Seeing Red, or Anything to Protect the Kids

Content / Trigger warning: This post contains descriptions of child abuse. It also includes photos, which I've gone to great lengths to cover so they are not immediately visible to try to minimize any negative impact. You will have to click and hold on any of the pictures to see the photo content.

This post is going to suck. It's hard and emotional to write this and I've avoided it for almost two months because I'm just...dreading it. I'm still dreading it, even as I write this.

So, Brett and I moved to a split custody schedule right around Halloween 2016. It was...tough, but it was more or less working. In June of 2017, I interviewed for and was offered a job with a new company. I was ecstatic! It was closer to home, and while it paid less, offered a ton of opportunities for advancement and came with some pretty amazing benefits. I accepted the position, with a start date of June 19, 2017. (Knowing my start date has allowed me to keep track of the dates involved in this with a surprising amount of accuracy given the amount of time that's elapsed.)

Tuesday June 13th. Brett had had the kids overnight and dropped them off at daycare that day. Shortly after my shift started, I got a phone call from the nurse at Parkway's Early Childhood Center where David was doing half days (the other half being at our regular daycare facility) according to his IEP. She asked about a mark on David's face that hadn't been there the day before. I told her that David had been with his dad the night before and provided her with his phone number so she could call him. As soon as I got off the phone with her, I called Brett myself to ask him about it. He told me that one of the cats had scratched David's face and there was a rash, like an allergic reaction. I accepted his explanation and told him to expect the nurse's phone call.

I was surprised when a while later, I got a phone call from a Child Services worker who went by CJ. He explained there had been a report filed about the mark on David. I told him what I'd told the nurse, that the kids had been with Brett. We set up a home visit for later that week, and he went to Brett's for a home visit that night. Everything seemed more or less okay. The daycare sent me a picture of David a little later that day.

I was pretty floored, but I assumed that Child Services would do their job (error #1 on my part). I got the kids back Wednesday after work. The four of us were eating dinner and as I brought David something he'd asked for, I saw it up close for the first time, in good light, and my jaw hit the floor.

As I stared at this huge mark on the side of his face, all I could think was, "Oh my God, that looks like a handprint." The palm covers the majority of his cheek, the thumb extending along the jawline. There's a slight gap to the right of his eye in a sort of diagonal direction that looks like it would account for the joints right where the fingers meet the hand, with the fingers then extending up into the hairline. I asked David what had happened, and he just looked at me before quietly saying, "He did it." Amy immediately jumped in with "Monte scratched him, Dad said Monte scratched him!" I thanked them both and we proceeded with dinner.

Later that evening when I was putting the kids to bed, I asked David again. What happened, buddy? He hesitated. "Monte scratched me." David, that's not a scratch on your face. What happened? He hesitated again. "He did it." Who did it? "Daddy did it." Silence from me. How the hell was I supposed to respond to that??

Once I saw it, though, I couldn't un-see it. But I justified the hell out of it. I had to be imagining it. Brett would NEVER do that. It was just not possible. It had to have been an accident. It just...just no. I refused to believe what was in front of my face. When CJ came for my home visit that Friday, I flat out told him that I firmly believed Brett would never harm one of our children and there had to be an explanation.

One of the questions that did come up in that visit was if Brett should still have the kids that weekend as previously scheduled. I very directly asked CJ if it should still be allowed or if he recommended I keep the kids. His response was that he saw no reason to keep the kids from their father, so I unquestioningly went along with it. Error #2.

Sunday evening, June 18th, I got a call from Brett around 7pm. One of my partners at the time was over and heard my half of the conversation as Brett told me he'd "noticed" a bruise on David's hand and wrist that he wasn't sure what caused it, but guessed he'd hit it on something at the park earlier that day. I felt pretty panicky, and asked him to make sure he documented it and sent me a picture since we were technically still under investigation by CS. He responded that David was asleep and he didn't want to wake him. I shrugged it off and we hung up, but I just had this sinking feeling as I sat outside on the porch. I texted him, insisting that he really needed to take a picture, and that even though it seemed kinda silly, he should really take David in to the pediatrician Monday morning just to cover our collective rear ends. He refused to take David to the doctor, but about 45 minutes later texted me a picture saying it had taken him that long because David was still awake and he didn't want to keep him up.

Because of the flash from Brett's camera phone, it's a bit difficult to see the extent of this, and I don't have a digital copy of the one they ended up taking later. But there was clear bruising and a great deal of swelling to the radial side of his right hand and wrist.

