Victim's impact statement

While we were married, Paul had this odd little quirk.  He would say something outlandish, borderline offensive then would watch carefully to see my reaction.  Then, upon realizing he had offended me, he would blast out, eyes sparkling, smile flashing, “I’m joking, I’m joking!”

Although I initially found this charming, when it started happening daily, even hourly, I took some pause and remembered words I had been told.  “There are elements of truth to every joke.”

And this is how I would respond to him.  He kept it up anyway.  Joking about my weight, joking about bringing my sister or my daughter to bed with us, always joking.

Here, ladies and gentlemen we see a classic Domanski in progress.

When his words didn’t have the desired result, he comes back to everyone and says “Oh I was just saying those things to save my marriage!  I didn’t actually DO anything wrong… not me… I’m innocent.”  It harkens back to a “You wouldn’t hit a guy wearing glasses, would you?  Oh, that didn’t help raise your opinion of me?  How about the fact that I’m epileptic and autistic?  Does that help?”

All I heard in Mr. Domanski’s defense was an “I’m joking, I’m joking!  Please don’t throw the book at me?”

Your honor, I am requesting that you do just that.  Throw the book at him.

The above statements; the above actions are those of a sociopath, who will never take responsibility for his actions.  His parents will always be there to save the day, because of course, Mr. Domanski being as sick as he is couldn’t have possibly done anything wrong. 

I stand here not only for myself, but for my daughter and my ex-husband William.  Lily has been through enough.  She’s had enough.  She is not going to be this sociopath’s puppet any longer.  She doesn’t have to be, and furthermore she refuses to be.  She just wants him to disappear from her life, forever.  She wants to be able to sleep at night knowing the man who stole her innocence at a mere 6 years old, then convinced her this was something she wanted, is somewhere that he can never traumatize her again.

My daughter, during the time that Mr. Domanski was in jail, has found herself able to breathe easier.  When the thought that he may not stay there entered her consciousness, she acted out heavily, she didn’t sleep, she hardly ate, she was a shell of her beautiful and vibrant self.  She felt that the 12 individuals who heard the facts would side with Mr. Domanski.

Mr. Domanski is an artist as far as word craft.  He can write, speak and create a whole world through his words.  This is one of the many traits that attracted me to him when we first fell in love those 12 years ago.  He recited poetry, he took my words and created tiny uplifting packages with them, making me feel better about life in general.  He can convince you that there is beach front property in a desert, a trait I used to attribute to his younger brother, but he’s got it too.  When he had a strong opinion, he was able to casually and completely flawlessly weave his reasoning into arguments.

My Mother hated him for it.  They would discuss politics and Paul always had the right fact or figure to prove his point… as time went on, we realized he was making them all up.

He felt no remorse for fooling my Mother or myself, because he doesn’t even see what he is saying as a lie.

See, the best liars are the ones who can convince themselves that the words they are speaking are true.  It is also the banner sign of sociopathic tendencies. 

This man is a sociopath, and those closest to him cannot see it because they are in his spell.

My words right now, they are insuring I will never see my sons again.  They are in his parents care as they have been since a month after Paul went to prison.  He was finally brave enough to tell me, his wife at the time, the truth, but still would not tell his dear mother.  And because he never told her, I will never see my sons again.  “Just Joking, Mom!   It was a huge joke!  Ha!  I sure got you good, didn’t I?”

I can’t blame them.  I won’t blame them.  This falls solidly on Mr. Domanski’s shoulders.  He did this to my sons, deprived them of their mother, just as he deprived my daughter of a normal child hood.  I mean, he’s in jail, he can’t effect anything, or can he?  Oh, I assure you he can.  He will continue to do what he wishes, just to make sure that he is all constantly in our forethoughts.

He needs a kind of help that does not exist at this time.  I still do not wish to believe that, but it is proven time and time again. There is no proven cure for pedophilia, there is no proven cure for sociopathic tendencies.

Chief Judge Swartz: It is with a heavy heart that I request that you give Mr. Domanski the longest sentence possible for the sake of my daughter’s healing.  She needs to know during this chaotic time of her late adolescence that she will be safe from him no matter what comes and goes.  She needs to be safe from him into her adulthood, and middle age, and into her old age.

As Mr. Domanski told me all those years ago on the phone, The only possible way this could be made right in his eyes was to have a consensual relationship with her after she reaches 16.  She will be 16 in 4 months and 18 days.  I believe if Mr. Domanski finds himself out on the street, the first thing he will do is attempt to find her.  He already attempted to call her when he was first put in jail.  He is a definite harm to my daughter, and with as reassuring as a restraining order is, it is just a piece of paper.

And I want to take an opportunity to thank you Chief Judge Swartz for your continued commitment to the Washtenaw County community on behalf of myself, my daughter and my family.  We are continually grateful for your commitment to keeping the community safe and being fair to all who appear before you.

NO! And a message to my sons.

Before this whole thing began, long before, I devoted myself to the craft of writing and literature.  I hoped to someday write a novel (or 20) and be a published and successful author.  I feel like I have a unique voice, I feel like I have a lot to say, moreso now.

There are a lot of things standing in my way, one of which my debilitating fear of rejection.  I think this is true of all people, especially writers.  It's the feeling of "I'm throwing my soul on paper for others to read, and I don't want them to judge me unworthy."

I know there are many people in the world that have gone through much worse than I have. I am uniquely aware of those struggling around me.  I am not the person to say "I'm better to succeed that the guy next to me."

This is not a good opinion to have if you write.  You need to be able to sell yourself, or at least, as of this writing.  The good successful writers I know are willing to stick their voice right out there in the conversation, knowing there will be dissent but knowing somehow that it doesn't matter if there is.

For so long, for so many reasons I have been dependent on the opinions of those around me.  Since my judgement is so skewed, I am liable to put something out that not only isn't good, but doesn't speak to anyone in particular.

Recently my writing has been relegated to the back burner in the hopes that I can glean some psychological understanding of myself; in an effort to heal and grow.

I look at those with goals and ambition and I find myself jealous.  I've never had a goal like that, one that keeps my attention for more than a day or 2, save for my craft of course.  

I know the odds are against me, and it stops me dead in my tracks.

I ran across an example of this today at work.  A work friend approached me saying that she needed some ideas on how to get her idea through a patent office.  She is working with one of those companies that helps your ideas come to fruition.  It's a GREAT idea, I'm not saying what as it's not patented yet, but really, fantastic idea.  She is feeling daunted by the amount of paperwork this all requires, the amount of money it's going to take, and she wonders as her job may be going away soon, if she will be able to get this done before her job is discontinued and she finds herself unemployed.  I told her, focus on the now, not the later. Just live day by day.  These are things my therapist tells me every time I go to see him.  I get caught up in the present a lot, and worry about the future.

