You what?
I wrote to "Landscapers' Challenge," but they replied we would have to spend at least ten thousand dollars to even be considered. So don't worry, that's that.
I was folding laundry and didn't see the look on William's face.
And you signed my name to the letter?
I looked up, and in an instant I knew this was a big thing. A small fissure that was actually a chasm. Shit, shit, shit...I've done it again...mistake, mistake, mistake...trapped.
You can’t sign my name to things.
It sounds like you don't trust me.
William started to leave the room.
Just wait. You don't trust me, and you don't think of this as our house, do you? It's your house and I'm just living here, right?
To his credit, William didn't walk away, but neither did he deny the accusation. Deep down, I knew I was fucked. No matter how sincere his desire for us to have a life together...he hadn't made the leap.
The sobs came fast and hard. I fell forward into a pile of sheets and cursed myself for my foolishness. Damn, damn, damn. I'd done it again. I was fine by myself. I was fine in my own apartment. I didn't need this. Why did I take this chance? I cried and cried from a heart broken as shattered china.
Eventually I pulled myself together. William stood motionless. He looked at me, worried, and put his hand on my back. He wanted to comfort me, but both of us knew we had already stepped into a hard truth. Trust.
Before we'd cemented living together, William had an idea that we should try some counseling. I'd spent three years in therapy before we had met and was a fan of my gifted therapist. She worked fast. She didn't allow for whiny jags, stopping me with "Okay, that's enough crying" or "You have no one to be mad at now….It's over." She had helped me get to my story through a combination of compassion and setting boundaries.
Though William had never stepped into a therapist's office, I was pleased he was willing to give it a try. We knew we had to make an appointment quick.
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