisley’s fur rub against my leg; a gentle reminder of the present.

And as I picked her back up and walked back to the bedroom, I felt a weight finally lift off my back. For the first time, I was healing myself. And in that moment, I knew that each chapter I faced, would bring me pain but then subsequent peace.

And so began my healing, one Chapter at a time.

***

Chapter XVI: Me Too

I woke up the next morning; bags under my eyes from staying up writing in the dark. I rolled over in bed facing Ben as he slowly roused himself awake. He whispered good morning, kissing my forehead before he moseyed over to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Though I could have slept for hours longer, I forced myself upright, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. With a large sigh, I tipped my head backwards, hands firmly by my side.

Will this ever be over?

I walked down the long hallway; the shoddy hardwood floors squeaking beneath my bare feet as I made my way to the galley kitchen. I pulled out the Folger’s coffee grounds and began brewing my coffee. As I sat waiting on the bar stools, the notes of earthy java filled the air and I started contemplating what I had done not hours before. Despite my fear in unleashing the truth behind my pain, I felt vindicated and couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something that needed to happen.

Steam escaped from the top of the coffee maker; indicating it was time to pour a cup and head to the dining room table and begin my workday. I sat and opened my laptop, checked my work e-mail and responded to a few client messages as Ben entered the dining room and sat down across from me smiling.

“Working from home today?” he said as he bent over to tie his shoes.

“Think so,” I said sipping my coffee while trying to fix my bedhead before he could pop his head back up from his feet.

Just as he sat back up, a sound came from my laptop; a new G-mail message. I clicked to the proper tab in my browser.

Oh, God, I thought, trying not to make my sudden panic obvious to my new boyfriend staring at me from across the table.

Ben looked up at me, not knowing what expression I had; this one seemed new.

For a split second, I thought about not telling him. Why ruin his morning? But then, I remembered the promise we had made to each other that summer on his porch one evening; the promise that helped our relationship not just survive but thrive through all of turbulence that the Monster tried to create for us.

No secrets.

“Ben, I did something,” I chuckled; unsure if it was out of fear or relief. “Promise you won’t be mad?”

“I promise,” he replied.

“I started writing the story." I said. “I posted it last night because I couldn’t sleep.”

I turned my computer around and pulled it up so he could read it. I remember watching his eyes dart back and forth as he read each paragraph carefully. I bit my lip, trying to read his thoughts.

“Damn,” he said. I knew I was doomed. “You’re a really good writer, Lindsay,”

The surprise on my face was obvious but there was more to my confession.

“Well, I just got this from his attorney,” I said as I pointed toward the tab he needed to click on next. An e-mail:

***

Dear Ms. Damrow,

This firm represents the Monster.

It has come to our attention that you posted false and misleading statements and allegations on the internet and/or social media outlets with the intent of disparaging and slandering the Monster. It has also come to our attention that you have photos posted of you together with the Monster. You are instructed to CEASE AND DESIST from the unauthorized USE, POSTING, PUBLISHING, OR OTHERWISE DISTRIBUTION, IN ANY MANNER WHATSOEVER, OF MY CLIENT’S IMAGE OR ANY DEPICTION OR DESCRIPTION OF MY CLIENT including but not necessarily limited to: 1) posting or publishing any and all videos, photographs, descriptions, or any images or recordings, containing any depiction of my client whatsoever, on any internet forum, or any other forum whatsoever; 2) posting or publishing my client’s name or persona in any forum whatsoever; and 3) posting or publishing any information regarding my client in any forum whatsoever. You are instructed to cease and desist from any action that invades or violates my client’s rights to privacy, or any other Illinois law. If you fail to remove the aforementioned material, or if you take any other action in violation of this cease and desist letter or otherwise in violation of Illinois law, be advised that my client will pursue this matter in a court of law, where he will seek injunctive relief and damages from you. This situation has caused and continues to cause damage to my client, and must be remedied immediately. Please contact me immediately at 312-XXX-XXXX to inform me how you plan to remedy this situation. If the material is not removed within seven (7) calendar days from the date of this letter, my client will assume that you do not intend to take the proper steps to remedy this situation, and will be forced to pursue injunctive relief in a court of law.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Some Real Estate Attorney Trying to Flex

***

Ben laughed out loud. “You just posted this though?” He said almost confused.

“I know!” I replied. “He or one of his brainwashed friends must be very seriously stalking my blog and/or social media accounts.”

“What a loser.”

“Are you okay with this?” I asked quietly.

“I mean, I’m sure it feels good getting this out,” he said assuredly. “Does it help?

“Yes,” I said. “But if you don’t want me to I’ll stop now and never look back.”

My eyes met his and he smiled.

“Well, its not slander if its true.”

***

As the weeks went on, the Monster tried new tricks to get me to stop my narrative. And with each tactic he attempted, he failed whilst my audience steadily grew and grew. First a few hundred, then a few thousand. For the first time, I realized I wasn’t alone; I was being heard.

***

Tuesday, February 5th, 2019

A letter from his attorney:

Good Morning,

Please note that my client filed a police report related to the unauthorized Amazon purchases, which have yet to be refunded.

Sincerely,

Monster’s Real Estate Attorney

She attached a police report; a rather laughable document citing credit card fraud from the same Amazon purchases made back in October that I had already taken care of. I proceeded with the necessary due diligence and called Amazon again to confirm that he had been refunded. They confirmed what I already knew to be true and I gathered the evidence that would be needed; knowing all too well that it would never come to anything and that this was a pathetic attempt to lash out and scare me; to get me to stop writing. The truth, however, was more powerful than any scare tactic a sad, feeble boy would try.

***

As weeks went by, the chance of the condo selling quickly dwindled down to nothingness. I was still paying over $3,000 a month since he abandoned it that August, while he lived on the 34th floor of a luxury two bed/two bath in the South Loop; a unit I would later find out cost him over $4,000/month.

“I don’t understand how he can claim he can’t afford to help me with the Aldine apartment when he’s paying almost three times as much,” I told a girlfriend over drinks.

My friend had been by my side since day one. She was the person whose apartment I could escape to, whether to talk or just watch bad reality TV and forget everything for a few hours.

“Lindsay, I looked into him a bit,” she told me one day. She explained that she had access to certain background check software; most likely used for big corporations to look into people before they get hired. “He has wiped himself clean.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Well you can have a clean record online or you can have just no record,” she explained. “He’s buried almost every detail about his criminal record; it’s very unusual, like he’s trying to hide something.”

I did a search myself, pulling up our wedding website that was still active at the time. My name was in the title, but his was nowhere to be found.

What the actual fuck?

My friend and I exchanged nervous glances.

I got up and immediately grabbed another bottle of wine.

***

I was becoming restless in the apartment I once called a home. With no end in sight, coupled with the Monster’s continued erratic behavior, I reached out to someone I thought could help. An attorney I once knew; one of the best in her field. For the sake of privacy, let’s call her Leslie.

***

Hi Leslie,

I hope my note finds you well.  

I am reaching out to you because you helped guide me through turbulent times back in 2016 as a TFA/PMD at Merrill Lynch.  Thank you again for your help.

I unfortunately have become involved in an property/money dispute with my ex-fiance and was hoping you might have a referral for an attorney that may be able to help and/or offer some guidance.

We were supposed to get married in September 2018; however, while I was on a work trip in March of 2018, he cheated and got a girl pregnant.  They have decided to keep the child, and my family and I were therefore forced to call the wedding off.  He typed an apology letter to my parents, offering to pay back all non-refundable wedding expenses (around $50k).  He also agreed to deed our joint condo to me as part of that payment.  

He unfortunately has gone back on his word and not only has refused my family repayment, he stopped paying the mortgage with me altogether in August.  This has left me in a world of financial hurt and while, after many months, he agreed to sign a listing agreement to jointly sell, I need advice on how to proceed and hopefully recoup all money that my family and I are owed.

There are many more disturbing details surrounding this situation and his behavior; however, I wanted to provide a gist so you may get an idea of what kind of help I am seeking.

