Play & Book Excerpts
She Journeys
(She Writes Press)
© Sarah May
It had been a simple decision. Choosing his love was worth it. For some, what had happened would have been a non-negotiable. But a relationship can survive indiscretion; some can even thrive in its wake. I’d seen it myself. In the scorched earth of my parents’ marriage, they had eventually planted and nourished a garden, a redeemed love of grace and forgiveness. They overcame it all to grow old together.
In the aftermath, Nick swore, “I would rather die than hurt you like that ever again.” We both knew how it felt to be cheated on and what was at stake. We wouldn’t compromise us, we agreed. Never again. I had called Nick back.
“I forgive you,” I’d said, “we can make this work.”
I looked across at Cat who could tell this wasn’t easy for me to share. “Oh, honey . . . I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
I nodded. “Thank you. It took a lot for us to get past it, but we did. When we got married, we put those mistakes behind us. We’ve come a long way.”
She placed her napkin on the table and paused a moment. “I’m so glad to hear it. But I’m just curious . . . what would you do if it happened again . . . if he cheated?”
I sat my lemonade down, the question weighing heavy. In truth, it was my deepest fear. “He wouldn’t do that to me. Not again. It almost destroyed us. But . . . if he did, I don’t think I could get past it. I could never forgive him.”
She smiled kindly from across the table. “In my experience, we just can’t know what we would do until we’re in that situation. I’ve learned to never say never.”
She meant well, but her words stung. Conversation finished, we got the check and headed back to the office. The rest of the afternoon I couldn’t focus. My mind elsewhere, across the sea, around the world. Was Nick hanging out with that girl? Would he steer clear of her like he promised?
I consoled myself with memories of how we’d repaired before.
After he’d confessed back in college, I had flown to visit him as soon as I could. We hadn’t seen each other in months and the indiscretions had taken their toll. We were both miserable, emotionally wracked by guilt, offering contrite apologies and assurances as we tried to rebuild trust.
Outside the airport, he’d been waiting next to his lifted truck, an oversize bouquet of red roses in his hands. He picked me up when I ran to him and held me tight. “You deserve them,” he’d said, pressing the flowers into my arms. Driving back to his apartment, he had one hand on the wheel, the other hot on my thigh.
He’d kept that hand on me at all times, even as he carried my bags into his apartment and closed the door. I’d turned to see the glow of candles and a pathway of rose petals. Scattered across the bed were handwritten notes of all the things he loved about me. I started to cry. His hands ran across my waist as he pulled me back into him. “I’m sorry,” we’d both said, kissing through tears. “I love you,” we’d said over and over as he pulled off my silk blouse, unzipped my boots, and peeled off my leggings. As he lowered me onto the bed and looked at me with eyes that said, There’s only you. As I lost myself in him. For all Nick’s excess, for all our faults, his love was an oasis in the desert of my hurt. I drank it up. I knew I was right to forgive him. To try and make us work. I knew we were worth it.
Later that night a thunderstorm rolled in. He opened the window and let the humid air pour over us. Lying awake, naked, blissful, tangled up. His fingers traced across my body, counting the freckles splashed across my skin. “I want to memorize every inch of you,” he said.
“No need,” I said. “You’ll have me forever, baby. Forever and a day.”
I cling to that memory for comfort. The romance, the passion, our vows to one another on our wedding day. That was Nick, that was us.
Still, I can’t help but replay Cat’s words. They echo in my head, creeping in the darkness, lying in wait. Never say never.
---
Over the next few weeks of deployment, Nick went out partying more and more. Our calls became infrequent and the distance between us seemed to grow. I hated being at home without him, wondering who he was with and what he was doing. Was she around? Was Nick drinking too much? A sick feeling grew in the pit of my stomach day by day.
“You’re being so insecure,” he would tell me when I raised my concerns the few moments we did talk. It was true, but I also knew how he could be when he drank. When Nick let loose, he was wild, impulsive, the life of the party who just wanted to keep the party going. A day without speaking turned into two, then three. He was busy, he said. Still pained by his secret, I wanted reassurance, but any conversation about his behavior quickly escalated into a fight. I could feel it in the stretches between our conversations; we were on a slippery slope into dangerous territory. A dance with the darkness begins in the shadows.