The truth is, the NOW is what is important.  I don't know what will happen tomorrow or next week.  I don't know if I'll see my sons ever again.  I may die before they see me again, I may see them tomorrow.  I can't sit here and worry about it.  I can grieve, but I can't grieve what hasn't happened yet.

This is why I don't just call their adoptive parents and ask if I can see them.  Because if they say no, it's over.  Another friend of mine ran across this in her college career earlier this year.  I didn't really understand it at the time... "Why wouldn't you ask your Prof for the extension NOW rather than the last week of classes?"

"Because if he says no, I know it's over."

Hers was a time related deadline, and I don't know if mine is or not.  I never will know.

All I do know is that my son's birthday present will be delivered in the next few days.  It was shipped to the wrong house and now someone has to drop it off to the adoptive parents.  The plan is to dump and run.

Not an easy proposal considering the item being dropped is a swing set.  But it's the best we can do.

But what if, suppose, we weren't so afraid of the rejection.  What if the word "no" wasn't such a powerful word.

No (plural noes)

1. A negating expression; an answer that shows disagreement or disapproval.

2. A vote not in favor, or opposing a proposition.

It's very definition, an answer that shows disagreement or disapproval.  There is a variant for almost every Germanic language.  Na, Nai, Nay, Nee....

But, it's a very important word, too.  If you don't want to do something, or be forced into something, the word no is the word to use.  It's important to specify things, "No, not this but THAT." In understanding, "No, that's not what I meant, let me try to say it another way."  

Without the word no, we could not effectively communicate.

But, it is the thing that stands between us and what we wish to do.  SARK, who is a writer focused on inspiring artists and writers, suggests putting the word "YES" in big colorful letters all around your house to inspire you and help you believe anything is possible.

Although, I was thinking about this... By making the choice for the publisher, the Adoptive parents, and anyone whom I am afraid will reject me... Aren't I taking the choice out of their hands? 

Something people may not know about me, I am a strong believer in Autonomy.  That is, the ability to act independently of influence or force.  One of the things that bothered me most about the end of my previous marriage was that the Accused didn't really have autonomy anymore.  He refused to take it by taking care of himself, he refused to take action toward anything without someone holding his hand.  This man, who was once so independent, was dependent on others for everything; from how he got from place to place, to whether or not he ate or not.  Was he capable of doing these things himself?  YES.  He could have taken the bus, or made food, or even ordered delivery, but he just... didn't.

So, I am very conflicted between my fear of rejection and my overwhelming need to allow those around me their autonomy, even if that autonomy ends up in me not seeing my kids, the Adoptive parents should have the choice, not me.  The courts placed my children in their capable hands.  I need to trust their judgement.

Adding to that, I am having a hard enough time processing my own emotions, add to that angry adoptive parents, add to that likely angry,frustrated and sad boys, and I'm just not sure I could process all of that effectively.  My kids could be really mad at me.  I took away their Dad after all.  One of them knows why, (because the little scamp looked it up online... Evan is always full of surprises.)

I'm embarking on a new journey tomorrow.  One part of me really wants my sons there, another part says wait until the healing is done.  All this'll do is open up old wounds.

So boys, if you are out there somewhere reading this, I love you.  I love you more than I could ever possibly say, no matter what happens I always will.  Every Friday, I do a post on my social media called "stuff on my head Friday" This means, you are ALWAYS on my mind.  Pictures are just a fun way to say that, and are worth a 1,000 words.  I have novels-worth, full of love for you.  I have words to grow gardens, I have words for each and every one of you.  I have never stopped having words for you, as you are me, and in a lot of ways, I am you too.
Just as I am your grumpy, kooky, kind of crazy disciplinarian mother, I am still very much a wide eyed child, morning the loss of my parental home, my bestest playmates (That'd be you and your Dad), and my family who lives far, far away.

I'm trying to put this all together in a way that makes sense.  I'm trying to make it make sense to ME let alone to you.  You may not always be told the truth about things because those who are parenting now want to protect you from how truly terrible the world can be sometimes, but the truth will come to you someday.  I'll be here to listen when that happens.  I am always here, and I am always listening.

I'm the one who has to remember everything, you know.  These memories are fleeting, and I know when you are grown you will not remember all the adventures of your childhood.  But the pictures!  Ahh yes, they tell a story.  They tell the story of a Mom, Dad, Aunts, Uncles and Grandparents who loved you.  They tell the story of wild adventures all over the place, at home, at Nana's, at the Zoo...
They don't tell the story of what your Mom had to do to keep you safe after it came apart, and they don't tell the story of how much it hurt.
It doesn't tell the story of your Mom crying every day you are gone.  It doesn't tell the story of the empty bedroom that she finally just had to close the door of, to avoid looking in.  If Mom looked into that bedroom, she turned into a crying statue.  It doesn't tell the story of how Grandma Griffith and Steven had to send Mommy away from Mom's house while packing, because Mom couldn't do it anymore without crying.  It doesn't tell why Mom cannot do the dishes anymore, and why Steven always does them.  I used to run into your cups, all with your names on them.  Into the room they were locked away for Nana to find.  Along with the wedding dress that I married your Father in.  The dress that you Evan wore with me, because I was so very pregnant when we did Marry.

These are stories for a post child world.  I used to think I would do anything to get you back, but then I remember what Danny told me one night.  He said "I like it better at Nana's, can I go live with her over there?"  And I'm sure he feels guilty about it, but he shouldn't because that's how he felt at the time.
Nana, Grandpa and Uncle M just had their stuff a bit more together than Mom did.  They could better handle what was to come, they being 3 and I being 1.  They don't love you any more or less than I do.  They just had the ability to take you in when I could barely function.
I know you are happier, I know they are better equipped to take care of you, but I too am a child.  I sit on the floor of my bedroom sometimes and wail.  I say how unfair it is, but it doesn't change anything.  It doesn't improve our situation or make anything any better.  I'm powerless though to change the situation.  Change must, in this case, come from within others.  
And so, my little men, off to my next journey.  I will send letters, I will send cards, I will send presents and pictures and all the joy I can stuff into an envelope.  I'll keep working hard, even though most of the time I no longer see a reason.  I won't let the world know how much I am hurting, how broken I am... I won't even tell you if I ever see you.  I'll just embrace you, and try to hide my tears of joy.