I understand this isn't your wheelhouse, but if there is anyone you can recommend, I would be truly grateful.  While I do not have plentiful funds to pay for excessive court fees/attorney costs, I'd gladly pay for advice and, should an attorney be confident in a potential case, do whatever possible to bring this unfortunate and painful chapter to a close.

Thank you very much for your time.  I hope to hear from you.

Best,

Lindsay

***

She responded minutes later and we devised a plan.

***

As I got ready for bed that night, I knew things were far from over. Despite the relief of having Leslie on my team, she reminded me that it would get worse before it would get better; a sentiment I already knew but wanted to forget.

I hopped over Ben, already adorably tucked into his basement bed up against the cold wall. As was habit, I reached over for the chord to plug in my phone and noticed an Instagram notification. It was a name I didn’t recognize; someone reaching out to my blog handle @thechicagoitgirl. I laid my head back down, expecting spam or junk mail but instead, I read the following:

“So you don’t know me but I thought I might give you some peace of mind. Recently, <Monster> added me on Instagram and Facebook. Years ago, before I met my amazing husband, I dated <Monster>. This was right before <baby mama>, who I hear nothing but bad things about from high school.

I heard he was engaged and out of serious curiosity, I kinda creeped a little. I thought, “Wow he’s happy and she is very cute; good for him.” I read your blog and can I just say I felt like I was reading my own story. He’s a lying, jealous narcissist and you seriously dodged a bullet, my dear. I thought I was going to marry him, but then I found out who he really was. He was a manipulating person (slowly being amazing and then brainwashing you). He actually led me to finding the great guy I’m with today.

I really figured out what’s important when marrying someone and I found it. I wanted to say good luck to you. You look beautiful and sound very creative and smart, so don’t ever wonder what went wrong. You won, my friend.

And again, I’m probably nosey as hell, but I felt so bad when I read your blog. He is not right in the head. He did the same love notes, the same act with me too. I got out fast because I started not feeling myself anymore…”

***

I flung myself forward and upright in the bed; my body started shaking as I turned to Ben, still lying next to me, unable to speak.

His eyes widened as he sat upright and put his arms around me, unsure of what had just transpired.

I gave him my phone and asked him to read what I just had; the tears rolling down my face like summer downpour over my pale cheeks.

I’m not alone.

It wasn’t my fault.

After Ben finished, I collapsed into his arms, feeling every emotion of the ordeal all over again. I finally knew as fact what I had suspected for so long; the Monster had hurt others. The Monster hurt women; over and over and over.

Thank you, Savannah*.

What I didn’t know, was that she would be the first. The first of many.

***

Chapter XVII: The Doctor Will See You Now

I woke up the next morning in the cold, basement bedroom of Ben’s apartment. He kissed me on the forehead before leaving for work.

As he closed the door gently behind him, I turned over onto my back, knowing all too well that I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. There was too much on my mind.

I lifted the phone and reread Savannah’s message.

I read it over and over again.

I finally had to stop myself and throw the phone at the end of the bed; killing the anxiety-inducing cycle. I got up and hopped into the shower to get ready for the day I had already been dreading.

***

I stood in the shower, lathering my hair; turning up the heat to let scalding hot water pour over me like a leper attempting to disinfect her contaminated body. I could feel the back of my neck get red where the pounding of water kept hitting me. Would I ever be clean? Rid of this disease that seemed to perpetually pump through my veins; the feeling of dread always lurking over my shoulder? Would the demonic presence keeping one hand eerily on my shoulder ever fade away? Perhaps the writing really would heal me. Perhaps it would build up my immunity against this sickening infection. I could only surmise what prescription was needed in order to cure myself. Knowledge and the truth, I thought, the only antidote.

***

I got out of the shower and haphazardly got myself dressed and ready. I would soon be headed to my most feared annual appointment.

The OBGYN.

I never thought there could be a fate worse than being poked and prodded as intimately as a woman is in a doctor’s office. But now, I knew I’d have to face the regular scrutiny of my age alongside a newfound pity; the pity after explaining to my doctor that my fiancé was no longer in the picture. I knew what face she would make. I knew she’d have me get tested for every STD under the sun like she demanded every year. Hell, I thought, she’ll probably have me test for leprosy, too while we’re at it.

Had he not poisoned me with enough?

The fear set in as I sat back on Ben’s bed to put on my shoes. I looked back at my phone, sighing from the mantra I kept telling myself.

The truth is power.

The truth is the cure.

I reached to the end of the bed for my phone and instead of calling my Uber, I sent Savannah a message:

“Hi Savannah,

Sorry for the delay. I saw this last night as I was getting in bed and had to process a little bit. Can I please say how much I appreciate your message? It is truly so validating because I have suspected for some time now that this may have been a pattern with others before me. I’m so happy to know and see that you have flourished since dating such a monster; you have a beautiful family. I’d love to hear more about your experience if you are willing to share it with me. I certainly don’t want to interfere or intrude on your life and family, so if that is too much for you, I wholeheartedly understand.

And, for what it’s worth, you are certainly not nosey. I put this out there for the world to see so we all can be better prepared against sociopathic individuals and learn from my mistakes…”

I looked it over before pressing send. I meant every word. I wanted to know more of the truth. I wanted to piece together the holes in the story, the holes in my former life; channeling the inner journalist I had once sought out to be.

She responded not three minutes later.

***

Savannah and I chatted back and forth for the next hour. The conversation flowed easily and organically, as if we had been friends for years. We talked about anything and everything; our dating relationship with the Monster, his manipulations, his sexual orientation, and what in life could have made him so evil. We discussed how we both found amazing men after him, and how they had taught us so much about real, unconditional love.

She mentioned how when she got engaged to her now husband, the Monster resurfaced and contacted her, or tried to. She mentioned how he did it a few times during her marriage, too; an insidious lurker looking for an opportunity to ruin a relationship; a sad, yet predictable, vie for attention.

We exchanged screenshots of messages we had with the Monster. He had reached out to her yet again for pity that our engagement fell through. I laughed seeing the messages of him saying how I cheated and how hard a time he was having on our former wedding date; us both agreeing that someone as disturbed as he is must believe his own lies.

“Karma’s a bitch,” he wrote.

A little ironic now, isn’t it, Monster?

***

“Even when he made it seem like you <cheated>, I knew it wasn’t,” Savannah said.

It felt good to be believed.

I changed the subject as I hopped into the Uber to make my way to the doctor downtown.

“This may be too much info, but the stuff that really still hurts is something I think you can relate to as a mom,” I wrote. “I’m headed to my first OBGYN appointment since all this shit. And not only will it be embarrassing to talk about, but I’m about to be 33 and I have to start seriously thinking about fertility and freezing eggs.”

I choked up in the car as I wrote the next part, wiping away the lone tear I allowed to stream down my face as I gasped for more air.

“I could have afforded it, if he just paid us back. He took away so much.”

Savannah comforted me and spoke about her pregnancy; assuring me that everything would work out in the end. I exited out of the Uber and nervously swallowed as I walked into Northwestern facility in Streeterville.

***

As I sat in the waiting room, I texted Ben.

“I’m anxious.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, I promise", he replied with a smiling emoji for added comfort.

Just as I took my last gulp of water, the nurse called my name.

“Lindsay, we’re ready for you.”

***

I sat there, cold and naked under the sterile paper robe, dreading the conversation that was about to take place. The doctor came in. She was a young, no-bullshit women in her early 40s. She nodded at me and said my name; my only greeting. I tried reiterating to myself that the best doctors have the worst bedside manner.

“So, what’s new?” she asked uninterested.

I looked at her, knowing all too well that I wouldn’t be able to keep it together for long. So, I reverted back to the three-sentence explanation that I had rehearsed and performed so many times.

“My fiancé cheated on me. She got pregnant. We broke up.”

My doctor looked at me confused. I wasn’t sure if she had finally encountered a moment of empathy or if she was experiencing another thought.

“I’m so sorry,” she finally said quietly. She motioned for me to assume the position and spoke to me about the ordeal through the physical exam. I turned my head to the side and flinched as she worked; not sure if from the discomfort or the emotional pain resurfacing from answering her direct questions.

After she finished up, she said I needed to go for a blood draw to screen out any possible STDs from the Monster’s transgressions. Before she closed my file, she spoke again.