I was shocked. I had photographic evidence of 2 different incidents in less than a week of David turning up with mysterious, unexplained bruises while at his dad's. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, and dialed the number for CJ's cell phone. I explained what Brett had told me and our interaction on the phone, the odd and directly conflicting reasons for not sending me a picture, and then...the picture he finally texted me. I told him that I still didn't want to think the worst, but that I was definitely concerned. He asked me to text him the picture, and I did. He immediately told me that he'd have to talk with his supervisor, but that I should be prepared because they may need me to take David to the hospital on Monday just to get checked out and to document the marks.

The next day, Monday, was my very first day of my new job. Training isn't really enjoyable for any job, I think, but I was excited about the newness of the material.

Around 10am, I got my first call from CJ telling me he was talking with his supervisor, that they were definitely concerned, and that I should be on standby for further instructions. I told him I would do whatever they needed me to. Around 11am, I got my second call from him, telling me that they were extremely concerned, and that I needed to either take David to one of a couple hospitals immediately, or they would send an ambulance for him. I agreed to pick him up and take him to Cardinal Glennon (one of 2 area children's hospitals with a team that specializes in suspected abuse cases). We hung up.

I nervously approached my trainer, who I'd known for all of 3 hours, and told him that there was an emergency and I needed to take my son to the hospital. Honestly, I half expected to be told not to bother coming back. Instead, he just looked at me expectantly and asked, "Why are we still talking about this?? Go take care of your son! We'll see you tomorrow or whenever you get back. Go." I legit ran out of the building and sped to the daycare, explaining to David that with his owies the past few days we just wanted to make sure he was okay, so we were going to go see some special doctors. He was pretty nonplussed and went along with it. Olivia remained there at the daycare and Amy was at summer camp at the nearby YMCA.

While I took David to the ER at Cardinal Glennon, CJ took a police officer (or two?) to go talk to Amy about what had happened.  He had asked me during one of our phone calls if I thought she would tell the truth when asked about the incident. I thought for a minute and responded that in all honesty, if she thought she was going to get someone she cared about in trouble, she would probably lie. I'd seen it many times before with her siblings. I told him that generally, when she was clearly trying to feed me a line, I would remind her that it's important to be truthful and that she won't get in trouble for telling the truth. According to his report, she was definitely being rather fanciful at first. He eventually asked her if she knew the difference between a lie and the truth, and she said yes and then told him she'd been lying. When asked for the truth, she told him that David had gotten in trouble and was supposed to be sitting on the couch, but that he wasn't listening, Dad got mad, and then hit him. She mimicked the motion of hitting someone, and pointed to her wrist when asked where David was hit.

At the ER, we were quickly checked in. A doctor and a couple of nurses came in and talked to us, taking a number of pictures to document the marks on David. As part of their protocol for suspected abuse cases, they had David and I talk separately with a specially trained social worker. After the discussions we had, CJ called again, asking me to bring David to the University City Police Department to talk with the officers there.

By this point, Brett had evidently called the daycare to check on David, only to be told he wasn't there. (I had been advised not to tell Brett I'd taken him to the hospital.) He repeatedly berated and threatened me for taking David, and threatened me with legal action if I didn't tell him where we were and give him access to David. I was advised not to disclose where we were, so I told him that David was safe, I was getting him checked out, and that I was complying with requests from Child Services. David and I met with a detective from UCPD. We talked for a while and they eventually took me into a legit interrogation room (scary cement, video recorders, the whole terrifying nine yards) and asked me a bunch of questions and took a statement.

It was incredibly intimidating. I maintained that I had a hard time believing Brett would intentionally harm one of our kids, that he had never been physically abusive with me or the kids while we'd been together, and that while he certainly had a temper and could be physically intimidating, he had never laid a hand on any of us. I just...didn't know how else to explain the marks on David. The cognitive dissonance was very strong. I just could not reconcile my knowledge of who Brett was with the idea of him hurting David. That was not the Brett I knew. That wasn't the man I married, or the man I had children with. Someone (can't remember who, there were 3 or 4 people in and out) pointed out that, well, he wasn't the man I married anymore. How well did I know him at this point?

