Page 44 of The Moment You Know

Probably because the hot water was making her fingers swell a little, she couldn’t get the simple, platinum band over the knuckle. In a sort of frenzy, she kept pulling at it until her finger was even more swollen and hurt like hell. But, rather than stop like a sane person would, she kept at it, using shower gel as lubrication until she finally got it off, setting it on the edge of the tub. After another epic struggle, which left her finger red and throbbing, the beautiful engagement ring finally came off and she set it next to her wedding band.

Completely done with the day, Paige got out of the tub and wrapped herself in her robe, not even bothering to dry off. She decided brushing her teeth wasn’t a priority that night and avoided looking at the double sinks that she and David had been so excited to have after sharing a single one for so long.

Paige crawled into bed on David’s side and wondered if she should start sleeping in the middle now that the divorce was final. Would it make her feel like there wasn’t supposed to be someone in bed with her, like it had been feeling for the past few months? She’d have to try it and find out.

Spook jumped on the bed and curled up with her as she drank glass after glass of wine and watched the daylight fade in the master bedroom as memories washed over her, making it hard to breathe.

She remembered how he used to look at her like she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

She remembered how reverent his touch had been.

She remembered the smell of his skin, the softness of his hair.

She remembered how much he liked morning sex, but had set his desires aside because she didn’t.

She remembered exactly how her cheek had rested against the space between his shoulder and throat.

She remembered how patient he’d been with her, even when there shouldn’t have been any patience left.

She remembered how much they had loved each other, until that hadn’t been enough.

Finally, when the room was dark and the wine was gone, the tears came again and when she was done, she wondered what David was doing at that moment—and if he was thinking about her.

As she started to drift off into a wine-induced sleep, she tried to comfort herself with the thought that this would be the worst day of her life, not knowing she would be wrong.

There would be worse days to come. And they would come, one after another, until she was afraid they wouldn’t end.

Chapter 16

One year ago

After close to two years of therapy, Paige was almost officially ‘done’ and as she sat in her last group therapy session with eight other women—all in different stages of sexual abuse recovery—she looked around and saw a little bit of herself in each of them.

Paige had spent her first year of therapy in single sessions with her therapist, Lauren, who looked like a teenaged hippie from the sixties who’d teleported fifty years into the future. She wore flared jeans with holes in the knees and a lot of embroidered, long-sleeved shirts in bright colors that concealed the cutting scars on her arms.

When Paige had first met with Lauren and found out she’d been abused by both her stepfather and stepbrother, Paige had admired her survival. When Paige found out Lauren was now a healthy, married woman with two children, Paige had become a bit of a fangirl. Lauren was everything Paige aspired to be (minus the wardrobe) and she became Paige’s inspiration.

The second year of therapy had been expanded to include somewhat unorthodox recovery work that Paige had to do on her own, plus group sessions twice a month, which Paige had found extremely uncomfortable in the beginning. Sharing her story with others had been hard, but hearing others’ tales of horror had been just as hard—and there were a lot to hear. But she had come to appreciate the healing properties of group sharing in Lauren’s slightly psychedelic office, with its shag rugs, mis-matched chairs, and crocheted afghans in what could only be described as the ugliest color combinations known to man. Being surrounded by women who had experienced what Paige had was almost comforting and made her feel less alone, less isolated, less afraid.

This tragic sisterhood gave her strength, something she had never anticipated.

Now, with the other women watching her, Paige took out her thick notebook and read several passages out loud, from various places in the journal. Therapy for everyone consisted of journaling, which at first Paige had resisted because she thought it was bullshit. She’d thought writing her thoughts and memories down would make her re-live them, hurting her again, but it had actually been the opposite. Once she wrote them down, it was almost like the worst part of the memories got transferred onto the page and no longer resided inside of her.

Once Paige realized that, she’d seriously gotten down to business and wrote page after page, filling multiple notebooks. She’d kept a notebook with her at all times, so she could write whenever the mood struck, which was often.

When she was finished sharing the specific passages she had picked for the occasion and the session was over, Paige was shocked and a little overwhelmed when all the women gave her tearful hugs and sincere goodbyes and well-wishes. When the mini love-fest was over and everyone was getting their coats on and starting to leave, Lauren approached Paige asking to speak with her privately.

“I just wanted to say that I’m impressed with your journaling. You’ve obviously done a lot,” Lauren said, pointing to Paige’s thick notebook.

“I have several more of these at home,” Paige admitted, a little embarrassed.

“Really?”

“I journal all the time, to be honest. Almost every day.”

Lauren smiled. “There’s no set date for stopping. Some people journal their entire lives.”

“That’s probably going to be me,” Paige said and took a deep breath, feeling like a child about to confess to having stolen some candy from the corner grocery store. “And unfortunately, I’ve been really focused on it, to the detriment of my Uncle Carter’s ‘Fuck You’ letter. I know I’m supposed to have it done by now, but I don’t.”

---