Shoo! I got away with it!  No harm, no foul, right?

So what if I’d cheated?  I didn’t get caught. It was done.

And now I was active in ministry, diving deeper into prayer. I was spending more and more time with God, healing myself. I was gratefully heading in a good direction some six months down the road from my affair. Life was beautiful.

A group of us ladies from the church was driving home from another women’s conference. I’d gone to many since joining, but this one felt special since the church paid my way. And the message had touched me. I just knew I would get home soon and be able to apply my freshly acquired tools to my life. But really.  Did I really know what life had in store for me?

I was feeling full— really excited about the path I was taking.

My daughter called. The first thing out of her mouth was, “Me and Daddy stayed at Sarah’s house.”

BAM! Like a ton of bricks landing on a glasshouse, all that calm gratitude was shattered. Fury owned me instantly.  But I couldn’t show it. Not with the other women in the car. The churchwomen.

My walls went up. Composure maintained. And all the while my sadistic mind ramped up my visions of his cheating. Torturing me with them while ridiculing me for ever letting the images subside. “Silly fool!” my mind shrieked incessantly.

Minutes dragged like hours before the women dropped me off. My husband opened the door. Before I even put my luggage down, I demanded to know who Sarah was.

No dice.  Fair enough.  I didn’t need his help.  I found her number. I called her.

Are you sitting down? I was. Kind of.  I was driving down North Dale Mabry when my call went straight to voicemail, and I heard: “You have reached the home of Sarah and Junior.”

Mind blown. The fact that I did not simultaneously combust in my white 1995 Hyundai Accent right then and there was clearly an act of God.

Unfortunately, He left me alone at the wheel for my next call.  I’ll give you three guesses who received that one.

And as I ranted the riot act at him over the phone, giving him no room to breathe much less defend himself, my blood hit a fever pitch. I crescendoed the call with this beauty: “That’s why I cheated on your ass!”

Talk about leveling the playing field. No more guilt.  Only rage.  No more secret burden. Just endlessly searing fury.

In a New York second, I had that man’s belongings packed and piled. Don’t let the door hit ya’ where the good Lord split ya’!

I didn’t need anyone’s opinion. He was O-U-T. That was that.

Deep breath.

But I was still livid.  My pain was inextinguishable.

So what if I’d cheated, too. I’d only done it because I thought he was. AND HE WAS. It didn’t matter to me if my logic sounded off.  I was more than stuck in this fiery loop. I was it for a while.

And next to hubby-dearest, the biggest target of my anger was God. How dare He?  I served Him.  I ministered. I prayed. And this is what I get?

Oooo-wie—a bull wearing a hornet’s nest for a bonnet couldn’t have tossed me in a ring. I was stuck in anger, Sister!  I was righteous in my anger. I was going nowhere full speed. And neither was God. But I didn’t have time for him at the moment. I wanted a divorce. NOW.

Fortunately, the next call I made was to a dear, wise, life-long friend who slowed my roll.  She listened and prayed. She made me realize that jumping from one frying pan of Hell to another might make sense now.  But my daughter would have to live with all of it.

Once again, smelling salts called me back from the edge. My precious daughter was not going to become roadkill on my watch. Least of all, by my actions.

Big sigh.  Okay.  I got this.  I don’t know how, but I have to have this.