And that really floored me. Because, well...yeah. The man I married and had children with would never have cheated on me, would never have walked away from our family. And yet he had. How well did I really know him anymore? It had been over 2 years since we'd separated. I grudgingly admitted that while I didn't want to believe it, I didn't have a better explanation, and that I was genuinely concerned for the kids, particularly for David. I had to explain that while we'd been separated for quite some time, we did not have a legally binding custody arrangement. That worried both the detective and CJ. CJ had already spoken with Brett and told him that they were putting in place a "safety plan" that specifically said I should have custody of the children until they concluded their investigation. The detective recommended under the circumstances that I file an order of protection on behalf of the children. I balked at that. I knew what a restraining order was. It sounded incredibly harsh, but they explained that it was really the only thing at that point that would give me grounds to do what I needed to in order to protect the kids.(Side note: Brett was asked to come down and answer questions just like I had. It was only after his refusal that the detective advised me to file the order. When he eventually did go, many days later, the police documented that he was belligerent and evasive, and tried to get a warrant to arrest him for abusing David.)

So I filed it. We scrambled to complete the paperwork and fax it to the court before 5pm. A judge signed the ex parte order (temporary/emergency order) and set a court date. I had immediate, full custody of the kids until further notice.

I was a mess. My world was crashing down around me. All I could think was, No. No no no no no. Not this. Not him. Not my child.

I'm not an idiot. I know there are all sorts of statistics on the cycle of abuse. The abused often becomes the abuser. And I had been so terrified of that for so long that despite desperately wanting to be a mother, I seriously considered not having kids. I was terrified that, regardless of the years of therapy, somehow I would continue the cycle. When I decided to go ahead and to trust that I could be a good parent, I swore to myself that I would be the mother I should have had.

I would be the mother I should have had.

I would fight for my children. Boldly. Aggressively. Unceasingly. I would protect them at any and all cost, against anyone I needed to. And yeah, maybe I would fail, but it would not be for lack of trying, and there wouldn't be a soul alive who could look at it and think I should've done more.

And so as I sat there in the police station, all I could think was, no. Not this time. NOT MY CHILD.

And I signed the paperwork for the order of protection.

Next: The Circus Begins, or I'm Really Tired of Going to Court

The Waiting Game, or the Roller Coaster

Content warning: brief mention of sex, infidelity, brief language

Brett moved out and moved in with his mistress, opting to move into a one-bedroom apartment with her that meant he couldn't really have the kids overnight regularly. He'd take them on occasion but by and large, I began functioning as a full time parent.

It bears pointing out that as soon as I had discovered Brett's infidelity, I started working part time at a local movie theater (having been out of the work force for 5 years and needing some money coming in, in addition to school). In August of that year, on Amy's birthday, I started working full time for Cigna as a customer service rep. I did not return to school. I stayed at Cigna for just shy of 2 years.

Man, divorces are EXPENSIVE. Brett and I by that point both acknowledged the need for a divorce but neither of us had the money to actually hire an attorney. He continued his relationship with Kathryn. I eventually started dating that winter.

Co-parenting with Brett has been a roller coaster from day 1. Some times we'd be getting along well and work together fairly seamlessly. Other times, we were very much at odds and arguments were plenty and plenty ugly.

We had agreed at one point that the other co-parent would get to meet any partners prior to them being introduced to the kids. That meant meeting Kathryn. I specifically requested that we meet for drinks because honestly, I needed some alcohol to be able to deal with actually being face to face with that woman.

This was during one of the better times between Brett and I, and was before I started dating. He and I had actually slept together a few times since splitting up, and he had been very candid (and rather proud) about having had unprotected sex with several women off Tinder. While with Kathryn. After leaving me for her. And still sleeping with me.

Kathryn and I met and talked over drinks. We asked each other a few questions. Eventually she flat out asked me if I thought he would cheat again. I practically spit out my drink, but considered carefully. There was no way she would believe me if I told her. I would just be the vindictive, petty ex-wife trying to ruin their relationship...or whatever.

So instead I told her, "Absolutely, 100%, if he hasn't already. You should really get tested." To which she responded, "Why, do you have something?"

Oooooh, the nerves of that woman. I don't remember exactly what I said to that, but it was to the effect of, no, but I don't know where he's been since me.

After I began dating my first girlfriend, several months into our relationship he finally met her. After that I stopped really caring about his approval, to be honest, because I'm poly and have more partners to coordinate, and it just didn't make sense. Besides, I wasn't the one who'd taken up with another person while we were still together.

There were many incidents during this time that just enraged me. One of the most vivid is Mothers' Day of 2016. I had the kids. We'd had kind of a crazy day, and ran to Schnucks so I could pick up some sushi for dinner because dammit, it was my day and I wanted sushi. As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, both girls started vomiting in the back of the car. Come to find out, they'd gotten into the bottle of kids' multivitamins and eaten an unknown number of them. We bolted for home and I called poison control, who told me to take them to the ER immediately since the vitamins had iron in them. I did, calling Brett on the way to let him know I had it handled. I declined an offer from one of my partners to come with me, as I wasn't sure if Brett was going to show up and I didn't want to cause any issues.