“Because your exam last year came back abnormal, we will be taking a closer look at the samples. You may need to come back for a colposcopy or biopsy.

My jaw visibly dropped.

“What do you mean?” I said. This was the first I had heard of an abnormal pap. “Nobody told me anything last year?” I said as a question.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” She said nonchalantly looking down at the file.

The panic began to set in. “What does abnormal mean, exactly?”

She looked up at me; staring blankly.

“Precancerous cells.”

***

I exited the doctor’s office and ran to the first empty corridor I could find; hiding behind a wall so I could be alone. My shortness of breath was getting worse and I felt like my airways were being constricted with fear. My past and future flashed before my eyes. I thought about how much Ben wanted children. I thought about how much I wanted children. What did this mean for my future family, my future health, my life?

Hands shaking, I took out my phone and called Ben. It rang only once before he answered. His sweet and upbeat hello was quickly quashed by acknowledgement of the sound of quiet sobs on the other end of the line.

“Is everything okay?” Ben asked.

More tears streamed down my face and I put my other hand up hide my eyes.

“I don’t know.”

***

Chapter XVIII: Chelonia Mydas

I was never much of a sailor.

When I applied to be a part of our high school’s marine biology sailing trip as a 15 year old Sophomore, I knew it would be the adventure of a lifetime. For weeks that turned to months, seven students and three teachers shared small quarters on a 70-foot sailing vessel named Geronimo, cruising the beautiful Bahamian waters in search of sharks and sea turtles. The most vivid memories of my life tied to the vibrant and lustrous colors of coral reefs and fish I had never before seen. Even now, describing the night sailing brings tears to my eyes as I remember watching the shooting stars above while the bioluminescence glowed a bright green shimmer in Geronimo’s wake.

Chelonia Mydas; the Latin name for the Green Sea turtles we were always seeking. Our mission each day was to find, catch and tag as many of these amazing, endangered creatures as we could. Our small little school from Rhode Island had partnered with the University of Miami, where we would send our findings; tagging new turtles to mark their travels and taking biopsies to test their health. At this point, nearly all species of sea turtles were considered endangered. While it was illegal to catch them, they were still slaughtered for their shells, meat and eggs. That coupled with habitat destruction of the coral reefs from climate change, there was a great need to protect and support these magnificent specimens.

Each day, we’d take out the small dinghy that we towed behind the mother ship, looking for the dark green discs darting below us in the crystal clear water.

***

April 2003

It was my turn as the jumper. I stood firm but nimble at the bow of the inflatable dinghy, holding tightly to the front rope for support as we cruised from five knots to ten. I saw him in front of us and to the right. He darted left, then right, then left again; trying to lose us. We knew all too well he’d have to come up for air sooner or later.

His disc-like shell was becoming bigger as he neared the surface. The Captain always told us they would be faster on their way up for air. With that in mind, the second mate cruised a bit ahead of the turtle, and I heard the lookout behind me yell.

“Jump!”

Without thinking, I dived head first over the turtle and grabbed him on both sides of his shell, quickly realizing he was much wider and larger than my own 90 pound frame. Holding tightly to his back, he dove down deeper under the water and I gripped my hands tighter around his mossy shell. This is for your own good, I thought to myself.

Just as I was about to run out of air, the large beast gave up carrying me on his back and headed back towards the surface. As we breached the water’s edge, I gasped for my first, new breath of air and quickly flipped the large creature onto his back, holding him out of the water as much as I could and letting my flippers below me keep us up above the surface. The dinghy quickly came to my side and the crew pulled him into the boat where we laid him on his back. We then headed to a small, deserted island where the others had collected the previous catches from the afternoon.

As I tended to the turtle in the boat, his massive front flipper and claw nicked my leg, leaving a scar I still wear proudly to this day.

“I guess we’re even now,” I said with a smirk as I pulled the goggles off my head.

As the dinghy landed on the beach, my crew and I worked together to carry him out of the boat, placing him gently on his back in the sand next to the others.

We took turns bringing buckets of water up from the shore; keeping them wet and cool as we did all our measurements and tagged their fins.

“He’s a big boy,” the Captain said laughing. Her leathery, tan smirk shining through her usually serious demeanor.

When it came time for the biopsy, I didn’t want to look. The Captain took a silver hole punch and stuck the circular shape into the neck of the turtle, leaving a dark red hole in it’s place. I rubbed the turtle’s stomach and watched tears come from his eyes; unsure if it was from sadness, the heat or both.

“It’s gonna be okay,” I told him assuredly.

***

It’s gonna be okay, I told myself, sitting in cold chair of the OBGYN a few weeks later.

My exam had come back irregular for the second year in a row and I was ordered to come back in for a colposcopy/biopsy as soon as possible.

I flinched with my head to the side as the doctor and her assistant did their work yet again, letting my thoughts drift back to the beach. I was sitting on warm, white sand of an isolated island in the Bahamas. I thought of the smell of the salt and the feeling of the Atlantic wind through my hair. I thought of the sea legs I had acquired; the soothing rock-a-bye of the ocean that now felt like normalcy between my feet. It was odd, I thought, that something so unstable like the sea could feel like my new equilibrium; so odd that it had become my land legs that now made me sick. Strange, I thought once again, how a feeling so unsettling to most had become my normal back then. I remembered feeling the dizziness on the stable ground of the beach, longing for the tumultuous and turbulent seas on the boat.

Turbulence had become my new normal.

But then, I thought of a new memory. I recalled the feeling when I let the turtle go; watching him freely swim back into the ocean, back into his home. He belonged in the turbulent sea and I belonged on land. For a moment I thought he had looked back at me. I sat on the beach, holding my arms around my legs, and rested my chin on my knee; smiling as he gracefully swam away into the deep blue darkness.

***

April 2019

The next month went by slower than any other. I was awaiting my test results and praying. I felt the familiar chest pains that would appear during times of intense stress. I needed just one of the problems to go away, I thought. I could handle the Monster. I could handle the potential of early onset cancer. But I couldn’t do both.

My body felt like it was failing. I needed to be rid of one of the cancers in my life. I considered how the toxicity of the pain I had endured emotionally was manifesting in my body through the growth of these precancerous cells. I needed to figure out a way to ease my pain and eradicate an emotional or financial burden.

I made one last attempt at a peaceful resolution regarding our shared condo. We hadn’t received any worthwhile offers and, with the monster still refusing to pay, I was beginning to drown in debt.

We shared the following e-mail messages:

***

Good morning Lindsay,

Hope you enjoyed the weekend and sorry for the delayed response.

That’s too bad about the verbal offer.  And I’m surprised the cash offer never even countered/negotiated what we countered at.

I think we should drop the price down to $329K and leave it at that price while Spring and Summer rolls along.  We are then pricing to sell and we can entertain any offer $315K and above.  Think about when we bought the condo…it was priced at $325K.

I’m not opposed to having you refinance and keep the condo.  I’m not even opposed to discussing an alternative buyout amount from my original ask of my full down payment back.  If you’re still interested in refinancing and keeping the condo yourself, let’s entertain the idea.  We can even keep the condo listed, in case we do receive a decent offer, while you go through refinance process. 

I understand wanting to move on, Lindsay.  It’s been a really hard year on hearts.

I know we can work something out.  Let me know your thoughts.

Enjoy the day.  Miss you.

-The Monster

***

I nearly fell off my chair.

You miss me? No shit you fucking miss me, ass-clown.

My friends and I re-read the e-mail over and over, not quite understanding how in God’s name he had the right to miss me, let alone say it after all the games he had played. He filed a police report against me claiming credit card fraud, he filed a cease and desist, he claimed I cheated on him, yet he missed me?

What a joke.

Fine then, Monster. I’ll play along with your fucked-up game of fake niceties and politeness.

***

Hi Monster,

Sorry for the delay. 

Honestly, I don't want to be here anymore nor do I want to have it in my own name.  At this point, I just need to be rid of the asset and not paying for it anymore.  Back when we had originally discussed the deed, it was the summer and I was going to try and get a roommate for a year or so and then sell it on my own to try and make my family and I whole.  At the time, I really didn't think it was fair to take a $15K cash out refi to make you whole with my family and I being owed almost double that.  Hopefully you can understand.

