He left the Yahoo account visible in his browser history even though we often shared his laptop.
I called him up at work, demanded the password, and was shocked when he gave it to me. He must have been more distracted than usual to make a mistake like that. He told me that the account was very very old and that he had closed it years ago.
And indeed it was closed. He must have thought this would protect him. But he didn’t know that Yahoo allows you to reopen old Yahoo accounts.
Yahoo also tells you it can take 24 hours, but this time it took 30 seconds before 2,000 pages of text conversations popped up on the screen. My brain couldn’t really keep up, so it started shutting down. I reminded my son to put on his baseball uniform. I kissed my daughter’s little perfect face and allowed her to watch the Disney Channel “for a while.” I paced. I read. I paced and wondered if I was having a heart attack because my chest hurt so bad and I couldn’t breathe. The air seemed heavy and bright. I had a strange buzzing in my head that shut out all other sounds. I started folding laundry like a mad woman.
Then I got myself together and brought my son across the street to baseball practice and called my husband and told him I had read his secret account.
“All of it?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Come home and get your things and leave this house.”
He knew what was in that account. He knew his secret life was exposed. And he knew that even after 15 years of marriage, there was no coming back from this. He arrived home while my son was still at baseball. He was sweating but didn’t speak. He grabbed an old backpack, and I suppose he shoved some things into it. And then he left.
His exposure set into motion a million things, big and small. Immediately after reading those 2,000 pages, I could no longer remember anything good about my marriage. Now, nearly six years later, I still can’t remember one conversation that took place during our entire relationship. When I look at photos, I see a complete stranger and wonder who he really was. I squint and try hard to remember, but I can’t.
He left the house and never told me where he lived after that. He did, however, fight me for custody of our children, figuring that I didn’t have the guts to fight back against a sociopathic attorney who represented himself in court.
He was wrong.
Several years later, a judge would scream, “you are a LIAR,” at him, adding, “You lie about everything. I don’t believe a word you say!”
The judge knew what was in those 2,000 pages. I know, too.
I spend a lot of time hoping that my children will never know. They are safe and adjusting to life as divorced kids. It’s not perfect, and it isn’t what I wanted for them, but they are doing well. They are good kids with good intentions and big hearts. They are loved.
The exposure was agonizing. But necessary. And it set me free.