Sure enough, he showed up about half an hour later WITH KATHRYN. On Mothers' Day. He brought her with him into the exam room with our children, and she had the gall to actually attempt to parent David right in front of me. Suffice it to say there were many, many daggers being glared in their general direction that night.

A little while later, she was headed to McDonald's to grab food for her and Brett. They asked if I wanted anything and I asked for a Dr. Pepper. After she left, my phone went off and I saw I had a text from Brett...clearly mistakenly sent to me instead of Kathryn. He relayed his food order and added, "And a Dr. Pepper for Cunty." I flipped my shit and replied that "Cunty" didn't need anything after all, thanks so much. Kathryn responded that I didn't have a leg to stand on in regard to name-calling. They weren't fond of my tendency to refer to her interchangeably as Brett's mistress or his whore. Whore may have been inaccurate, but last time I checked, a woman having an affair with a married man is called a mistress.

I know this post is all over the place. Those couple of years were just...chaotic. At the very end of October 2016, Brett and Kathryn finally moved into a 2-bedroom place and he and I agreed on a 50-50 custody split while still not having anything formalized or on record with the court. Brett was paying the daycare fees, but nothing else. The eye of the hurricane lasted about 8 months before disaster struck again.

Next: Seeing Red, or Anything to Protect the Kids

A Request and an Ultimatum

Content warning: brief language, infidelity

These are getting more difficult to write. Part of it is because I try not to think about this too much, and part of it is that it is so emotionally draining to relive this. I know it's important, and I know it helps to bleed off some of the poison, so to speak, but it is painful. Painful and exhausting.

Brett ended up checking into an extended stay motel for a week. A few days after the confrontation, he asked me to come talk, so I went to his hotel. He tearfully begged me to consider reconciliation, that he didn't want a divorce.

I was honestly pretty shocked by that. Here was the man who had been threatening me with divorce since I'd stated my loss of belief in Mormonism, literally for months. And now that I'd caught him, he wanted me to stay???

But...part of me didn't want to lose him. He was my husband! I loved him. He was the father of my children. I had made a covenant, even if he'd broken it, and even if I didn't believe in "The Church" anymore, I had made promises before God.

So I said yes, with a but.

Yes, BUT:

• He would arrange marriage counseling for us immediately as well as child care. He would tell me when and where I needed to be, and I would be there.
• He would confess to the bishop (since he still professed to be Mormon at that point in time) and go through the required repentance process no matter what it involved.
• He would immediately cut ties with any other women he was seeing and focus on our marriage.

No exceptions. No excuses. No additional chances. He agreed. After the week was up, I let him come back to the house. He slept on the couch. We tried to make it work, and we even slept together a few times.

But counseling never happened. A single appointment was set up, which he cancelled the day of.

He did not go speak to the bishop. I actually reached out to our bishop, who I knew was a good man and would listen and help me regardless of my beliefs. I was very up front with him about my reasons for leaving the church and my determination not to go back. I explained what had happened with Brett. I believe he called Brett into a meeting, but the Stake President refused to hold a disciplinary counsel, stating that when Brett decided to come back to church, they would have one then. So he again avoided accountability for his actions.

Brett began spending a lot of time with a classmate from the university named Kathryn Bewig. There were a lot of "study sessions". I wasn't an idiot. It became pretty clear very quickly that they were in a relationship. I actually texted her one day, thinking that maybe she didn't realize he had a family since the other women obviously hadn't known.

Oh no. She knew. She chose to pursue him anyway, and responded to my message that IF we ended up getting back together, THEN she would back off.

I went on a trip to Utah to see friends with Olivia, who was about 9 months old at the time and still nursing. My neighbors across the street reported that they'd seen a woman at the house more than once while I was gone.

I had the kids on Mothers' Day. A friend reported that they'd run into Brett at the grocery store that day with a woman matching Kathryn's description.

Amy had been asked to be a flower girl at Brett's cousin's wedding at the beginning of May that year. We'd agreed before all this...ridiculousness...had happened. I didn't want to pull her out, and I sure as hell wasn't going to miss it.

So, in the most awkward of awkward situations, Brett and the kids and I all drove out together to Pittsburgh. We shared a hotel room, each of us taking a separate bed with one of the two older kids while Livvie's pack and play was in the middle space. 