In the meantime, try not to cry for me.  Be good for your parents.  I love you more than words could say and time will never mend it.

-Mom

I'm still out here

I'm still out here, just taking some time.  Solitude is sometimes necessary especially after an explosive catharsis.

I was ok today until work ended and I was heading home.  Then it hit, ALL of it.  The pain in my chest, the sobs, the being unable to breathe, all while I drove down the highway, all at once.

I had to fight the urge to stop by their house on the way home and force my way in.  It's been more than a year since I've seen either of my sons, and being my youngest son's birthday today, I have no idea what he looks like anymore.  He was 3 when I last saw him, and now he is 5.  If I passed him on the street, I may not know it's him.  But then again, he may not know it's me either.

The relentless march of time stops for no man, no woman, no beast.

And with that, work rouses me early tomorrow morning.

I need a little help getting through here.  I'm asking for light work and prayers.  Not really asking so much as begging in a sobbing mass on my hands and knees.  I am barely holding it together, but I must as I have important work to do tomorrow, and my Fiance and friends need me.

I keep telling myself I just want one last chance to say goodbye to them.
Just. One.

And I do.  I want the lifetimes I was promised.  I want them, their dreams, their goals, their visions of the future, their annoying habits and their dirty laundry.

And I will never have that again.

Ok, really I'm done now.  I think I've complained enough and it does no good anyhow.

The hardest days

Since this whole thing happened, the worst days have been the kids birthdays.
I find myself thinking about them all day, wondering if they have received whatever I bought them over Amazon.  Tabber's Birthday, (Thomas' Nickname) comes on Wednesday and I have not yet bought him anything.  It hurts in a way I cannot even describe.

Mother's Day is the next worse, just because we always had rough days on Mother's Day, and I don't think I fully appreciated the time with my children then, just because they were so challenging with the accused always being so sick.  (He usually spent both Mother's Day and Father's Day in bed the entire day.  Like, from sunrise to sunset, not just sleeping in.  His parents would have a barbeque for him, his older brother and his father every year.  The last year I remember I took off without him as he was too busy on the computer to bother getting up.

All holidays are excruciating.  I always have to find some sort of distraction so that I don't try to find them.  They were my world, they were the whole reason I went back to work and the reason that I am trying so hard to keep their father locked up: (From the literature I've read it was pretty clear he was grooming my Tabbers for the same fate as my daughter.)

I always think to myself, is this really better than quietly divorcing and not saying a word?  Is this really better than never handing him over to the Police?  And again and again, I decide that my daughter's safety, and in turn the safety of my little men, is more important than my ability to see them.

I will stand by, steadfastly the decisions I have made.  I won't give up, I won't give in, I can't.  I think of my daughter and the individuals that have come into my life since this happened that thanked me for believing my daughter, and thanked me for doing the right thing.  I think of the fucked up scars on their arms, the far away looks in their eyes, their tears, their view of the world and how fucked up it is... and I think, if these folks would have been able to tell their parents, or in turn if their parents had believed them, maybe they would have had a chance at repairing their relationships with them, and in turn with themselves.

And if I have to sacrifice for others to be safe, to put my own little dent in the problem of child sexual abuse, then I did good.  I wasn't the best Mom, I did the best I could.  I've always done my best.  Turns out, I seem to associate better with computers and completely "crazy" individuals; people who have been through trauma, people who have been "broken" by their circumstances, or by shitty people being shitty to them.  Do I feel like a kindred spirit?  Sometimes.  Sometimes I feel like the light at the end of a long tunnel and that for once, for these folks, that light is not a train.
Sometimes, I feel like I'm a kick in the ass, and the vast majority of the time I feel I am not much help at all.  I do the best within the confines of my life.

The best I can hope for it to spread a little light and let folks know they aren't alone.  If you were told by your kid that someone is molesting them, ACT IMMEDIATELY.  If you suspect anything, act immediately.  Do not wait.  Do not try to gather evidence.  That's what the police are for.  That's what CPS is for.  That's their job, not yours.  This lesson, was a very painful and very costly one for me and my broken family.

I will, more likely than not, not see my sons again until they hit 18 years old.  I've already missed the better part of 2 years.  I used to get pictures at least and I don't even get that anymore.  I'm a shadow in their lives, and as time goes on, I will continue to be.

I will not let this silence me.  I am not a victim, I am a survivor.  I am not perfect, I am scarred but I keep getting up each day, I keep moving forward.  I will keep writing and no one will stop me.  The truth will be known.

Except on my kids birthdays.  Then I collapse under my own weight.  I die another quiet death.  

They think I am not worth having in my kids lives.  Plain and simple.  It's not because of what I do not know but what I do know.  The truth is only shunned by those living a lie, and they are living a LIE.  They are the victims here.  I feel terrible for their loss, but they refuse to see the truth that is right in front of them.

At least my daughter and I know the truth.  That way we can deal with it.  We can move through it and past it, and address it, and make the pain subside.  It's like if you have an infection and you don't know where it is in your body... your whole body suffers, until someone, be it a doctor, nurse or practitioner of some kind, finds the source of the discomfort, then attacks the infection.  
If you can't locate the infection, you can't attack it, and you just feel worse and worse; a generalized catatonia.  Chills, shakes, fevers, vomiting...

Only in this case it's fears, shaken faith, anger and regurgitating lies.  They don't know what they are doing, they are being manipulated by a socio path.  To them, he is their dear, loving, innocent, sweet and sickly child.

My psychologist has imparted to me that the accused seizures were largely psychosomatic in his opinion, meaning they were caused by a stimulation and almost entirely self brought on; an act of a socio path.

He refuses to believe that he did anything to hurt my daughter, even after he himself confessed to the crime, after facing my daughter who had the bravery to tell him, and everyone in the court room, exactly what he had done to her, these are the acts of a socio path.

In every story in his history where he got in trouble, there could be a version where he was actually guilty of the act he committed, but his parents always bailed him out.  Because he's autistic, or epileptic... but but, he's SICK.  This is the upbringing of a socio path.  I bought it.  I drank that kool-aid.  Thus the case in 2009.

I'm autistic too, I'm no child rapist.  If ever I committed wrong doing, I fessed up and I took responsibility for my actions.  I didn't lie, or cover up, or bend the truth.  When I did wrong, my parents punished me and made me accountable. Often times I would feel so guilty I would fess up on my own.

By my observations of being married to the man, bending the truth to make things look better was the norm; and he expects others to just fall for it.  He is such a convincing liar because he lies to himself.  I do not hold a degree in Psychology, but those are the actions of a socio path.  My Psychologist IS trained however, and has told me during virtually every session that my ex husband was a socio path from his observations.