When we couldn't agree on the deed, we listed it, so I obviously could no longer get a renter in when it could have sold at any moment.  I have done everything I can to keep paying and to keep our credit intact, but this is no longer financially feasible.  At this point, the longer I keep paying the mortgage myself, the higher it would need to sell for me to make up the lost funds.

I understand you wanting to get your money out of the condo. You have new expenses now and your own things going on; I get it.  I also want to get my $5K back from the condo down payment and recoup the funds lost from carrying the mortgage myself and lost from a wedding that I wanted to happen but that couldn't happen.  I think we both need to come to terms that we will most likely not get everything that we hope for in this scenario. 

I'm open to any proposal you have.  If you want the condo for yourself to sell or as an investment property, I think we both know you are in a better financial position to take that on and I'd happily entertain an offer or proposal.  If that's not on the table for you, then we need to agree now as to how proceeds will be split up when it sells; while keeping in mind that I realistically will not be able to carry the mortgage myself if it doesn't sell in the next month.

I have attached a spreadsheet of what would have been your half of the payments for all things Aldine related.  I'm hoping you have an idea or proposal that is fair to all parties involved.  You, my family, and I all just want what is right and fair.  It would be nice to come to a friendly agreement and move forward.  I look forward to the possibility of us mending our friendship and be able to grab lunch or a coffee when this is all over.

I hope you are doing well and let me know what you think!

Lindsay

***

Hi Lindsay,

Thank you for the follow up.

If you really want to sell the condo ASAP, then you need to list the condo at $329K...priced to sell.  Not list at $337K, our most recent price drop.  Dropping the price $3K isn't going to move the condo ASAP like we'd want.  I suggest we drop the price down to $329K and entertain all offers $315K and up.  AND, we can also go back to the cash offer and re-counter at $315K and see what they say?  A take it or leave it counter.

Regarding how to split the proceeds - I suggest we split 60/40, 60% for you and 40% for me.

And the possibility of mending a friendship and/or grabbing coffee when this is all over...as much as I would like to do that, you don't have to say those empty words you don't mean.  If you really wanted to move on and just be done with everything, you wouldn't be blogging about what all happened.  You wouldn't be paying for advertisement of your blog.  You wouldn't be posting pictures with hashtags that do not apply to our situation.  You wouldn't have used my credit card last Summer.  This isn't moving on nor a moment of clarity about possibly grabbing coffee one day, Lindsay.  I have always been upfront regarding my down payment "buyout" from your refi.  I'm sorry your lawyer never communicated that to you from day 1.  I know we both want to move on and get this condo sold.  So let's be real and aggressive about the listing price and get this condo moving.

Best,

The Monster

***

“He really is a piece of work,” Leslie said.

My attorney had reviewed all the messages he and I had exchanged; she, herself, unable to comprehend the lies coupled with the erratic and bi-polar nature of each correspondence.

“You know what to do.”

***

In May of 2019, I abandoned the condo.

I was scared, but it was the only choice. Ben and my relationship continued to flourish and we knew that I emotionally and financially needed to rid myself of the home I once shared with a crazed sociopath.

We knew that, as a financial advisor, the Monster would never risk losing his career on a foreclosure. We knew if he didn’t pay and thought I was bluffing, that it would ultimately tank both of our credit scores. We knew this but took the risk because, at the end of the day, I would still have a job. But the Monster? He would be reported to FINRA and the SEC, the regulatory bodies whom monitor individuals in his line of work. In that world, someone who cannot manage their own finances is not allowed to work in the industry telling others what to do with theirs.

Truth be told, there are days I wish he thought I was bluffing.

That month a few of our friends helped Ben and I move into our new shared apartment together. It was a downsize for sure; a small but brand new one-bedroom in the heart of Lincoln Park. It was the change Ben and I so desperately needed.

As we began to unpack our boxes, I felt a sudden sense of peace. Ben hugged me from behind and kissed the top of my head. He didn’t need to say a word for me to know we both were thinking the same thing. In the matter of an instant, the Monster had begun to fade away. I unpacked empty picture frames and placed them on the walls; restoring them with pictures of Ben and I, my family and, unapologetically, the cats.

We fused our lives together, neatly setting books in shelves and mixing and matching our sheets together. It felt like after so many years I was finally coming back home. It was a hodge-podge of things and stuff, but it was ours. I loved every bit of it. And just as my heart began to heal, I received an e-mail from my doctor.

“Your tests came back normal.”

I looked at Ben, put my head in my hands and began to cry. He ran over to hold me, maneuvering through the boxes and tissue paper thrown about the kitchen.

Normal, I thought.

That’s all I ever wanted.

***

The summer went by as quickly as it came. Ben and I enjoyed our newfound home and embarked on countless travel adventures from Texas to Arizona to Ohio and back.

The condo had yet to be sold, though it appeared that the Monster was making payments each month. I knew it wasn’t over, but in many ways it felt like it was. Other than the weekly blogging, I didn’t think about it during the day and I found peace in knowing that eventually he would be gone for good. Perhaps, I thought, I might one day forget it all; deliberate amnesia.

***

Thursday, October 10, 2019

As I climbed into bed, I did my usual checking of e-mail. I searched through e-mails from clients, readers, and perused through my blog statistics. As was custom, I ended the night checking my blog e-mail.

There it was.

A message from a girl named Sarah.

I opened it.

***

Hi Lindsay,

I’ve been sitting on this for awhile now.

I have zero bad intentions - and also accept that you may not find me relevant in any way shape or form.

I have more information to add to your story with the monster. The monster I’ve been referring to as a sociopath since 2012.

If you have no interest in this, please say so, and you will never hear from me again. If you do, please know I am an open book. 

Most of all, please know that I see you, I hear you, and I applaud you. I am an ally to you, despite what my past may say. 

You fucking go girl!

***

Her note took me by surprise; however, it didn’t rock my world like it would have in the past. I calmly wrote back, explaining that she was not alone. I explained that, in fact, over ten others had come forward regarding abuses they, too, had endured from the Monster.

She wrote back the next day saying she’d need to gather her thoughts but would reach back out soon.

I waited patiently.

***
Monday, October 14th, 2019
8:00 a.m.

My alarm went off boisterously. I shut it off and gently outstretched my arms over my head. Halsted came up from my feet to greet me with his usual, morning head bumps. It was sunny Monday morning, the air seemed light and crisp and the weekend spent with close friends had revitalized me.

As I laid in bed, I checked my work e-mail, making sure there wasn’t anything urgent or pressing before I hopped into the shower. As I swung my legs over the side of the bed, I saw it. It stopped me dead in my tracks.

Sarah had written it all out. Her story.

Our story.

Her note read,

“Here goes nothing. I attached a Word document. It's....wordy. But if I'm sharing my story, I'm going to share it all. Go big or go home has always been my motto.

I hope only positive things can come from this. 

Please know I am open to any and all emotions you may have regarding my truths. Please know my door is open for whatever support or questions you have. 

I hope there's a big glass of wine and some chocolate to accompany this novel!

Thank you, for providing this platform for healing. Thank you, thank you.”

I opened up her word document on my phone and there, sitting in bed; pants-less in my over-sized Santa Clara sweatshirt, I read her part of the story. I didn’t have to read it to know what it was. Regardless of the circumstances, I smiled. She had even titled it.

“Making Waves”

I immediately thought back to my friend; Chelonia Mydas.

Let’s set you free.

***

Chapter XIX: Making Waves

By Sarah

I remember very intentionally searching for and finding Lindsay on Instagram. I remember seeing her blog, and starting to read the Chapters. I remember the eerie coincidences; laughing at some, disturbed by others. I felt creepy almost, but I kept going. I even subscribed and paid to continue reading the Chapters. I immediately unsubscribed.

“Do I want to open this door again? Am I willing to give something attention that was so negative at some point in my life? Could this potentially be something positive? She said she was an open book, and wanted to hear people share their stories. Was mine worth sharing, or would it be just another disappointment for her in a saga that had already broken so much?”