The wedding was beautiful. A lot of family was there, including Brett's older sister and her family, and Brett's parents. Between the ceremony and the reception, a bunch of us were taking pictures. Heather was taking some pictures of Brett and the kids and I (much to my discomfort). I smiled and played family. I remember vividly Brett putting his arm around my waist at one point, and there's a picture Heather managed to snap in the moment that I reacted as I very quietly growled at him to move his hand and not touch me again. He complied.

The older two kids went back to Ohio with their grandparents, and Brett and I drove home with Olivia. The drive took half of eternity, filled mostly with awkward silences until we finally had The Talk. 

The Very Awkward Talk, in which I pointed out he'd done none of the things I'd told him needed to happen if we were to reconcile. I pointedly mentioned his relationship with Kathryn, and told him that if he was still serious about reconciling, that he needed to commit right then to breaking up with her as soon as we got home. His response?

"It's not fair to me to have to end things with her, because then if you and I still don't work out, I've lost both of you."

I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped before I could collect myself and then affirm that if he was unwilling to break things off with Kathryn, then I was done with the charade and would look to move forward with the divorce. I don't remember much conversation in the car after that.

He was sleeping on the couch one afternoon, and his phone was going off like crazy. I picked it up. He still hadn't put any sort of code on it, so I opened it and read his messages. It was Kathryn, worried that he was going to leave her for me.

His response?

"Why would I leave the one person who makes me happy for the person who makes me the most miserable?"

I saw red. I gently woke him by chucking his phone at his head and telling him to get the fuck out of my house right now, and not to come back. He ended up staying with some friends of ours with whom we'd been out of touch for a while. I'm still not really sure what he told them. Being Mormon, I have a hard time believing they'd support him if they knew what he'd done, but...stranger things have happened.

Next: The Waiting Game, or the Roller Coaster

The Confrontation, or Hi Wes, I'm Lily

This post has been really hard to write and I've been procrastinating it intentionally. Again, the memory is a bit fuzzy but this is as accurate as I can remember it.

My friends and I walked into the restaurant/bar. The way it's set up, there's a main hallway you walk into. On the left are several smallish banquet rooms you can reserve, and on the right is a gigantic open room where the bar is. Lots of small tables around, a dance floor (I think). I remember there was a live band playing that night and it was LOUD.

We walked into the room and started looking around, making our way across the room. About halfway across, I saw him. He hadn't seen us yet. The girls peeled off and headed over by the bar while I continued toward him. I was maybe 10 feet away when he finally saw me and froze, wide-eyed. I took a deep breath, walked straight up to him, stuck out my hand, and said:

"Hi Wes, I'm Lily," and shook his hand. He recovered quickly and said something like, "I figured."

He was sitting in a chair against the wall. I sat next to him rather than across from him, a) so I could hear him better, and b) because I was afraid he would take off otherwise, and with me next to him he was trapped. I mostly remember my half of the conversation because I'd rehearsed what I was going to say so many times, and honestly he didn't say much at all. Here's an approximation of the conversation:

Me: I'm guessing you know why I'm here.
Brett: Yeah.
Me: And that you're totally busted.
Brett: Yeah.
Me: Do you have anything to say for yourself?
Brett: (silence)
Me: Actually, I really don't care what you have to say at this point. I told you when we were talking about getting married that the only reasons I would ever divorce you were for abuse or infidelity.
Brett: (silence)
Me: (pausing, as a waitress comes over to ask if I want anything. I ordered a Coke.) Okay, well, here's what's going to happen. There is a bag in your trunk with some of your things. Do not come home tonight. You are no longer welcome in my home. In the morning as soon as the bank opens, on the advice of an attorney I am going to go withdraw half the funds and open an account of my own. I will be filing for divorce. Do you have any questions?
Brett: Uh....no.
Me: (I'm pretty sure I made some parting shot but I honestly don't remember what it was.)

I'm fairly certain there was more to it, but it was not a long conversation. Maybe 10 minutes? Afterward, I got up and walked away. Chin up, no crying, no looking back. The girls joined me as we walked back across the room. About halfway across, one of the girls noticed that Brett had gotten up and gone into the hallway, looking like he was going to try to cut us off at the door to the outside. They planted themselves in front of me like a shield and just kept walking, glaring daggers at Brett who was waiting at the door, and we walked out without a word. I wonder sometimes what he was planning to say or do, but I guess it's irrelevant at this point.

We got in the car and left. The girls drove us to Dairy Queen and we got ice cream to take home.

Back home, where my other friend had been waiting with my sleeping children. We got inside and started eating the ice cream, and I just...lost it. I fell apart. I had worked so hard to stay composed through that whole ordeal, to not show weakness. To not let him see how completely he had broken me.

