How did we get here!

I wonder this as tears stream down my face. Lately, crying seems to be all I do in my spare time. I never miss a chance to let the tears fall, always when I’m alone. I suffer in silence, with no one to talk to, hiding my sadness from my son and from the man who is about to leave my life for good. I think back to how it all began. Sixteen years ago. I was just a naïve 17-year-old girl—young, pretty, and brimming with hope for the future. Those were the days when I still dreamed, days when I longed for the kind of experiences I had only read about in books or seen in movies. I don’t remember the exact details of that day as clearly anymore—time has worn down my memory—but I do remember walking to the video store to rent a movie. I remember the feeling of his eyes on me, and the first time I heard his voice. It was different. Different from all the other voices I’d heard over the years. Maybe it was the accent, polished and sure. “Pick that one,” he said, pointing to How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. “I guarantee you’ll love it.” I smiled and turned to see who this brave stranger was. That was the first time I saw him. Dark, thin but muscular, and undeniably handsome. I smiled again and walked away, but I noticed—he wasn’t like the local boys, the ones who always tried to talk to me. He wasn’t rough around the edges or lacking in manners. You see, I had been home from boarding school for about a year, and in that time, I was constantly approached by the local boys. Most of them were unpolished, speaking in thick accents that gave away their background and education the moment they opened their mouths. But this voice? This voice intrigued me. I wanted to know more. Still, I couldn’t let him see that. So, I left the store and pretended to head home, but he followed and asked, “Where are you going?” “Home,” I said. “Where’s home?” he asked. “Down the street, turn left, then right, then left again, and finally right,” I answered vaguely but truthfully. In a way, I had just given a stranger directions to my father’s house. He smiled. “That’s the way to my house, too, except for the last turn.” “Can I walk you home, or were you going to take a taxi?” “You can walk me home,” I lied. I was planning to take a taxi. And so, we walked. For some reason, it felt right. I found myself telling this stranger everything—my ambitions, my dreams, even the random thoughts swirling in my head. All of it. But as we neared the street just before my real turn, fear crept in. Everything was happening too quickly. My rational mind kicked in, and I knew I had to stop it before it went any further. “This is my house,” I lied again. “Can I see you again?” he asked. “No, I have a boyfriend.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie. In fact, I had two boyfriends—though neither were serious. They were more like distractions. Boredom, after all, is the devil’s playground, and it had led me to make choices I wasn’t proud of. But I was young. Mistakes, after all, belong to the young.