I lost my children because of this man and because I believed him.  Hook, line and sinker.  It makes me sick.  Now his parents, who could quite possibly be the cause of his delusion are raising my sons.  Hopefully not to be just like him.

I can only hope.  I can do nothing else and hope that they snap out of the spell their son has woven for them.

Beginnings Part 2: 5/16/15

That Sunday

I had a few friends over to help clean the house, knowing that soon CPS (Child Protective Services, to those lucky enough to not know who they are) would be over to investigate.  I knew this to be the case, but motivating myself to go through all of my husband's things, and my things, and our shared home, was something I had a difficult time doing.

First target, his old hockey books with the statistics in them.  The ones I had been begging him for years to get rid of, because he used the internet for such fact finding missions.  In my opinion, they were not worth keeping.

Into the dumpster they went.  I became aware at some point that day, (thanks to a helpful neighbor who had done some time,) that the prison my husband was being held in was approximately 500 ft behind the dumpster.  I had many pilgrimages to that dumpster; not only to remove old things, but to yell over the wall.

My sons were at my Mother's, my daughter home with her father, the house was buzzing with energy, not all of it positive.  My best friend was angry and didn't really want to help, but got conned into it by other friends of ours who lived far away.  She had a lot of trauma in her young life, and this was drudging it all up again.  She needed to be home, but here we were cleaning my house.

Her boyfriend, my friend from high school, also came out later after his gig.  He is a musician in a local cover band.

He, as it turned out, was more well versed in the ways of Dee (TM patent pending) than the others, and so, after the 20th pilgrimage to the dumpster, he followed me.

Either out of exhaustion from yelling at the wall, or from cleaning, I broke into tears.

He held me there for a minute, then patted me on the back and said that he knew it was difficult, he didn't quite know what to say, but he was there for me.

I heard this a lot over the next two years from a lot of different people.  Some of them meant it.

I spent the next Monday calling all of Evan's friend's Mom's, asking to make sure nothing had happened to their daughters since I had brought a pedophile into their homes unknowingly.  Two of these Moms, Tessa and Jennifer, invited me over for wine and a play date for the boys that Wednesday.

I always felt somewhat out of place with these folks.  They were always kind to me, but the worlds we came from were vastly different.  My husband and I spent a lot of our days living paycheck to paycheck, and they well, didn't.  It was nice to relax and not have to worry about explaining jokes my husband would say.  (as I mentioned before, he had a knack for sticking his foot in his mouth firmly.)

This time, our CPS agent was Mr. Joshua Anderson.  He was a young man, just out of college, seemed sharp, but a little fuzzy around the edges in regards to particular procedures.

He said something that Monday that shook my core.  He said "You need to find alternate daycare arrangements, until we get this sorted, your children should not go see your Inlaws."

This meant I now had to find babysitters for shifts that were already established.

AND, I had to tell the kids grandparents they wouldn't be seeing them for an indeterminate amount of time.

They took it as well as could be imagined.  At the end of week 2 my brother in law could no longer stay away and rode his bicycle over to help out.  Since Joshua never specified whether or not it was just him or my entire family of in laws, I determined it was ok for him to be there.

He was my support and my foundation, along with a particularly amazing co-worker I had.

He answered my stupid paranoid texts at all hours of the day and night, and was, as I said, generally there for me whenever I needed him.  I miss him the most out of my old family, obviously, not including my children.  We'll go into that a bit later.

I asked friends and my mother to watch the kids.  I was working afternoons which meant that I was coming home at 12-1am.  This was a bit late for my Mom, and she mentioned it.

One night, I found myself too upset to drive home.  The tears were too much.  I waited in the parking lot for my co-worker to come out of work, and he took near about forever.

My mother and I had a horrid argument.

Another night, I found myself unable to purchase enough gasoline to get home.  My co-worker came and rescued me by footing the bill.  He bought me a whole tank of gasoline.  Back then, it was $60 dollars to fill the tank of my car.  My brother's ex girlfriend was watching them that night.

The kids were spoken to by a Child Advocate, who determined that none of them had experienced any abuse at my hand, my husband's hand, or the hand of my Inlaws.  They were immediately cleared to return to Nana's.

Soon, it became apparent I could no longer continue my shifts at work, so my co-worker volunteered to cover all of my shifts for that week, as well as his own.

The first day of school came pretty suddenly.

That night, I tucked my children in tight, kissed each of them, sang a bedtime song with them and read them 3 stories.  I tried to ignore the questions of "why is Daddy in jail?" and "when is he coming home?"

I checked on them 3 times before I myself went to bed, I dropped my older sons off at the bus stop ,as usual for the school season, brought Thomas to have breakfast with me at our favorite breakfast spot, Benny's, and had my Inlaws meet me there.

We had a wonderful breakfast, and my brother in law took a bunch of pictures.

It seemed like things were going to be ok.  I reminded my Mother in Law about a meeting we were to have that afternoon with Joshua at the CPS headquarters, and she assured me she and my Father in Law would be there.

It was then, at that meeting, I realized the first problems were starting to encroach upon my perfect little dysfunctional universe of discourse.

Nana came in, guns blazing, ready to rip this CPS agent limb from limb.

And, although I didn't much appreciate their "help" either, I understood we had to be very respectful and careful in regards to them.  They asked the Domanski's to hang out for a minute, and asked to speak to me privately.

"We are going to ask that the boys stay with your inlaws for a while while we investigate." said Joshua.

I asked why.

He said "at first, we couldn't find the cases you spoke of previously in regards to these allegations, but then, we did.  Your last name was badly misspelled.  We have 5 cases about you, and it's just a matter of algorithms, we have to place your children in Foster care. The (name redacted) seem like the best folks for the job, as we heard nothing but wonderful things about them during the children's interviews.  So we are going to ask, are you ok with this?"

I said "I don't really get a choice, so I don't see why you are asking."

He agreed.

I said "well if they are going to go anywhere, the (name redacted)'s seems like the best place for them.  They already have established patterns.

That night, I went to visit my children at their house.  I was confronted by an angry drunken Grandpa, who insisted they wanted to bail my husband out of jail so that they could kill him, but then, almost in the same breath saying that this was all my fault.  Then, it was the fault of the kid who dropped him off of the monkey bars at school.

He got quite irate at one point and took a step toward me.  As a victim of domestic violence, I knew what that step meant, I quickly made my exit and called my CPS worker in tears.