And he had. In a matter of months, I'd birthed a child, admitted that my shelf had broken and I wanted out of the Mormon church, found out my supposedly devout Mormon husband had been cheating on me for months, and accepted the fact that divorce was happening. That my marriage was over.

I felt shattered, and raw, and completely adrift. I cried and I raged. He started texting me. It was a heated exchange since he apparently had found his voice now that we weren't face to face. I don't remember what was said, I just remember being so enraged with him and what he was saying. I know I was playing fast and loose with the f-word, but that's really all I remember.

At some point in the night after getting home, I logged back into his Kik account and messaged the girl he was supposed to be meeting that night. I very frankly told her who I was, that he had been lying to her, that I had busted him. I sent several pictures of us as a family to prove that what I was saying was the truth. She was instantly apologetic and answered a bunch of questions I had for her. I didn't blame her. I knew (obviously) that he was going under a fake name and passing himself off as single and childless (while using pictures I'd taken of him outside the home we shared).

Eventually everyone left. I went in and climbed into our bed and sobbed until I was too exhausted to stay awake anymore.

Next: A Request and an Ultimatum

The Phone, or Going Undercover

Content warning: infidelity/adultery (non-graphic), language

My marriage was on pretty rocky ground. I was unhappy. Brett was unhappy. We weren't communicating well. But every relationship goes through hard times, and I assumed this would be no different. That we would find a way to work through it, and come out the other side stronger.

I have a pretty wide network of online friends, largely due to mommy groups and groups on Facebook designed to provide community for people questioning Mormonism and transitioning out of the church. Many of these people, despite their importance to me, I've never actually met in person. Doesn't make our friendship any less real, it just shifts how we honor that.

I used to spend a lot (a LOT) of time on my phone messaging people. It annoyed the crap out of Brett. We'd be sitting in bed watching Netflix and my phone would start dinging, and you could just feel his irritation rising. I made a conscious effort to put my phone down while spending time together so he could see that my focus was on us.

One night (February 25, 2015 if you're curious), as we were sitting in bed watching Netflix per usual, we were partway through a show when it struck me that...Brett had been on his phone an awful lot. Like..a LOT, a lot. That was never his thing, it was mine. And suddenly, he's messaging someone pretty constantly. At one point in the evening, I semi-casually glanced over to try to see what he was doing on his phone. He moved it, with just enough time for me to realize I didn't recognize the app he was using but not enough time to see what he was messaging. I was confused and puzzled.

After a while, he fell asleep as I continued to watch Netflix. I couldn't sleep. I had this horrible gut feeling that I just couldn't shake. So, I picked up his phone off the bed and took both his and mine into the bathroom and locked the door. Neither of our phones were password protected (and we'd shared the passwords for all our email accounts with each other long before).

As I started poking around on his phone, I came across an app called Kik that I'd never seen before. I opened it and started reading through some of his messages, instantly seeing the chat he'd been on all night.

I was shocked and horrified as I scrolled through hours of messages between my husband and another woman, messages that were very explicitly sexual in nature and included a number of photos exchanged between them. They talked about meeting up after Brett's hockey game later that week. I was shaking as I used my phone to take pictures of the messages on his screen, not wanting to risk him finding any screenshots later on. I still have those pictures.

The rest of that night is kind of a blur. I know I didn't sleep. I remember texting my best friends from high school at some point, just utterly blindsided and completely in shock. I know at some point I put his phone back. He got up the next morning for work or school, noticing that I looked pretty rough. I told him I hadn't really slept much, which isn't terribly uncommon for me. He left.

I spent the day systematically logging into his various email accounts trying to figure out what email he was using. I knew there had to be more going on. I almost didn't find it and was getting somewhat frustrated, until I remembered the email he'd told me about creating back when he was in a punk band in high school. I logged in, and there it was.

Months worth of message notifications from dating websites, primarily Plenty of Fish (under a fake name, Wes). An account on RedTube, which I found out is a porn site. Emails he'd exchanged with women, dating back to the beginning of December 2014 that seemed to start in the middle of an exchange and indicated it had been going on for a while.

I couldn't believe it. I sure as hell didn't want to believe it. I was completely devastated. And then I was angry. How DARE he? Not only was he not being supportive as I struggled through one of the most difficult experiences of my life, but he was cheating? And had been, for months! Olivia was THREE MONTHS OLD when he started all of this, at least from what I could tell. Who knows how long it had actually been going on??