I told myself that I would give it a couple of days, and if it were still on my mind, I’d write. I waited. It was still pulling at my insides, nagging me almost. I couldn’t ignore it any longer. So late one night when I couldn’t sleep, just like Lindsay did, I opened my laptop and the words came pouring out of me.

I don’t think my situation is unique. I don’t find it special. In fact, if I were on the outside reading all of this, I may be rolling my eyes, assuming the women involved are idiots - that this is yet another story of a dude screwing over a girl and leaving her heartbroken. It’s okay that some of you readers may be thinking those things right now. As much as people like to assume that females are in a hurry to find their husband and make babies while withstanding heartbreak after heartbreak first, that has never been what I’m about. I don’t believe in those types of “fairy tales” – that is not the way it should go. But I understand how easy it is to go there and you’ll see what I’m getting at soon enough.

The bottom line is this: this blog wouldn’t be what it is right now if it weren’t being followed by people who can relate to where we have been. So, judge away. I bet you’ll still keep reading though. And I bet you’re thinking about your past, or maybe even your present situation while you do. My hope is that you too will feel less alone in it. That you too will feel safe here.

What is special and unique about it, is that Lindsay created a space where it felt okay to be vulnerable and tell my story. My story that has parts in it that might’ve caused her pain. My story that has plenty of information that I have never shared with anyone; that I am ashamed of, that I didn’t ever think I would rehash.

So, this goes out to all of you. The variety of readers out there. Whether you’re rolling your eyes, judging, or crying and laughing along with us. The human thing to do is commend the strength it takes to be as vulnerable as we have been. To be brave enough to share our stories that don’t necessarily shine our best colors, in hopes to heal hearts that have been through some of the same.

To the ones who have been following along the whole time, or have joined along the way:  We see you, we hear you. To our fellow females who have been used, abused, deceived and left heartbroken, we are with you.

To the former friends who I watched make similar mistakes over the years:  The abusive boyfriends you went back to over and over again, the engaged/married/with children exes you still interacted with in more inappropriate ways than not, I never walked away from you in those times. Yet, you felt entitled to pass judgement on me; to place yourself on some high horse and turn your backs on me while I went through this. That betrayal is something I have yet to forget. This is for you too. I hope that we have all learned some lessons. I hope that you have gotten off of your high horse. And I hope that you enjoy the truth.

I finished writing my story and reread it a couple of times. I felt lighter, yet exposed. Vulnerable, yet strong. I felt like this was either going to be another impulsive and wild decision I made…..or it was going to be the start of something really fucking beautiful.

 **********

October 13, 2019

Lindsay,

I don’t know about you, but this week has been full of anxiety mixed with fatigue, and feeling a bit under the weather. I don’t know if you’re into astrology, or if it’s the seasons changing, but man this was a doozy.

It’s times like these when I feel I am struggling a bit, that I remind myself that this probably means I am shedding some things I need to; healing, if you will. So, although I subscribed to your chapters, then almost immediately unsubscribed, I feel that following through on this is appropriate and right. I believe there are many phases of healing. So while this does not hurt me anymore, I know that I and others carry these types of experiences with us. They are always there.

What matters to me now is he doesn’t affect me. He hasn’t in years. My biggest downfall is that human beings intrigue me, and I need to learn to accept that I won’t ever get answers as to why and how people do things like he has done, like my father did, like my ex boyfriends did. I don’t have the answers. I won’t ever comprehend those acts of deception, and for that, I am glad. Never once have I cheated, never once have I even thought about it. I will pride myself on those character traits always. I believe in honesty, and healing, and helping each other do the same. I’m transparent to a fault, and I bet the monster would vouch for that.

I met the monster in 2012. I know Savannah*, I know baby mama. We’re all from the same hometown. I’m pretty sure he dated them before he met me. I’m also fairly certain that I might be the one that nobody really knows about. We never actually dated. He just literally hasn’t gone away entirely since we met.

I’m not a petite, pretty, put together girl. I probably was more consumed with my appearance when we first met, but not anymore. I don’t care about money, or status, my nails are never painted, I swear constantly, and if I could wear workout clothes and no make-up every day for the rest of my life, I would. Those are not the boxes the monster checks off when seeking a partner. And frankly, he doesn’t check off many of my boxes either.

It went exactly as you described. We fell hard, and fast. Then he disappeared. I believe they’re calling it “gaslighting” nowadays? Maybe? I don’t know. He convinced me I was crazy. He confused me with all of the “facts” and details that never added up and I believed him. I thought I blew it. Blah, blah, blah. He’d come and he’d go, he’d find me when I was vulnerable like there was some fucking radar he had that was watching me. It was fucked up and creepy how accurate he was with that, honestly. Every time, I asked him about baby mama. I always knew in my gut she was there, and he still liked her and whatever. He always denied it. Then they’d be dating. Then they’d break up, and well, you get the picture.

In fact, when he was dating another poor victim in 2013, he reached out to me again – per his usual pattern. I told him I didn’t want to do this with him, especially since he was still in a committed relationship with someone else. About a month or so later, it was 2014 by now, he was dating baby mama. Clearly he had been working us both, and apparently she gave in. Ha, I forgot about that until just now. It feels nice to laugh about it.

When she moved in with him later that year, I was head over heels in love with someone else. I remember kind of knowing that eventually him and baby mama had broken up, and catching wind that there was a new girl in the picture. You! When I saw pictures, I thought to myself, “her – she is the girl the monster should be with, she is exactly who I would picture him with.”

It was the summer of 2015 when he reached out again. Shockingly (not) I was going through my most devastating heartbreak to date. I was a fucking disaster. The monster and I were not friends on social media, and I just literally have no fucking idea how he knows when I’m going through these things but per usual, there he was. We began chatting.

The problem with him is that by now he knows me. He knows too much. He knows everything about me and my past. He knows my college boyfriend is now married to my college best friend. He knows my dad had an affair when I was 20 and that my parents went through a pretty ugly divorce that took a toll on me that I perhaps still haven’t seen the depths of. He knows my stories, my pain, my triggers. He knows I trust next to no one, especially males. He’s a good listener when he wants to be.

But, whenever he reached out, because it was ALWAYS him that reached out, one of my first questions was always, “what do you want?” And he’d usually oblige to give me some vague, stupid answer. I always then brought up what relationship he was in at the time, and why he felt the need to reach back out to me when he appeared to be happily taken.

You see Lindsay, the only girl he never reached out to me while dating was baby mama. There was victim of 2013, and you, and maybe someone else I’m forgetting. But never baby mama. Probably because her and I were really just too close in proximity and know too many of the same people. I always wondered if she knew about me. It seemed he bounced like a ping pong ball back and forth with us. Funny enough, I remember liking baby mama. To be fair, she had never done anything to me directly. It was the unspoken link between us that made me uncomfortable.

Anyway, we just chatted, we met up once. I mostly used him to word vomit and seek attention through my break up. It stopped for awhile, until the winter. We met up again, and he kissed me.

Backstory: Since we met, he always tried to reenact the infamous Big and Carrie relationship from the show Sex and the City, a favorite of both of ours.

“You’re my Carrie, we end up together”, blah blah, barf.

It might’ve been cute in 2012, however it lost its touch on me after a year or so.

And just for some personal redemption here, let me just say this: Carrie, aka Sarah Jessica Parker, can easily be compared to me. Same curly hair, same name, same birthday.

The character “Big” was a wealthy and successful playboy that Carrie could never shake, and ultimately wound up with. “Big” was a nickname given to the male character for one obvious reason. A reason, that could not be applied to the monster. So, yeah.

Okay then, back to the story.

It was more around Christmas time when we met up again. I remember we randomly saw someone from our hometown at the bar. In the city of Chicago, on some weeknight. He came up to the table we were at and chatted with us. What were the odds? I felt like we were getting caught doing something bad that hadn’t even happened yet. That was the night we slept together.

The next day, he said he knew he wanted to move forward with you, and I was relieved. I felt that he was an itch I needed to scratch one more time, and then I wanted him to be gone for good.