September

I was very lonely without my children around, I still went to see them every day I could when work and such would allow, but oftentimes found myself feeling very uncomfortable at my Inlaws home and left suddenly and often without much explanation.  I was always being questioned about particulars of my husband's trespasses, or about what I felt was best for him.  These were not questions I really felt qualified to answer, because yes, he had done some horrible things, true, but this was his family.  How can I speak badly of him? 

Then, there was the initial visit with my lawyer.  We went over all of the CPS allegations against ME, and also started divorce proceedings.  He said "We should have this done late November, early December at latest."  I was relieved.  Every time we went to court for the CPS allegations, they brought up the fact I wasn't yet divorced and they felt as though I didn't have intentions on doing so.  Every time, Jack (my lawyer) would mention some new obstacle in the way of my divorce.  It was his doing, but I was blamed.

My soon to be ex also spit on the CPS worker in court.  That was exciting.  Also, this was the time that the lawyer for CPS decided to bring up the fact that he was in an open marriage with me, and that he clearly must be "crawling with disease."

Now, I've never been shy about my alternative lifestyle.  In fact, the only people this was news to was my lawyer and my inlaws, who then went on a mission to try to find all of my "indiscretions."  Going through the accused texts on his phone, and finding all of the times that I asked permission to step out.

Some explanation, the accused and I are both bisexual, he was pansexual and gender fluid.  This meant that we understood the only way either of us were going to feel truly fuffilled sexuallly was to take on more than one partner.

He later used the open marriage as an excuse for his transgressions against my daughter.

He could have had ANYONE in the world, and he chose one of the 4 people that was completely inappropriate and horrible to be with.  

With the insane amount of free time I now had, I found myself bored as heck.  My adopted niece, Cat, moved back into Ypsilanti in September.  She found herself having some issues with her router, and so, after work one night I went over and attempted to fix it.

Then the next night,

Then the next night.

Until, Cat was basically staying at my house every night.  My brother had a friend Monica who needed a place in Ann Arbor as she was going to school at U of M, last semester, and found herself out of money to pay for a place.  

Having Cat and Monica around helped a great deal with the loneliness.  It also opened my life up to the single girl lifestyle.

I hadn't been single in 13 years at this point.  I was terrified to re-enter the dating scene and really didn't feel I was ready, but at the same time I had NEEDS.

Having the girls around made me feel a little less weird about having those needs.  We talked about men, women, and whatever else came to our minds, late into the night.  I'd come home about midnight, Cat or Monica would have made dinner about an hour before, and we had a pretty awesome life.

October

We had a hearing this month too, but nothing of consequence happened.

By this point, I figured out I needed to socialize outside of work to remain sane.  My work buddy was somewhat of an introvert, he didn't like to go out, and I was lonely and craving human contact of any sort.  I found myself at a dance club.  The dance club became the backdrop of my life for the next year of my life.

I saw this man on the dance floor almost immediately. He was tall, built, had hazel eyes, long curly hair and danced hypnotically.

I wanted to introduce myself to this man, but found myself unable to.  We attempted to sort of dance together.  When I saw him coming in from the smoking balcony, I said "HI" in my best squeaky 14 year old sort of way, then darted off.

That was my friend George.

We talked about pursuing something, but we both decided this was not what was best for either of us, both of us, in our lives having "seen some shit." but, we still had amazing adventures out and about in the world.  We'd go to a local hookah bar and hang out with the staff until the wee hours of the morning.  I'd cry to George about my problems, and he'd try to give me solutions to them, none of which were terribly practical, or you know, possible, but he tried.  He talked sense into me from time to time, which was required as I felt like the world had become quicksand.

My mother silently panicked thinking, "dear gods she found another (husband's name)."  No.  I hadn't.  I found a friend.

Then I met a bunch of other regulars at the lounge.  Monday's I would still head out to the dance club.

It felt good to be a part of a family, albeit a dysfunctional one.

November

Another hearing happened this month, it was decided that a third party would oversee all additional visitations with my children.  I was permitted, and encouraged to see my daughter at least once a week, Thomas 2 times a week and Evan and Dan once per week.  This was a sharp contrast to the every day I had been seeing them at my inlaws house.

The reason this was decided is that the CPS agent would receive a call after every visit I had with them, stating something I had done "inappropriately" or "wrong" I was told about it by the CPS agent later.  Nana had stated I kept urine soaked sheets on the kids beds, which wasn't true while they were living there, but once they were gone, the need to do laundry more than once a month was gone; after all, it was just me.  So the sheets stayed on the bed.  I couldn't bring myself to go into my sons room, it was too depressing.

My daughter came over for her visits every 3 weeks in addition to the every week visit I paid her on my days off.

It was when I was not able to see my sons on Thanksgiving that I realized something was really awry.

Then, the questions of, if something REALLY ODD were to happen, would I feel comfortable with my inlaws adopting my kids.

and I said sure, and Nana assured me that I would be able to see the kids.

"It would be just like always." she said again and again.

December

My mother bought new beds for the boys and had them delivered to my house.  She and her husband took down the existing beds and trashed them.  No response from Nana about whether or not they wanted Thomas' toddler bed over at her place, no response as to what to do with the remaining stuff of the accused's, I kept some of it, the stuff I hadn't managed to drop off in one of my many visits.

On Christmas day, we had arranged for the children to have a visit with my family, but two of my sons fell ill.  

We were invited to the (name redacted)'s home for the holiday.  The kids played together between bouts of throwing up.  I felt like things were going to be ok.  Everyone gave each other hugs upon leaving, and things were somewhat normal.

My friend from work left his employment on that night as well.  I felt truly alone, but that my family was back, and so everything would be ok.

January

As a result of the psychological evaluation I was forced to do, it came out in court that I was autistic and therefore had no way of knowing that my husband had done the things he was accused of.  (At this point, you guessed it, divorce was not yet finalized.)

My lawyer, and the accused's lawyer determined it was best for us to just give in and allow the children to go to my inlaws for good.  My lawyer advised me we could not win, and the CPS lawyer was refusing to listen to the will of her clients, who wanted very much to reunite my children with me.  But she felt "[I was] not to get a second bite at the apple"

The alternative was that we go through the case, I end up losing the children anyway, and they end up in foster care and separated from one another.

As our last act as husband and wife, he and I stood together in court and admitted to our wrong doing.

I heard his parents breathe a sigh of relief.

I saw my mother fuming.

But as of January 16th, this was no longer my fight.  I didn't have a chance.  

I resigned to it.  A few days later my friend Jennifer told me that she and her husband had arranged for me to fly out to Colorado to see them.

Jen was an old OLD friend of mine.  She was one of the few people I regard as a sister.