When Brett and I had talked about getting married, I told him very straightforwardly there were only 2 things I would ever divorce him for: abuse, and infidelity. And as I sat there with my jaw on the floor staring this in the face, I knew that was it. The timeline of the next part gets pretty fuzzy for me, as it all happened within a couple of days, so things may be a little out of order but this is how I remember them in more or less the order they happened.

So, I signed up for an account on Plenty of Fish. Fake name. Fake picture. Short bio, with pieces I knew would draw his attention, like my love of hockey. Within a few hours, he had messaged my fake account (Lily). This part gets kind of confusing so I'm going to refer to the fake accounts by their fake names.

Wes and Lily chatted back and forth for a bit. In the meantime, I arranged a free consult with an attorney. Wes pretty quickly brought up the idea of meeting Lily, and I figured a confrontation in public was the safest thing for everyone involved. I went to my consultation and explained my situation to the attorney, who was very nice and supportive and applauded my plan to confront him in a public place.

Just before Brett got off work on the 27th, Wes messaged Lily explaining that he had plans after his hockey game the next night (which I knew since I'd read his messages about meeting another woman), but that he would love to meet up with me before his game, he just needed to check something. Almost immediately I got a phone call from Brett, letting me know he was on his way home. Oh, and he knew I was exhausted since I hadn't slept the night or two before, so why didn't I just plan to take some Nyquil tomorrow night when the kids went to bed, and he'd just leave early to go watch the game before his?

I agreed it was a perfect idea and we hung up. Wes then messaged Lily, confirming he was free before his game and suggesting a specific bar/restaurant to meet at, which was only 10 or so minutes from the house.

I reached out to friends. 2 of my friends from high school were going to go with me, to drive so I didn't have to and to provide moral support. A friend from church would stay at the house with the kids while I was gone.

There was a brief moment that night when I thought he might've figured it out. I'd forgotten to turn off the notifications on my app, and so my phone beeped right when he sent a message, a couple of times, but I played it off and he didn't try to change plans.

The next night, he got ready for his game. I went to the bathroom and swished with Nyquil so he'd smell it on me, confirming with my friends that they were waiting around the corner out of sight. He kissed me goodnight and left.

I sprang up out of bed, fired off quick texts to my friends, changed, and started throwing clothes into a duffel for him. One of my friends upon her arrival saw me putting Brett's temple garments in the bag and pointed out the irony of making sure to include those when I was busting him for adultery. The irony wasn't lost on me.

We drove over to the restaurant, finding a parking spot just a couple of spaces away from Brett's car. I used my spare key to pop the trunk and stuck the overnight bag in next to his hockey equipment, and then the three of us headed inside.

Next: The Confrontation, or Hi Wes, I'm Lily

The Broken Shelf, or the Beginning of the End

Content warning: Mormonism, faith crisis, brief non-graphic mention of abusive relationship

Also, this is really long.

There's a phrase used largely amongst ex-Mormons when talking about the journey away from the church. "My shelf broke." I don't honestly remember where it came from, but the general idea is that every doubt you have about the church, or any question you have about church history or policies or doctrine, you put up on your "shelf". Like sticking something random from the house up on the closet shelf when you don't know what to do with it. Out of sight, out of mind.

Eventually, the shelf gets crowded. Multiple contradictory versions of the First Vision. The number of hoaxes church leaders have fallen for. Joseph Smith producing the Book of Mormon using a peep stone in a hat. Polygamy. Polyandry. Young girls and women being forced into plural marriage by spiritual threats. Men being sent away on missions for the church to free up their wives. Brigham Young. Blacks and the priesthood/temple ordinances. Women and the priesthood. The current treatment of LGBT people. The persecution and excommunication of people for daring to question the status quo. The complete absence of Heavenly Mother as anything other than an acknowledged baby factory. The disturbing nature of temple ceremonies, where you are required to agree to and make sacred covenants with no prior knowledge of what you'll be agreeing to. The subjugation of women to their husbands. The veiling of women's faces in the presence of God, because only a man is worthy to be face-to-face with deity.

The list goes on...and on, and on, and on. (See https://cesletter.org for some really well-thought-out questions regarding the Mormon faith.)

And eventually the shelf breaks.

Unpacking my faith crisis and subsequent departure from Mormonism has been problematic. For a while (see earlier posts on this blog), it was easier to dismiss it. Easier to convince myself that I never really believed it. But I did, at least for a while. Certainly I did growing up. I believed it and I defended it. My faith suffered a pretty crushing blow when Heather had her accident, one thing in a very long line of tragedies and traumas my family and the people I loved had endured. When Mom and Heather got back from the rehab center in Atlanta, my relationship with Mom was extremely rocky. She asked me to move out after graduation, and although I initially protested, I eventually agreed because I felt very much unwanted. Having it suggested repeatedly has a way of getting me to take a hint.