As I type these words, I don’t recognize the person I am speaking of. I despise cheating, and I was an accomplice in it. I could try and justify to you and explain how shitty I felt about myself at that time, but there is no excuse. That isn’t me. Maybe old habits die hard, and ultimately, I wanted this saga to die. I am so, so sorry. I carry this guilt and disgust with me still. Any heaviness I feel surrounding it, is something I deserve the burden of. These are not my finest moments. I can only hope that you are able to look past my mistakes.

One mistake I never make, is with my birth control. Sorry not sorry.

I congratulated him when I figured out you were engaged. I was truly happy for you guys. I remember thinking to myself, “good, maybe this is it, and this girl rocked his world enough to make him change his ways.” I truly, genuinely, honestly, hoped for NOTHING more than that. Again, I was relieved; he was off the market for good.

It was June when I got another Facebook message from him. As always I asked him what he wanted right off the bat. It took a minute for him to finally say that the wedding was off. When I asked him why, he responded, “She cheated on me. I came clean to her about cheating on her. So we ended it.” I have the messages. I don’t care who sees them. I knew that wasn’t the whole truth. But, yet again, he found me in a totally vulnerable and shitty state. My company had lost the account I worked for, and I was laid off. Probably like, the day before this message. Seriously, it’s uncanny and I wish I was making it up. Also, I swear my life isn’t one huge sob story, despite what this story conveys right now (insert an LOL).

So, I slept with him. I am so fucking embarrassed and ashamed I did it again. I could blame it on whatever, and justify it with something, but the fact of the matter is; I did it again. So there we have it. This time, he really went off the radar after. I knew something was up.

It was a bit until I just happened to see a picture of baby mama on Facebook. We are not friends. I almost kept going, thinking it was nothing, but found myself scrolling back up, and clicking on the comments section.

As you already know, it wasn’t nothing. I started reading the comments and realized that she was very much so pregnant. There was no hiding it. I knew immediately that it was his. I knew this meant that not only had he cheated on his fiancée, but he knocked another girl up while doing it. I knew then that there was very little truth to you cheating on him. I knew that he never told you that before you two were engaged, he had slept with me. And I knew that he had probably been cheating with baby mama the whole time. I didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up.

I probably saved screenshots from the text conversation we had after that. It took him awhile to admit it. I had to back him in to a corner to do so. He slept with me, after I had pointedly ASKED him about baby mama, to which he claimed they had spoken but that was it. And he knew she was pregnant. And he slept with me anyway. I ASKED HIM POINT BLANK. “I know your patterns, monster. When is the last time you spoke to or saw baby mama?”

He told me she texted him about some savings account or something, and that’s how it all started again. I read that in your chapters. At least that part of his story matched up, right?

He blatantly lied, and then slept with me anyway that June, knowing his baby mama was months pregnant, and knowing that I was not yet aware she was. Fucker. I told him I hoped that that little boy had a man to look up to, because his father most certainly was NOTHING of the sort.

Then, I sent baby mama a Facebook message telling her. This was a new one for me, but I don’t regret it. Before, I didn’t really care honestly. It was always very unclear to me what their status was. This time, I felt that regardless of what state their relationship was in, I had yet again assisted him in going behind another female’s back, without my knowing, and it felt wrong in every way because now there was a baby involved.

Her response to me telling her that I was sorry that I slept with him, didn’t know she was pregnant, that she deserved better than that, and that I wished her and the baby well was…..“thanks.”

That’s all she said. Like, what?!

Lindsay, baby mama wanted to get knocked up. She wanted to have a baby. She wanted it to be the monster’s baby.

Birth control pills are 99.9% effective after 3 months of taking them. Before the 3 months, the doctor AND THE PACKAGE tells you to use other forms of contraception. If pills are taken daily and at the same time, pregnancy will not occur.

She. Wanted. To. Have. A. Baby.

Any other excuse is a level of stupidity that I refuse to acknowledge.

I understand that baby mama could potentially feel like a victim in this. And maybe she is in some ways. We’ll never know. All signs point to her getting everything she wanted out of this situation. Good for her. Own it, girl. And for the record, I genuinely meant it when I wished you well.

I don’t know what it says about me that I have gone on for so long. I don’t really care, I guess. This is my story. This is 7 years of bullshit. I have lost friends because of him. I have nearly lost my mind because of him. But I believe that the chapters in our lives, no matter how dark and ugly, deserve to be acknowledged. If they’re not, we are not learning, we are not growing. You and I, are brave enough to face life so we can learn and grow. Go, us.

Ultimately, I feel sorry for this human. People do not do the things he has done, unless they are deeply deranged themselves. The monster is seriously disturbed. I imagine he has pain buried so deep, he cannot even recognize it. It is so twisted by now, that he has no clue what is real and what isn’t anymore. He needs help. He is sick. I doubt that his huge ego will ever allow him to go there. But they say having a child changes people, and my hope is that that little boy will change the monster to his core.

The monster is a sad, sorry excuse for a man. He is a pussy in every way a boy can be. The only opportunity for redemption in his life, is for him to find the courage to face every single one of his many demons. I’m just sorry there is a child now involved in that disaster.

I’m not sorry, that it has nothing to do with me.

Lindsay, what you’re doing is incredible. I never would’ve reached out if it hadn’t been for social media and how moved I was to see a female not only turning her pain into power, but opening up a platform for others to do the same. Even when those others have wronged you the way I have. I know that this aspect of my life does not speak highly to my character. But I know who I am, and I hope you will let me be a strong advocate for you and your story.

I have met few women who have the balls to make waves the way I am willing to for something I believe in; I believe you are one of those women. And I believe in you.

Let me know how I can help.

Let’s make some waves.

**********

Chapter XX: Waiting for the End

I sat in my bed looking at my phone.

I read it only once; a shocking fact given my naturally anxious, over-analytical nature. I looked over a few parts and clicked the right side of my phone to allow it to go black.

I sat in my bed, hair tousled and lines on my face from my slumber not minutes earlier. I sat there and let it sink in. The facts that I somehow already knew but had never been told.

I sat there and, all alone, I laughed.

At first a giggle with a slight smirk; followed by a swift crescendo to a moderate chuckle.

Before I knew it I was laughing maniacally.

I got you mother fucker.

I immediately put on pants and running shoes; without any momentary hesitation. I headed toward the apartment door and, with a quick stroke down the backs of two cats, I left to run it out.

I hit the pavement hard with headphones blaring; thinking momentarily about the luck that would be mine should I get hit by a bus on the busy streets of Lincoln Avenue. What would happen to my body? Would the crushing of my bones be any better than what all of our hearts had endured? Or would it simply never matter. And would the stories, mine included, ever mean anything at all?

I thought about all the stories I had heard; the ones I had been protecting, the new and the old. And for a few songs, I felt my own self pity once again.

I thought about what lies he had to tell me in order to cheat; if I had been on a work trip for their rendez-vous or if he had been “out with his friends.”

I replayed countless of moments in my mind. Times of mistrust; mistrust that he had told me was misguided, unfair and just plain wrong. I recalled the moments of him telling me I was ruining our relationship with my trust issues and, as I began to resurface all the memories, I felt my blood boil.

Soon one mile became two, then three…four….five…

I soon began to love the pain beneath my feet, pushing through ever panting breath. The cement below each stride had become my whipping post and I was about to make this run hurt real good.

***

I don’t remember exactly what I said to Sarah in response and, to be honest, I’m not sure it matters. Soon Instagram DMs became text messages and then soon they turned into daily reminders that we were there for each other.

I recall her willingness to answer direct, poignant questions about the Monster’s transgressions. We compared notes, text messages and I confided in her my thoughts and feelings; her accepting each and every one as it progressed from one polarizing emotion to another.

I asked questions twice, three times, perhaps more; my trust issues resurfacing in a different form. I recall wondering if she was his mole; a side effect of my own paranoia that had become all to normalized in my new life. Just as I told myself that I needed to trust Ben, I knew I needed to learn to trust her, too.

Soon, we discussed her willingness to participate in the story; something many girls who had come forward were scared to do. And without thinking I took to the blog and removed the subscription almost immediately.

People needed to know the truth. He wasn’t going to abuse women anymore.