February 

On February 10th, my soon to be ex husband's birthday, I found myself at my ex inlaws house, saying goodbye to my children for an indiscriminate amount of time.  During adoption proceedings in Michigan, it is illegal for the birth parent to have contact with the adopted children until the adoption is finalized.  I was assured by the Foster Care Worker that this would take 3 months, and that everything should be ok. 

I found myself on a plane on the 16th headed to Colorado.  Still broken hearted and hurting.

I spent 4 days in Denver, warm sun shining.  We went to the mountains one day where I took many pictures and shared them on google plus, of which Evan had an account.

My kids were seeing my photos.

I sent post cards to them, and my soon to be ex, and my daughter and her father, and my old friend from work.

I also learned how to sleep with earphones in my ears, a useful skill to have.

When I took off, George and Cat were not getting along.  When I got home, I found them in a ummm, friendship.  It made me happy to see friends happy.

A day or so later, my dog was viciously attacked by three dogs upstairs in my apartment complex.

She... she was completely messed up.  It required 800 dollars at the vet to get her fixed up. She had to wear a cone of shame, and was generally miserable.  I got a hold of Nana and told her what was going on with the dog.  She agreed to allow the children to see me and the dog.
I got all of the hugs, as did Misty the dog.  Misty started doing much better after that.

I was then put on leave from my position at work.  I had messed up on something, but I am not at liberty to discuss the details as I was made to sign a contract agreeing I would not.  The important details are that my work was attempting to find me a new position with another contract.  (I am an IT contractor).  They paid me during this forced leave.  HCL is really a pretty decent company.  They didn't pay me to say that.

March 

This was the most important month of my life in a lot of ways.
First, I was invited to go out with a friend from the dance club, who cancelled on me last minute.  It was my brother's steampunk gig, so I decided to go anyway with my friend Panda in tow.
I met a man there who would change my life.
I looked over, I felt as though I had seen him before, and it felt like the room stopped.
Later, we all went out to dinner, and I never caught his name.  He sat next to me at dinner and made eyes at me all evening.
That Saturday I had a friend request from someone I didn't entirely recognize, but thought, what the heck?  Must have been someone I met at this thing.

This new stranger was very sweet, and seemed to keep the same strange hours as I did.

He always said goodnight to his friends on facebook.  So one night I messaged him.
"Goodnight to you too, Steven."

A day or so later, I received a message back from him, while I worked frantically on completing my novel, which was a veiled attempt at explaining this whole mess in a story.
We wrote to each other all night.
I explained my company had placed me in a position in North Carolina, and I would be leaving that Sunday to start.
He said "We need to hang out before then."

My friend Roadie asked me about an odd loophole and how I managed to get a job out of state while paying child support.  There wasn't a loophole, I then got a hold of HCL and informed them I couldn't take the North Carolina position.

That out of the way, Steven set up this date for us, and bought me flowers.
That was the start of our friendship, and soon after our relationship.


The next day, I went out to breakfast with my kids.


I had a meeting with CPS and my kids foster parents, (the ex inlaws) that Wednesday.  The foster parents again took glee at slamming me for going out on a date.  I walked out of the room.  I couldn't handle the betrayal anymore.

The foster parents were informed that they were not to allow the children to see me.  And that was the end of that.

I received a letter from my soon to be ex, (that's right, divorce was NOT final yet,) stating he was going for a retrial, because Daniel had wished for him to be home for Christmas.  I wished him the best of luck.  I guess I wished him a little too much luck.  Sarcasm doesn't always come through when it comes to wishes.

April
I was found a new position!  Good news, it was in Michigan!  Bad news, I would have to train in Chicago.
I.was.terrified!!!
First, I was afraid to be that far from my kids, second, I was afraid to run into my ex brother in law out there.  The younger one who lived out there.  He hated me and didn't understand the open marriage.
Yeah.
So, I spent much of that month working on moving out of my apartment, and preparing for my journey to Chi Town

May
I moved out to Chicago the second week of May.  The next week I had to travel out to Ann Arbor.  Steven agreed to stay at my house and take care of my dog, and getting my stuff moved to the new apartment.  He would be moving in with me.
Yes, it was fast, I get that, but I have never in my life felt more comfortable with a person.

I sent a few texts to my older brother in law with no response.  I sent messages to the foster parents, no response.
I was sad to be without them.
Steven came out a few times to visit.

May 21st, Thomas' birthday, I found myself in court, finally for my DIVORCE!  Almost a full year after I had kicked my ex husband out, and almost a year after he'd been sent to prison for pedophilia.  Finally.
The proceeding was anticlimactic, I went in front of the judge and I don't even remember the proceeding.
And just like that, I had my life back.  I changed my name almost immediately with Social security, then headed back to Chicago.

I received a call from MDOC at 7am the next Monday.  The accused had been released.
I called to ask what had happened, they said "He's been transferred to county, he's won his right to a retrial."

The same day, things started to happen with my sprint account.  A username created "shekilledme"
It was Nana.

I got rid of the username, then removed the accused's phone from my account.  His number couldn't be removed, but the hardware itself could be.

Chicago was wonderful and I was sad to leave it.  I was sad to come home, but I was glad to be getting on with my life.

Beginnings 5/15/15

Two days ago my daughter and I sent a pedophile to prison for the second time.

The first time was through a plea deal 2 years ago, he somehow managed to finagle a retrial, and so dragged us into court again.

If you are reading this, you either know me directly, or have heard my situation, but let's pretend for a moment you don't.

This whole journey began in 2003.

I had just separated from my husband of 2 years.  We were incomparable for several reasons, one of which was the way we dealt with our anger.  I had always learned to walk away when you feel your temper rising.  He had some abandonment issues which meant he would sometimes neurotically block the door any time an argument began.

The lack of mutual trust between the two of us ended us.

I found myself living on my friend's couch in Ypsilanti, Mi.  I had been staying there about a month when I got the news that I would have to move, within a week, have all of my stuff out of the house.

This meant, I needed to find an apartment.  This is where the accused comes in.

The accused was, for all intents and purposes, the love of my life and my rescuer.  

We found an apartment together, and everything seemed perfect.  Soon my daughter was allowed to visit.  In 2005 I got pregnant with my and the accused first son, then in 2007 with our second son...  In 2007 I headed back to full time work, then all hell broke loose.

My worse nightmare.

As I got enough money, I was able to fix my custody agreement with my ex-husband, so that I could get to see my daughter a lot more of the summer, and every third weekend during the school year.  She was 8.  He threw a fit about it, and a mediator had to step in.  It was ugly and hard fought, but I finally got my wish.  

