A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Lies

My husband and I had taken a vacation—a little trip to, you know get the fire burning again.  We had talked about divorce on and off for a few years, went to counseling, had another baby…well, the list goes on and this was a last chance for our family. 

I was equal parts nervous and excited as I glanced through shy eyelashes at my husband of fifteen years.  I wondered how I could share a home, a family, a bed with this man that I barely knew.  I had known him once, loved him once, wanted to build a life with him.  That was before three kids and job transfers, among other things, had crept in and separated us.

Now, here I was alone with him, and I had nothing to say.  It was like the first date from hell…uncomfortable, awkward and the drinks hadn’t even shown up yet…no wait, it was worse because at the end of the night, he was still my husband who I had made “for better or for worse, ‘til death do us part” vows with.

He brought my worries to a close when I realized he wasn’t looking for conversation.  I sighed and we settled into routine.  He picked up the newspaper he had tucked into his briefcase (yes, that was coming on vacation) and absorbed himself in it before the second class even got on the plane.  I pulled out my book I had snuck in (oh, how I loved those mysteries full of the passion that didn’t exist in my life of soccer games and sack lunches), and realized how we had made it through the years—peacefully not dealing with each other. 

That should tell you what the vacation accomplished.  We divorced amazingly soon after Cabo, both contentedly ignoring the issues.  I went to his wedding and took the kids home afterwards. 

Now I’m just going through some old things and I came across a Nike box, stuffed with old photos.  It was these pictures of Cabo that made me remember.  I gingerly picked one up, thinking of how that vacation might have been.  We were at dinner, glasses raised in a toast behind a crisp linen cloth, the sun setting over the water in the background. 

Suddenly, I saw what I hadn’t seen in my fifteen-plus years of marriage.  Adrenaline shot through my body, making my hands shake uncontrollably and I gasped, dropping the box and scattering pictures everywhere.  I raised a hand to my hot face, unsure where to plunk myself.  I turned in a circle and finally flopped onto the floor cross-legged.  The camera had captured a moment in time that was supposed to be a forever secret.  I ransacked the shoebox and rifled through the years of pictures, wondering just how long his new wife had been sharing in our private, family functions.