***

November, 2019

Things were starting to look up. The Monster and my shared condo was under contract contingency. This meant that the buyers were approved to purchase, pending their own condo sale in the Gold Coast. The final tie that connected us would soon be gone and I could rid myself of him forever.

Inspectors came and went, papers were signed, yet nobody agreed to purchase their home. Soon, the offer expired and all hope of a sale fell through. One again, the Monster and I were back at square one.

***

I poured myself a glass of wine and sat solemnly at the bar in our kitchen.

“I don’t know what to do, Ben,” I said gravely. “He’s been hanging over our heads for far too long.”

Ben nodded, staying positive in his responses.

Just as I took another swig of cabernet, a knock came at our apartment door. My panic set in and, without having to see, I knew it had something to do with him.

“Ben you have to get the door. It can’t be good,” I said nervously grabbing his shoulder.

He looked at me confused, quickly realizing that my intuition usually served me well; an odd skill I had acquired as the skeptic that I had tragically become.

As Ben walked towards the door I sat completely still; motionless and silent as I listened to the deep raspy voice at the door.

“Is Lindsay Damrow here?”

“What’s this regarding?” Ben asked sternly.

“I’m here to serve her papers. She’s being sued,” the voice said.

“By who?” Ben replied.

“The Condo Association of 415 Aldine,” he said.

Ben stared at him silently.

On a fucking Sunday?

“Listen man, if I can’t serve her now, I’m just going to keep coming back,” he said.

Ben closed the door and asked for a moment. He approached me in the living room, huddled on the chair with my knees up to my chest.

“It’s the association; you can’t avoid it. Just go and take it and explain you have the General Release document,” Ben explained to me calmly.

What the officer serving the papers didn’t yet know was that I had forced the Monster’s hand in signing a document. I told the Monster I wouldn’t sign an agreement to drop the price on our condo unless he signed the paperwork drawn up by my attorney, Leslie, stating that he would release me from any financial responsibility to the property, including, but not limited to, mortgage payments, association dues, closing costs, etc.

I sucked air in to my chest and walked towards the front door.

As I opened the door, I could see the man’s heart drop. He hated that he was there.

“Miss, I’m so sorry to do this on a Sunday.”

“I am released from financial responsibility to the property,” I said stoically.

“Miss, I’m just the messenger here. If you call this number, they will take whatever information you have,” he said as he handed me a mountain of paperwork with the condo association’s legal team’s contact information. “Have a nice night and, again, I’m sorry.”

I began to close the door, shooting him an unintentional look of defeat without accusation.

“Thanks,” I said.

***

The 415 W. Aldine Condominium Association was suing both of us for lack of payment on the monthly association dues; monthly dues that I alone had been making up until the day I left the property; monthly dues that the Monster had agreed to pay for when he signed the General Release document not a month earlier.

“How long has it been since he paid?” Ben asked shocked.

“He never paid,” I said. “Since May. He’s almost $7,000 in arrears.”

Ben looked at me and scoffed. “For someone that likes to brag about money, he sure as shit doesn’t seem to ever have it or do the right thing with it.”

***

I had no idea of what his arrangement was with his child’s mother. Perhaps he was bleeding dry in child support and couldn’t truly pay the assessments. Perhaps he was faking a relationship with her so she didn’t come after him for the money. I had no idea and, to be honest, I didn’t give two fucks.

What I did know was that he had recently left his financial advising job at a large regional bank to start his own independent RIA (Register Investment Advisor) elsewhere. And what he didn’t know was that the firm he moved to was conveniently a client of mine.

Ah, the ultimate karma.

Just so we’re all on the same page: the Monster advises people, usually older folks, on how to invest their money. He puts their life savings into various investment vehicles and strategies in order to attain the financial goals they wish to achieve. How he makes money; however, is by charging some type of fee, which is usually a percentage of the assets under management.

Now, let’s think about this for a second. Would you want someone who easily lies, cheats and steals from their own fiancée to manage the money you have? Would you want someone who is defaulting on their own bills to tell you what to do with your money? What about your parent’s money? Your friend’s money? Didn’t think so.

Regardless, that’s what our irreverent conman does. For those of you hoping to keep tabs on this monster, you can search for him by name or ID number on a lovely site called Broker Check. This site is maintained by a private corporation called FINRA. FINRA stands for the Financial Industry Regulatory Authority. As many of you already know, FINRA is very concerned with the integrity and honesty of those they regulate and they aim to ensure the sound financial situations of the advisers and institutions they supervise. It certainly would provide a worrisome conflict of interest should an individual who cannot manage his own financial affairs have access to the funds of others; like your dear, sweet Granny, now wouldn’t it?

What I also knew was that he had always planned to move firms. He planned to do so because he would receive a very large upfront commission check or signing bonus; a monetary amount of which would easily fall into the six figure range. Now, to be fair, this amount would have to last him while he raked in his clients one by one while facing a “non-compete order” from his previous firm. Regardless, the six figure check would have easily paid for the money owed to my family and the money owed to the condo association.

The truth of the matter was, he didn’t care. The truth that I wholeheartedly knew was that he enjoyed the game. He wanted to drag me through the mud as long and as painfully as possible. He knows me; how I operate. He knows that my anxiety is my greatest downfall and that the unknown eats away at my heart like leprosy eats through skin. He wanted that. When the time finally came, he would pay. He would pay, but he would wait and evade being served for months. He would wait and force me to seek and pay for official counsel on the matter.

And that is exactly what happened.

***

I reached out to Leslie the very Sunday that I was served legal paperwork. She responded not minutes later with a referral; a real estate law firm. This was outside of her normal scope of law and she directed me to the partner of a law firm in the suburbs near my parents.

“Tell them I sent you,” she wrote.

I immediately drafted up a letter. Through tears that I hate to admit, I pleaded desperately for their help. At this point, from the blog and my own verbal recounts of what he had done, I painted a picture of the state I was in and all that had transpired over the past year and a half.

I hit send and shut my computer abruptly; letting my head finally rest on the top of its black surface to catch my inevitable tears.

***

The next morning, the partner of the firm e-mailed me with multiple associates copied to the exchange. He asked for me to come in immediately and offered his condolences on the whole situation. I quickly called my father and asked if he, too, could attend the meeting with me. Surely his expertise on the industry in which the Monster worked might provide additional insight on leverage we might have. He agreed and we set up a meeting in their Northbrook offices for that very week; Thursday.

***

I cried a lot during those few days. As a matter of fact, throughout the whole ordeal, this was the worst part of it all. I didn’t enjoy self-pity; as a matter of fact, whenever I felt it coming on, it usually prompted a quick self deprecating jab to take its place. This time was different.

This time I was just too tired.

Inconsolable; the first word that comes to mind, though it hardly does it any justice. Just as most humans do, I had endured my fair share of hardship, suffering and pain throughout my 33 years of life. Despite it all, there was a new feeling surfacing this time; something much deeper and darker.

I didn’t want to be alive anymore.

I only said it once out loud; to Ben. Not because I wanted to harm myself nor because I had any intention of performing some selfish act of self termination. The simple truth was that living with constant dread, dread without any end in sight, had finally become insufferable. The unending torment made me wish, for the first time in my life, that I wasn’t alive to feel it.

I knew if it wasn’t for me, my parents wouldn’t feel the pain they do. I knew if it wasn’t for me, Ben would have a normal relationship. I began to stop thinking of myself as strong and resilient. Instead, for the first time, I saw myself as a burden; a cross for others to have to bear; a cancer. I didn’t feel sorry for myself, I felt sorry for those who were foolish enough to love me, to allow me a place in their lives.

Ben held my head in his chest as the tears wailed from my body; pressing his face down to the top of my head. He held on for dear life.

“I just can’t do this anymore,” I said through exasperated, heaving breaths. “I…just wish I wasn’t alive. I wish you never had to know me.”

In that moment, head pressed up against his beating chest, I could feel his heart sink and I felt once more the disappointment; a never ending cycle of grief. Ben knew the self deprecation; the jokes. He knew my tears and my, sometimes, unpredictable acknowledgement of my own pain. But this; this was new. It was new and it was scary; for both of us. For the first time, I didn’t have the energy to fight; energy I sorely needed to finally cross the finish line and end this saga once and for all.