She at first, cried about the proposition of spending all of her time in the summer with her mother, step-father and brothers, but then once she settled in, she seemed pretty ok with it. She got along famously with her younger brothers, and would help out around the house before I or my husband would wake in the mornings. We were a pretty happy family.

When the spring of 2009 came along, I was super excited to be picking my daughter up for the entire summer.  I had planned on putting her into a few summer camps, and spending time with this awesome young lady.

When I called my ex, however, I had a bit of pause.  He wasn't answering my phone calls.  He's the sort that even if he can't answer you right away, will call back the first possible second he was available. and here it had been 3 days and I still hadn't heard anything.

Finally, he called back and left a message.  Saying "you'll have to talk to your CPS agent."

First, I didn't really know what a CPS agent was, then I remembered back to when I used to live with him and his parents would threaten to call CPS if I didn't get the dishes done.

So, I called my lawyer, who did some research.... He called back some time later to say (1) a CPS case was pending and (2) a Criminal case was right on it's tail.

Now put yourself in my position for a second.  My daughter had been manipulated the previous summer in regards to parenting time with me, and almost didn't come out because my ex was crying and carrying on about it.  Previous to that his parents constantly threatened CPS action against me.  I did what any normal, sane logical person would do and assumed it was some last ditch ploy to keep his daughter for the summer.

3 weeks passed, after I had to kick the accused out to live with his parents.  I finally get my call from an agent, asking me to come in for "questioning".

"Questioning"

I spoke to Linda Turbin, a CPS agent in Washtenaw county.  She stated that she was doing a courtesy investigation for CPS in Kent county, where my daughter was living at the time.

(CPS law states that jurisdiction is where the child is found, not where the crime is committed.)

The questioning session lasted 3 hours, where Linda browbeat me into "believing" what was being said.  She said it was clear from the evidence that my daughter had been molested and that it was at the hand of her Step-father.

Well after I was finally released, I had my mother drive over to my in laws house to pick up my children.  (My children routinely went there for child care, because my former Brother in Law was an excellent caregiver, and still is, as far as I am aware.)

I explained to my former mother in law what I had been told.  I explained what I was now lead to "believe" and she just covered her mouth, gasped and said it couldn't possibly be true.

I then decided that of course, she has known her son a lot longer than I have, so she would know best.  I mean, after all she knew he was bi and gender fluid without him telling her, why wouldn't she know if he was a pedophile or not?

The investigation stagnated at this point, except for my weekly call from Linda, telling me I was a liar. It became so clique, I asked my manager to log out of my phone so that I could take my weekly liar call on my cell.

Then, I received one more call from the agent in Kent County saying "We are going to take your children from your husband, and if you aren't careful, you as well, just you wait and see Danielle."

I said "well considering that neither one of us have done anything wrong, and no one from your agency has spoken to my husband yet, that'll be an interesting feat."  I then hung up on him.  I spoke to my lawyer next who said "he had no business calling you, he doesn't have juristiction.  I have no idea why he was actually calling you."

The calls stopped after that.

And it got very very quiet.

I couldn't let my husband come back home though.  We had nightly web cam calls over yahoo... which faded to weekly, then faded to nothing at all.  at first, it was great, we played dominoes and talked about our days at work.  Then, he stopped calling, or being available when I called.

And I still had these 2 little boys to take care of.  Feeling like my marriage was failing at this point, in July, I asked my husband to take time off of work so that we could go up north together.  The boys couldn't come because CPS still hadn't concluded their investigation at that point, (as far as we knew, it'd been REALLY quiet on that front.)

We went up to Taquaminion falls, we had a wonderful time hanging out with one another and causing trouble.  You know, coming back to a hotel with sand in our shoes and on our clothes.

We returned home, and in August I received a call from a new CPS agent, Danielle Dale, stating that the case had been reopened and they were attempting to terminate my husband's rights to my sons.

We had weekly visits with CPS agents, making sure I was managing on my own with the boys.  Danielle Dale conducted the first few visits, and agreed that this whole business was unnecessary.  Then Gregory Pordon was our agent for a few months, then finally Anjantta Cates.  I was pregnant throughout these visits, but didn't know until I was 7 months along.  I asked my lawyer if I should tell them.  He said no.  He said "if they can't tell by now, they certainly have no business being in this business."  But Greg couldn't tell.  I always wore my maternity jeans and a huge baggy t-shirt, which was my normal uniform, sans the maternity jeans, so he couldn't tell a difference.

Anjantta's first visit was scheduled for May 21st at 9:30am.

Guess when I went into labor?  Oh, also, as a rule I have children at home with midwives. Yeah.

My husband and my midwives were with me when we heard the buzzer.  I was panicking.  It took the midwives about 3 hours to calm me after that, and soon after that, Thomas was born.  My husband tried to go into work right after the birth had occurred because his boss called him.  

I later called Anjantta to explain what had happened.  She congratulated me, and was by far one of the kindest souls I had ever met to that point.

My husband went back to his parents house after that, and soon, I had four children I was in charge of.

I did pretty ok for a single mom of four I think.  I had my daughter to help me, and my other two children were old enough to understand they just had to be a little bit patient with Mom.

Everything was resolved in 2010.  My husband was found by "A preponderance of evidence" that he had abused my daughter.  BUT the only stipulation was that he was never to be alone in a room with my daughter, and if my daughter was going to bed before he was, she was to lock her door.  CPS found this sufficient, I found this sufficient.  My husband was allowed to return home.

Mistaken

Soon after he had returned home, I realized what the time at his parents had done.  Made him not understand what needed to be done in regards to the children.  He spent much of his time avoiding conversation, avoiding household tasks, and generally avoiding anything but sex and sleep.

I soon felt as though I had made an error, but hey, this was my husband, right?  Through thick and thin.  Sickness and in health; that old glorious chestnut.

He had gotten quite sick, too.  He'd lost a bunch of weight and was generally having a lot of seizures.  He was barely functional, and was less helpful than my daughter.

We went on this way until 2013.

My daughter pulled me aside one day tentatively and said "Mom, he snuck into my room and touched my butt."

I heard the record scratch.

I suggested she and I go out for a drive, we took my sons over to my inlaws home, and she and I went for a drive.

And she told me.  She didn't tell me EVERYTHING that had happened, but told me she was afraid it was starting again.  We had left my husband with the kids at his parents.  I instructed his family and he that he would be staying there for the duration of that summer.

He argued fiercely with my decision, but I refused to bring him home, except on my days off to visit my kids.  I told him this was not only for my daughter's protection but for his own protection.

