MARRIED TO AN ADDICT

My Husband’s Betrayal Confronted Me at the Grocery Store

I knew what he had done

My heart raced and my body stiffened. Eyes belonging to nearby strangers bore into me. I gulped and opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. Beads of sweat escaped my forehead and I wished to be anywhere else.

How could he do this?

“Excuse me!”

I turned to see a woman glaring at me as she tried to push my cart out of the way to grab the bag of carrots I was reaching for.

“Excuse me?” I said back as I picked up the carrots.

“I guess I’ll get a different type of carrot!” She snapped.

Try a different personality.

Shaking my head, I continued pushing my cart around the produce section of the grocery store, scrambling in amongst other shoppers who were loading their carts in preparation for the upcoming holiday.

“STOP!”

I looked up from the fresh rosemary to see a disheveled boy scream at an older boy who was throwing oranges at him. An angry-looking woman, who I assume was their mother marched up and grabbed each of their hands, before dragging them away from the crowd.

One of the boys cried — loudly. The other wrestled with his mother’s hand, trying to free himself as she scolded him.

Clearly, she needed a beer.

Although, judging by her word choices, she’d already had nine.

The noise spewing out of the arguing family caused a stir in the tiny human strapped to my chest.

No, no. Please no!

I glanced down at the baby carrier containing my four-month-old to see her eyes open.

Fuck.

A loud wailing erupted from her, filling my ears and those of everyone around me who turned to stare and crinkle their foreheads.

She hated the baby carrier that buckled her snug into my chest. I’d snuck her in there while she slept to avoid pushing a cart and stroller through a very crowded store.

Which is fun if you like running displays over.

I began bouncing my body like a weirdo and singing an off-key Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to settle the wannabe demon, but shockingly, she didn’t find my attempts soothing.

Stashing the rosemary into a bag and throwing it into my cart, I raced down the other aisles of the grocery store. I cursed my husband as I tried to weave in and out of other shoppers without trampling them.

I had been asking my spouse to go Christmas grocery shopping with me for the last week. Each time I asked, he had an excuse as to why we couldn’t go. With four days until Christmas, and him working overtime, I gave up and headed to the grocery store without him.

Sweat beads appeared on my forehead as the crying volume increased. Forgetting the seasoning, I raced to the checkout.

Who needs flavor?

Gliding around the corner of the aisle, my face fell. A huge line snaked its way from each checkout. I wiped my forehead with my sleeve, ran my fingers through my hair, and joined the nearest line. With about ten customers in front of me, I knew I was in for a wait.

After carefully unbuckling the baby carrier, I threw it into the cart. My daughter immediately calmed down but remained fussy. I spent the next twenty-five minutes standing in line while singing, rocking, bouncing, and playing peek-a-boo until my arms wanted to fall off.

Which was about seventeen seconds in.

Finally, I made it to the front of the line and handed over my very full cart. I continued to rock my daughter as the checkout guy scanned each of my items and passed them to the bagger. Once they neared the end, I wrestled one-handed with my purse to find my credit card.

My daughter finally settled her head onto my shoulder and I sighed in relief at the silence, as the checkout guy read out my total. With my arms wrapped around the baby, I flipped open my wallet.

A few seconds went by as I stared at the contents of my hand. Dread penetrated my chest before spreading through the rest of my body. My mouth dried and butterflies filled my stomach.

My credit cards were gone. All of them.

Shit.

I looked up at the man standing behind the checkout as he observed me. Trying to gather my composure, I said, “My credit cards must have fallen out.”

I ran the fingers on my free hand through each compartment of the wallet. Finding them empty, I placed the wallet on the checkout counter and began flicking through my purse. My daughter started to fuss again as I desperately grabbed at different objects in the bag hanging from my shoulder.

I knew there was no point. I knew where they were.

I found nothing card-shaped. Feeling the annoyed eyes on my back of those in line behind me, who began to huff and sigh, I gulped.

“I…I…I, um, my cards must have fallen out at home. Um, I’m sorry, I have no way to pay,” I muttered quietly.

My forehead crinkled and my shoulders slumped as I looked into the sympathetic eyes of the checkout worker.

“Oh, ok,” he whispered back.

Kill me now.

Feeling color fill my face, I grabbed my wallet and snapped it shut as I repeated my apologies. Stuffing my wallet into my purse, I then scooped up the baby carrier and walked out of the store as my daughter began to wail again.

I held my breath as I walked as fast as I could towards the exit, feeling the judgemental eyes of a hundred people on my back. All while my husband’s betrayal, the thing I had been pretending not to know, hit me square in the forehead.

That evening, after my daughter was finally asleep, I tiptoed out of the bedroom to find my husband passed out on the couch. Creeping past him and the glistening lights of the Christmas tree, I made my way into the kitchen.

The twinkling lights that were strung around our front porch danced reflections on my face as I slowly pulled open the coat closet door. Hearing snoring still echoing in the next room, I slid my purse off its hook and found my wallet inside. A wave of nausea spread through me as I opened the clasp and saw all of my debit and credit cards neatly slid into their usual places. It was as though nothing had happened.

Investigation of my card statements taught me that this wasn’t the first time he had done this. But I already knew that. I had always known. My gut had told me, just like it had at the grocery store earlier that day. It started as small charges at places I wouldn’t notice. But that day, he had withdrawn cash — a lot of cash. From each card.

Closing my banking apps and setting my phone on the kitchen table, I stared at the wall ahead of me, listening to his snores from the other side. I slapped my head into my hands, furious at myself for ignoring the signs.

I knew that when I confronted him in the morning, he would lie. I knew that he would fabricate an elaborate story and yell and scream.

And I knew that I would need to accept my new life as the spouse of an addict.