In the aftermath, Nick swore, “I would rather die than hurt you like that ever again.” We both knew how it felt to be cheated on and what was at stake. We wouldn’t compromise us, we agreed. Never again. I had called Nick back.
“I forgive you,” I’d said, “we can make this work.”
I looked across at Cat who could tell this wasn’t easy for me to share. “Oh, honey . . . I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
I nodded. “Thank you. It took a lot for us to get past it, but we did. When we got married, we put those mistakes behind us. We’ve come a long way.”
She placed her napkin on the table and paused a moment. “I’m so glad to hear it. But I’m just curious . . . what would you do if it happened again . . . if he cheated?”
I sat my lemonade down, the question weighing heavy. In truth, it was my deepest fear. “He wouldn’t do that to me. Not again. It almost destroyed us. But . . . if he did, I don’t think I could get past it. I could never forgive him.”
She smiled kindly from across the table. “In my experience, we just can’t know what we would do until we’re in that situation. I’ve learned to never say never.”
She meant well, but her words stung. Conversation finished, we got the check and headed back to the office. The rest of the afternoon I couldn’t focus. My mind elsewhere, across the sea, around the world. Was Nick hanging out with that girl? Would he steer clear of her like he promised?
I consoled myself with memories of how we’d repaired before.
After he’d confessed back in college, I had flown to visit him as soon as I could. We hadn’t seen each other in months and the indiscretions had taken their toll. We were both miserable, emotionally wracked by guilt, offering contrite apologies and assurances as we tried to rebuild trust.
Outside the airport, he’d been waiting next to his lifted truck, an oversize bouquet of red roses in his hands. He picked me up when I ran to him and held me tight. “You deserve them,” he’d said, pressing the flowers into my arms. Driving back to his apartment, he had one hand on the wheel, the other hot on my thigh.
He’d kept that hand on me at all times, even as he carried my bags into his apartment and closed the door. I’d turned to see the glow of candles and a pathway of rose petals. Scattered across the bed were handwritten notes of all the things he loved about me. I started to cry. His hands ran across my waist as he pulled me back into him. “I’m sorry,” we’d both said, kissing through tears. “I love you,” we’d said over and over as he pulled off my silk blouse, unzipped my boots, and peeled off my leggings. As he lowered me onto the bed and looked at me with eyes that said, There’s only you. As I lost myself in him. For all Nick’s excess, for all our faults, his love was an oasis in the desert of my hurt. I drank it up. I knew I was right to forgive him. To try and make us work. I knew we were worth it.
Later that night a thunderstorm rolled in. He opened the window and let the humid air pour over us. Lying awake, naked, blissful, tangled up. His fingers traced across my body, counting the freckles splashed across my skin. “I want to memorize every inch of you,” he said.
“No need,” I said. “You’ll have me forever, baby. Forever and a day.”
I cling to that memory for comfort. The romance, the passion, our vows to one another on our wedding day. That was Nick, that was us.
Still, I can’t help but replay Cat’s words. They echo in my head, creeping in the darkness, lying in wait. Never say never.
---
Over the next few weeks of deployment, Nick went out partying more and more. Our calls became infrequent and the distance between us seemed to grow. I hated being at home without him, wondering who he was with and what he was doing. Was she around? Was Nick drinking too much? A sick feeling grew in the pit of my stomach day by day.
“You’re being so insecure,” he would tell me when I raised my concerns the few moments we did talk. It was true, but I also knew how he could be when he drank. When Nick let loose, he was wild, impulsive, the life of the party who just wanted to keep the party going. A day without speaking turned into two, then three. He was busy, he said. Still pained by his secret, I wanted reassurance, but any conversation about his behavior quickly escalated into a fight. I could feel it in the stretches between our conversations; we were on a slippery slope into dangerous territory. A dance with the darkness begins in the shadows.
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Sarah May is a yoga instructor, Reiki healer, and intuitive. She provides her clients with powerful practices and healing insights from the studio to private sessions, retreats, and women’s circles. Sarah received her Master of Science in Conflict Analysis and Resolution and previously managed a nonprofit. She Journeys is her debut memoir. In 2020, she and her husband — fellow author Andrew Singer — converted a cargo van and hit the road. They spend their time exploring and writing across America’s public lands. |
Sarah May
Photo Courtesy: Sarah May |