A few days later while preparing for a bike ride, I saw initials carved into her leg.  Cutting.  Shit.

I knew what that meant and felt completely justified in my decisions.  Scared, but justified.

I called her father who attempted to take it out on her.  I told him she needed therapy and that we were going to work together to make sure it happened.  My husband got sick when he saw it, and his eyes spoke of guilt and sadness.  He was speechless the rest of the day, and my husband was not one to be speechless EVER, even if you wanted him to be.

I then started planning a family vacation, one big last one, with his Mom and Brother, and the boys, my husband and my daughter.  

We went camping up in Mackinaw City.

Boys in one tent, girls in the other.  I even let my daughter bring her friend along.

We had a fantastic time, even though it was every penny we had ever saved, and also a lot of credit card debt.  I didn't care.

July 31st 2013

A friend of mine had just lost her sister in law, so she and I agreed on my day off to get together for dinner.  I figured I would bring my daughter, but I would keep my husband and sons home since my friend was grieving, the boys wouldn't understand and my husband had a nasty tendency of sticking his foot in his mouth.

But my husband wouldn't let up, he wanted all of us to go.  I really REALLY didn't.  I got a hold of my best friend at the time and asked her if she would come and keep my husband company, but "make it seem like she wanted to spend the time with him." so that he wouldn't complain.

I felt bad being deceptive, but I strongly felt this was not the place for him.

We went to dinner and had a lovely dinner.  My friend came back to my house with me, when my best friend got angry and said she needed to go home.  My husband was asleep on the couch and the children were still running around the house as though they and it were on fire.

My husband, daughter and I got my kids to bed, and to sleep.  I then told my daughter I was taking my husband back home to his parents and asked her to hold down the fort.  At this time she was 13 and so said "sure!" because she knew it meant I would give her some cash for it.

As I took my husband home, I noticed he was taking an awful long time picking the music.  When I realized he wasn't, he was looking over my texts which is something he NEVER did.  I was upset because he didn't ask, not because he looked texts over.  I didn't mind that.

I had recently had a period of time where my best friend had gone through my phone and gotten very mad at me because of texts I sent to others, so I was super on edge about it.

He was very angry to find out that Meg hadn't wanted to spend time with him, but was simply a husby-sitter while I was out with my friend.

He slammed the door in my face while saying "how dare I want to spend time with MY WIFE!"

it didn't endear me to him, let's put it that way.

When I got home, I ran inside to see how the children were, fast asleep, save for my daughter still typing away at her computer and video chatting with a friend.

I told her I was going out side to have a cigarette and make a phone call, and if she needed me to either call me or come outside to the car port to get me.

She agreed she would.

I then called my husband, we hung up on each other a few times, other times our cell phones lost service.

But then, once we had a decent connection I asked him some questions.

"Well, it's clear you don't trust me anymore..." I began "and I haven't been able to trust you for a while either, there is something bothering me." and I explained how my daughter had been cutting and claiming all kinds of things about him.  Always him, always insistent.

Then I mentioned "I remember when we first moved in together, in with your underwear was a pair of little girl's underwear that wouldn't fit my daughter at that point, then the fact I caught you on Yahoo talking to an underaged girl when I picked you up from work that one time..."

"Yes?" he asked.

I said "What would you think if you were me?"

he paused.

"I don't know what you want me to say..." he said

"I want you to be honest, and tell me the truth, what would you think?"

"That I was a pedophile." he answered plainly

I said then, "Later when I catch you looking at porn on your computer, and it involves incest and barely legal, or sometimes not so legal girls..."

"Yes?"

I took a deep breath, and got calmer than I have ever been before.

"I need you to tell me what happened."

"I don't know what you want me to say" he said again.

"The Truth.  I promise I won't tell the authorities or your parents." I said

And then, he took a breath and asked me "What did the CPS case in 2009 say.

and I explained, "that you fondled her, fingered her, made her touch your bulge and kiss it, and that you promised to marry her."

"Well... I never promised I'd marry her..."

I felt my throat close up.  I felt like I had been hit by a truck.  I couldn't breathe, but I forced myself to.

I will spare you the details of that horrible conversation.  It lives on and rings in my ears anytime it is quiet.  I get to live with the trauma of what he admitted to.

As the conversation ended, I said "well, I imagine you'll sleep a little better now that you've let that out." Feeling sick but knowing that I had to keep up the calm.

"Better?  You think I feel better?"

"Well at least it's out now." I replied.

"The only thing, the only thing that would remotely make this ok is if when she turns 16, she and I were to have a consensual relationship, then it wouldn't be me forcing her."  Adding "I just wanted her and I to have what you and I used to have."

I then informed him he would never see her again, and all of us would be getting into therapy.  I then went in and apologized to my daughter and held her tight.  I then called my best friend and told her what had happened.

The Power of Rainbows.

The next day, I awoke late.  My in-laws came and picked my sons up, and I took my daughter to her friend's house.

A little while later, I went to pick up my husband.

He looked a bit rough, and had just woken up when I got there at about 4pm.

I then sat out on the front lawn with him for about an hour saying how important it was that he tell his parents what he had told me, because I promised I wouldn't tell them and I didn't want to violate his trust.

He vehemently refused.  It was then my best friend called saying we needed to talk.

I told my husband we were taking a ride with my best friend and her boyfriend; a friend of mine from high school, to discuss what we had discussed the previous night.

As we approached my friend's house, we saw a beautiful rainbow, which was always my sign everything would eventually be ok.

We drove south.  Much of the way with me yelling, and my friend saying that my husband needed to turn himself in.

My friend from high school noticed we were running low on fuel and so we stopped in Sylvania, OH.

It was Thursday, so I had just been paid and I was able to fuel the car without thinking about it.  I remembered thinking how nice it was to be able to fuel my car without fear of not having enough money.

Then, I decided I needed a cigarette.  The car was full of fuel and my husband sat inside, brooding.  My keys were in the ignition.  I grabbed my cigarettes and went over to a lawn about 100 feet away.

Then my husband drove off in my car.

I called the cops and they sent 3 cars.  The next thing I knew, the cops had instructed my husband I would be signing him up for "services" the next day, and that we were free to go.

They had instructed me a bit differently however.

They said he needed to be brought in for questioning, and called up to Pittsfield township where we lived.  Pittsfield agreed to send a car down to exit 1 and meet me there.

We nearly didn't meet, I parked at the wrong truck stop.

They took my husband away in handcuffs.  

The last text I received from him?  "You knew they were coming, didn't you?"