He held me closer; tighter than ever before.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he softly but firmly demanded. “This will be over soon; I can feel it.”

***

Thursday, November 2019

I took the day off to mentally prepare for my visit to the attorney’s office. I met my dad in the parking lot of their corporate office building, parking my Mini Cooper carefully next to his beloved, green pickup truck. We met eyes and hugged, not saying much of anything. We both let out a deep and absolute sigh before heading towards the doors to walk in together.

A small and gentle man by the name of Barry* greeted us after a few minutes in the waiting room. Neither my dad nor I were relaxed enough to sit down on the sofa. He could sense our tension; fully palpable in our current state.

He spoke softly yet firmly; his demeanor quite the opposite of what I had pictured an attorney to be.

Barry sat at the head of the table and motioned for my dad and I to sit to his left. He explained how he specialized primarily in the areas of real estate, corporate law and litigation and that he would be the one overseeing our case alongside another, female litigator by the name of Ann*. He also mentioned that one of the partners, Thomas*, would be joining us as well. Thomas, I explained to my dad, was the attorney whom Leslie had suggested I reach out to and the person whom I had e-mailed.

Moments later, Thomas walked in from another entrance of the large conference room. He spoke loudly and firmly when introducing himself; exuding an air of positivity, but without gimmick.

He spoke to my dad and I casually for a few minutes, trying to ease our nerves by bringing gentle levity and openness to the room. He asked a little about my job, where we were from; an attempt to make the two of us feel more at home in their large, foreboding office. Without much interlude, he quickly sat down across from my father and I and asked me a simple question. The question that this blog had prepared me for in spades.

“Okay, Lindsay. Start from the beginning.”

***

I had practiced this story in my head over and over; recalling the nights I lied awake thinking and overthinking every portion of what I had learned about the Monster. I recounted the play by play of what happened to me, the blog and what I had uncovered about the other girls. The more we penetrated into the details of the twisted, convoluted plot, the more Thomas and Gary glanced up at each other; their silent acknowledgement of uneasiness as I unearthed each detail.

I had already provided them documents for them to review. On paper, perhaps, the case was simple, but this; this was not fully what they were expecting.

The looked at each other and sighed a few times; never without words to say, though sometimes, perhaps, wondering if there ever would be the right thing to say.

I spoke in a clear and concise manner, the tremble in my voice certainly obvious, though I wasn’t going to let tears run the show this time. My eyes remained dry up until the point that Thomas asked another direct question.

“What do you want out of this?”

I could feel my eyes well up and at that point, I knew I had to give in. As tears streamed down both cheeks, I didn’t dare to break eye contact.

“I just want this to be over,” I said. My dad grabbed my arm and squeezed it three times. Our secret symbol for “I love you.”

My dad then began to speak and I heard his voice crack into what seemed like a million pieces. And, for the first time since his own mother died, I saw my father cry.

“The toll this has taken on not just Lindsay, but on me and my wife and our son,” he started choking up; pausing momentarily to catch his breath. “We will never fully recover. We let this monster into our home.”

Barry and Thomas nodded in empathetic agreement, both letting out an exhausted sigh in solidarity.

“The fact that this son of a bitch robbed us of money is one thing, but it’s also the time. The time my daughter wasted. Time that should have been spent being happy and starting a family…” he looked in my direction and frowned; his lips quivering into a soft whimper.

“The fact that maybe now, she can’t have a family…I c-can’t even start to understand how that can be…”

The attorneys looked at each other again and without pause, Barry spoke.

“We understand, Doug. Both Thomas and I have a daughter Lindsay’s age,” he said as he looked in my direction and smiled politely.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Thomas then started. “We’re going to take care of you. Because its just the right thing to do. You both have been through enough.”

I looked up from my tissue not fully understanding what he was saying.

“Now there will be some small court filing fees here and there, but as a partner of this firm, we will not charge you a retainer or for our time.”

My jaw dropped and I could feel my dad let out the breath he had been patiently holding as we both began to thank them repeatedly.

As my dad continued his thank yous and we all discussed our formal plan, Barry turned to me and smiled.

“Lindsay, you need to stop worrying about this,” he said warmly. “This is our problem now, and no matter what, we will solve it. It’s going to be over very soon.”

And in that moment, I finally let go.

***

I spoke with Barry and Ann occasionally over the next two months; meeting Ann in person to sign paperwork. She was just as pleasant as she was terrifying and I knew very quickly that to go up against her in litigation would be an absolutely delicious nightmare.

While the Monster was successful in evading being served, my legal team worked symbiotically with those representing the condo board, explaining the situation I was in and how I wasn’t legally responsible for the funds that were owed. They agreed to suspend our impending court date and hired a private investigator to try and find where the Monster had been hiding. For a while, we thought he had fled. To be honest, he probably should have.

The gratitude I felt for this team was unending. They held my hand without me having to ask; walking me through every option, every possibility all while enjoying and, occasionally participating in, my humorous jabs at the Monster’s expense. I truly love them and owe them so much more praise and money than words would ever express on this simple blog. Because of them, I knew it was going to be okay.

***

January 2020

After New Years, I received a message from a friend; a friend who had approached the Monster regarding buying our old condo. While the details of how the Monster came to make this deal are abysmal, I nevertheless was grateful to finally have a way out.

I contacted Barry and Ann immediately. They reached out to the attorney representing him for the sale. The Monster had agreed to pay all back expenses to the condo board as well as all closing costs and fees associated with the sale; all listed out per my General Release. While I was ecstatic to be nearing the end, the offer; however, would unfortunately provide no proceeds to either one of us. Instead, the Monster was going to have to pay in order to get out from under it.

My jaw about dropped when I saw what the Monster was set to pay at closing; laughing hysterically to myself at the irony of the amount; almost exactly what he owed my parents and I to make good on his promise.

$33,839.12

Ahhh, karma really is a bitch.

***

January 16th, 2020

I sat anxiously in my chair at the office; trying to use any excuse to distract me from the news I was anxiously awaiting. The closing.

Because of all I had told Barry and Thomas about the Monster, they felt it would be best if I didn’t show up to the closing that day. Instead, Barry graciously offered to be my Power of Attorney and I granted him rights to sign any and all closing documents on my behalf.

I still smirk thinking of the Monster sitting in that cold conference room across from my team of lawyers, expecting to see me one last time; to torture me one last time.

Sorry, Asshole.

At about 3:00 p.m. I heard a familiar “ding” come from my computer and all at once I shot up and put my arms up and my hands to the top of my head.

An e-mail from Ann.

“It’s done.”

My coworkers immediately started clapping and cheering intermittently; knowing all too well what news I had been waiting for and knowing how long it took me to get here.

It wasn’t long before Ben came bounding over to my desk, engulfing me in the biggest hug I didn’t know I needed. I let myself linger there with him wrapped around me.

“Finally,” he said. “This chapter is over.”

***

Later that afternoon, after our friends and co-workers had slowly trickled out of the office, Ben came back over to my desk and sat down in the empty seat next to me.

“We need to go out and celebrate,” he said enthusiastically. “C’mon grab your jacket!”

We hurried down to the Red Line at Washington station and grabbed the first northbound train, getting off at the next stop at Grand Avenue. As we walked up the stairs towards street level, it had occurred to me where he was taking me.

Ramen-San.

The irony wasn’t lost on me as we walked into the trendy and cozy spot. It was the exact place where it all started; where the Monster took me to dinner before he unleashed all that he had done. We were here to make a new memory, to make sure that all the bad ones associated with people, places and things were replaced with feelings of joy and hope.

As we poured the sake and clicked our glasses to cheers, Ben turned to me and smiled. “How do you feel?”

I looked at him and smiled, feeling warm yet incredibly unsure; the uneasiness that I had become so accustomed to was still there.

I looked up at him and reached for his hand that he had reached out towards mine, holding it tightly.

“To be honest; I don’t even know who I am anymore,” I said sincerely as the tears began yet again. “I don’t remember what life felt like; what I felt like before this all happened.”

Ben looked at me, and despite my depressed state, he smiled.

“You will.”

***