I went to college. I stayed in touch with the church out of obligation but wasn't active and wasn't really interested. I met someone and got involved in what turned out to be a very abusive relationship. The plus side? I withdrew further from the church and discovered I was drawn to paganism. I began studying it and searching for a group near me, but without a vehicle, was unable to really participate.

The relationship continued to devolve. I wasn't aware of how bad things had gotten until it got physical a few times. An argument in the Walmart parking lot I tried to walk away from, only to be grabbed by the hair and yanked back. My arm twisted to give leverage to push me into a wall. Not taking "no" for an answer. Eventually, my oldest sister and her family came down to visit and Miriam very tearfully expressed her concern, giving me a information she'd put together for an event about the types of abuse in relationships. As I looked over the packet, I was horrified to realize that I could check off just about everything on the list. They offered to move me home, and a few weeks later, my brother-in-law returned to do just that. I fled the relationship, and when I returned home, allowed myself to be convinced that I'd been in an abusive relationship not because I'd fallen for an abusive asshole, but because I had left the church.

Yeah. The abuse I suffered was because I had not been faithful. I believed that. I bought it completely, and threw myself back into Mormonism because how else was I supposed to prevent it from happening again?

A few months later, I met Brett at the singles' ward at church. We hadn't even known each other for a year when we got married, but hey, that's what Mormons do, right?? I was going to be the most faithful, most devout Mormon because that was how my family would get to heaven together and I wouldn't get hurt again. I brought 2 children into the world after a 2-year struggle with infertility. I made the decision to go back to school only to be told by my mother that by doing so, I was following Satan's plan. I lost a pregnancy. I lost a second pregnancy, my Hannah Noelle. I had started to question things. I got involved with movements within the church, including the Ordain Women movement. I tried to remain faithful while working to improve things from within, but the more I saw, the more questions I had, the fewer answers were given. I got pregnant again, and began to open up to Brett about my doubts and concerns, very carefully at first, and eventually less carefully.

The arguments started. Olivia was born. She was blessed (as is tradition in Mormonism) at Brett's parents' house, surrounded by the boys and men of the family. I vividly remember asking to move closer to the circle because Brett spoke very softly and I wanted to hear, and my father-in-law responding that I could get closer "but don't even think that you get to stand in the circle".

After that (end of November/beginning of December 2014), I was up front with Brett that I no longer believed it, and that I wanted to leave the church. His immediate response was that he would have to divorce me, because "I just don't see how I can be with someone and raise kids with someone whose values are so different from mine."

I begged for my marriage. I pleaded with him. I offered compromise after compromise. I would continue to attend church with him and the kids. I would continue to raise our children in the church. I would continue to teach them the tenets of a religion I no longer believed. I would do whatever it took to protect my marriage. But the arguments continued. Brett and I went out for his birthday in January 2015, and had a lovely time, only to end up in a massive argument afterwards at home that again surrounded him divorcing me for my loss of faith. I left the house to take a drive, calling my friend Melissa in such hysterics she couldn't understand me through my sobbing.

The constant arguing took a severe toll on our marriage. While much of what caused the end of our marriage I place solely at Brett's feet, this is one thing I can't deny joint responsibility for. Yes, he could've handled it better, but I could have too. I was so focused on my own worldview crumbling around me that I didn't think much about what it was doing to his. It was terrifying and overwhelming for me. But now, I imagine he was probably feeling some of the same things as the circumstances of our marriage shifted, and he had no control over it. I wish I had been more understanding and supportive of him, just as much as I wish he'd been more understanding and supportive of me.

Next: The Phone, or Going Undercover

Lifting the Veil

I've lived under a veil of silence for over 4 years. I was so determined for so long to keep it to myself. To not "air dirty laundry" or drag his name through the mud. But I can't do it anymore. I have to be able to talk about it, to acknowledge the hell that has been my life for the past few years.

Over the next few weeks, I'll be going through the details of what's happened. I'll do so with as much clarity as I can, as accurately as I can remember. A lot of the little pieces are burned into my memory, to be honest.

It's going to be painful. And maybe it'll be hard to read, I don't know. If anyone even reads it. That's not the important part. The important thing is for me to go through this, to feel the emotions I need to feel. To be angry, to grieve, to feel regret and guilt, and to begin to heal. It's time to lift the veil.

Part 1: The Broken Shelf, or the Beginning of the End