Journey of Love, Part III — Breaking Up

A Story of Love, Heartbreak, and Forgiveness

Breaking Up

March, 2009

It ended with a phone call. It was the Thursday before my spring break, less than two months before graduation, and I was working on my thesis in our home office. The phone had been ringing periodically since the morning, but the caller ID showed a private number, so I didn’t pick up. Around 2 pm, I finally answered.

“Hello,” I said, hesitantly.

“Hi, is Jessica there?” It was a voice I had never heard.

“This is her,” I replied.

“My name is Marcus *Schneider.” He paused for a few seconds. “There is no easy way to tell you this,” he said finally. “Do you know my girlfriend, Rachel *Deacon?”

I had never met Rachel, but I knew who she was. She and my boyfriend, Jason, played in the same volleyball league. Marcus didn’t wait for me to respond.

“Jason and Rachel have been in a relationship for the past few months,” he said.

My heart stopped. Everything went numb. Impossible, I thought.

“I found a letter Jason wrote to Rachel. Do you have an e-mail address? I’d like to send it to you.”

I had no words. Nothing this Marcus person said made any sense. My relationship with Jason hadn’t been perfect, and lately there had been some physical and emotional distance between us, but we still loved each other. So many questions were forming, but I couldn’t put them together. Finally, I cleared my throat and spelled out my email address.

“I’m really sorry,” Marcus said. “I’m hurt too. I don’t want to be the one telling you all of this, but I thought you should know.”

By the time I hung up the phone, I was shaking. I signed into my email account and waited. A minute later, a link to Marcus’ e-mail appeared on the screen. I clicked on it and started to read. The words wouldn’t process, and my eyes went blurry. I printed it out and read through it again. None of it made sense, yet it was all there.

I called Jason at work, but his line went to voice mail: “Hi, you have reached Jason. I’m away from my desk right now, but please leave me a message and I will get back to you. If this is an urgent matter, dial zero to have me paged.” In the four years he worked there, I had never once paged him. Today, I dialed zero. His friend and co-worker got on the line first. “Hey Jess. Jason is walking over. Is everything okay?” she asked.

“I just need to talk to Jason,” I told her, still numb.

He got on the line. “Marcus called,” I said calmly. “I read the letter.”

“I’m coming home,” he replied immediately.

“Don’t bother. I’m going to start packing my things.”

“No, Jess, just stay there,” he said. “I’m coming home.”

I hung up and called a friend to see if I could stay with her and her husband for a little while. Then, I went downstairs and got my luggage.

By the time Jason got home, I was frantically packing everything I could — clothes, jewelry, and anything else that would fit into my luggage. I moved quickly, as though if I stopped the truth would catch up to me and I’d crumble under the weight of it.

“Jess, please stop packing and listen to me for a minute,” Jason begged.

“I think your letter to Rachel said it all,” I fired back. “You should just go be with her.”

“I don’t want her, Jess, I want you,” he pleaded.

“That’s not what the letter said,” I reminded him.

I zipped up the last piece of luggage and took it off the bed.

“I was trying to let her down easy, Jess, I swear.”

I turned to face him, my anger bursting like a balloon.

“Well it’s a good thing you were looking out for her best interest,” I spat, “Because clearly I’m just a piece of shit!”

I hurried downstairs, Jason trailing behind me, crying. I went out to the garage and began shoving bags into my car.

“Please, just listen to me,” Jason begged. “Please.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t even look at him. When I finally turned around, he was gone — the door to the garage closed behind him. I climbed into my car and heard a loud crash. What the hell? I got out of my car and walked back into the house. Jason was on the couch, head in his hands, shaking. In front of him, our glass coffee table lay shattered — the bowl that had been on top of it broken underneath.

I stared at him for several minutes. This can’t be happening, I thought. Our life can’t just end like this. But it had. We survived long-distance, lived together in two different states, supported one another through graduate school, created a life based on a shared future. But none of it mattered. No explanation he offered could fix this.

Finally, Jason lifted his head. “I’ll clean it up,” he said quietly.

“Ok. I’m going to leave now,” I replied.

I spent the night sobbing in my friend’s guest bedroom. I kept picturing Jason, broken down, in front of a sea of glass. He wanted to leave me. He’s been thinking about leaving me, my brain recited in a loop.

Had Jason’s relationship with Rachel been strictly physical, I might have understood it better. I still would have left, but it wouldn’t have done as much damage. “If it wasn’t for that letter” I would echo in the weeks following. “You never should have written that letter.” Yes, our relationship ended with a phone call, but my entire reality ended with that letter.

• Names have been changed

This is a four-part story. You can read the other parts here: