My eldest daughter knocked on my door at around midnight. I woke up from my light sleep as her knocks were urgent and almost like an emergency. “Mom… Open the door, right now,” she said. And so I scrambled and stood up from the bed, half asleep, I opened the door, and she entered.
“Where’s dad? Is he here?” I pointed the space on my bed and said, “He’s still in New York. Won’t be traveling ‘til tomorrow.” I walked back to my bed and lay down. “Get up, mom. I saw his car. Let’s go there now.” My daughter said. I rubbed my eyes on her statement, and my eyebrows met. “What are you saying, girl?” I asked her. She replied with a “He is here, and I saw his car. Let’s go there, right now.” She took my keys and hurriedly went out to the car park.
I heard her turn on the car and she even managed to honk softly once. To prove her wrong, I put on my jeans and sneakers, took my bag, and put a baseball cap on. She drove for about four minutes while telling me over and over again how she saw her dad’s car parked outside an apartment building which was five minutes away from our block. I told her that I spoke with her dad a few hours ago and he said that he was so tired of their event at work, he slept early. I believe him because he is fond of sleeping, that man. I guess, I just believed everything he said so that there won’t be any problems.
To say that I was shocked was an understatement. My daughter was right. It was his car. His Jeep was parked in the Number 5 parking space of the new apartment building. She was right all along.
“Mom, I can’t take this anymore. I know dad has been screwing around behind your back. This is it! And just five minutes away from our home? He is so brave!!! This is so insulting, mom!” My daughter is 19 years old, and she can pretty much say what she wants, but I still tell her off. “Your mouth, Melinda. We still don’t know what this is, and so, we best be calm.” We walked to the fifth floor, and my daughter knocked on the door.
Guess who opened the door and in his boxer shorts, no less? Oh yes, it was him. My husband of 22 years was in a strange apartment and his underwear as if he was so comfortable in that place. Melinda did the talking and the screaming, oh the cursing and the obscene words. This shouldn’t have happened. I just kept quiet. To be honest, I didn’t say anything. I just looked at him with a mixture of disappointment, disgust, anger, and pity. Actually, I pulled my daughter away from the door and told her in a meek voice, “Let’s go. He’s not worth it.”
I could hear my daughter cry even if she were in the other room. She is so affected by all of this, but why am I not? Is it because I have already expected this? Or maybe because I already know what’s going on and that I just put a cloud in my mind while I continued to live this pathetic married life? And now, my daughter has seen all of it and partly, I think, it’s my fault. I should have confronted my husband three years ago when I first learned of his affair. I should have put a stop to this, but I haven’t, and now my daughter is suffering.
The next day, I called my therapist and asked for an emergency session. I brought my daughter with me since that’s my only way to help her heal. Yes, I’ve been seeing a therapist for the last three years. I think that’s the reason why I have survived this long. Hopefully, my daughter will recover from her father’s indiscretion as it had affected her too.