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Authors: Helen Humphreys
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were about me, rather than about his need to write them.
I believed the poetry. I believed the kisses. I believed the sloppy eagerness of my own heart. We married, and for a while I was the happiest I’ve ever been. But when the children came and I, necessarily, turned my attentions to them, Victor felt rebuffed and disappeared into his work – a work that could absorb all of him if he let it.
That’s the simple explanation. But really, it’s another lie.
I lost my desire for Victor. I found his kisses repulsive, and his constant need to be in my bed was not my need.
But I am married to him. I have a duty and a contract, and nothing justifies the betrayal of my wedding vows. It doesn’t matter that I have lost my desire for my husband. This is the natural state of any marriage and I should just accept it. Why can’t I just accept it?
When I’m down on my knees in the church, worrying a line of prayer from my lips, I feel disgust for my actions, and a desperation to remedy them. But I never feel that God hears me or understands. I never know what to do to absolve my sins. I just rise and go back to my family.
Each time I meet with Charles, my situation becomes more intolerable, and I become more miserable because of it.
As a girl I ran after my sister through the woods. I climbed trees. I made a lance out of a sapling and speared a grouse. I was as tall and strong as any boy. This is what Victor and I had in common when we were young, a longing to express ourselves physically, a need to be active and in the world.
I am still that same being, and it is clear to me that I mustdo something about my situation. God is not going to help me. Charles cannot do anything. He has asked me to leave my marriage. That is the most he can do. The choice is mine to make. I must leave Charles, or I must leave Victor.
There is no point in lying to myself any more.
But to leave Victor, I will probably have to leave my children, because how could I afford to support them? My sister is sympathetic, and she might take us in for a while, but I have four children. She will not be able to house us for long. And really, how can I leave my children? How will God forgive that sin? Demanding as they sometimes are, I love them absolutely.
Most nights, after my little ones are in bed, I walk through each of their rooms, watching them sleep. They are all so beautiful. And when one of them has a dream and twitches or cries out, I run to comfort him without thinking, as I run to comfort them through every day. It is impossible to imagine not being attached to them, not being available to respond to their every need.
But I do imagine this. I lie in my bed after I have visited my children’s rooms. Victor likes to work late, is always working late, and so I lie in my bed alone, imagining Charles there beside me. There could be no sweeter pleasure than waking up with him every morning, than turning over in the night to touch his soft skin.
So, slowly, over time, I make myself believe the impossible. In order to be with my lover, I have to abandon my children.
I tell myself that they are my husband’s children as well. He has formed a special bond with Léopoldine, and Charles and François-Victor will learn to be men from him. They need to remain with him. I could leave them in his care and he would look after them. He does love them.
So, that is what I will do. I will take my baby, Dédé, with me, and I will leave the older children with their father. One child I can manage. One child I can bring with me to Charles.Dédé is much too young to abandon. She still has such need of me. The others are more independent and they become more independent with every day.
I make this decision, and I tell no one about it. Not Charles. Not even Julie. It sickens me to think that this is what I will do, but I know that I will do it, just as I plunged the sharpened stick into the breast of the grouse. Feeling badly about it didn’t stop me from killing
I believed the poetry. I believed the kisses. I believed the sloppy eagerness of my own heart. We married, and for a while I was the happiest I’ve ever been. But when the children came and I, necessarily, turned my attentions to them, Victor felt rebuffed and disappeared into his work – a work that could absorb all of him if he let it.
That’s the simple explanation. But really, it’s another lie.
I lost my desire for Victor. I found his kisses repulsive, and his constant need to be in my bed was not my need.
But I am married to him. I have a duty and a contract, and nothing justifies the betrayal of my wedding vows. It doesn’t matter that I have lost my desire for my husband. This is the natural state of any marriage and I should just accept it. Why can’t I just accept it?
When I’m down on my knees in the church, worrying a line of prayer from my lips, I feel disgust for my actions, and a desperation to remedy them. But I never feel that God hears me or understands. I never know what to do to absolve my sins. I just rise and go back to my family.
Each time I meet with Charles, my situation becomes more intolerable, and I become more miserable because of it.
As a girl I ran after my sister through the woods. I climbed trees. I made a lance out of a sapling and speared a grouse. I was as tall and strong as any boy. This is what Victor and I had in common when we were young, a longing to express ourselves physically, a need to be active and in the world.
I am still that same being, and it is clear to me that I mustdo something about my situation. God is not going to help me. Charles cannot do anything. He has asked me to leave my marriage. That is the most he can do. The choice is mine to make. I must leave Charles, or I must leave Victor.
There is no point in lying to myself any more.
But to leave Victor, I will probably have to leave my children, because how could I afford to support them? My sister is sympathetic, and she might take us in for a while, but I have four children. She will not be able to house us for long. And really, how can I leave my children? How will God forgive that sin? Demanding as they sometimes are, I love them absolutely.
Most nights, after my little ones are in bed, I walk through each of their rooms, watching them sleep. They are all so beautiful. And when one of them has a dream and twitches or cries out, I run to comfort him without thinking, as I run to comfort them through every day. It is impossible to imagine not being attached to them, not being available to respond to their every need.
But I do imagine this. I lie in my bed after I have visited my children’s rooms. Victor likes to work late, is always working late, and so I lie in my bed alone, imagining Charles there beside me. There could be no sweeter pleasure than waking up with him every morning, than turning over in the night to touch his soft skin.
So, slowly, over time, I make myself believe the impossible. In order to be with my lover, I have to abandon my children.
I tell myself that they are my husband’s children as well. He has formed a special bond with Léopoldine, and Charles and François-Victor will learn to be men from him. They need to remain with him. I could leave them in his care and he would look after them. He does love them.
So, that is what I will do. I will take my baby, Dédé, with me, and I will leave the older children with their father. One child I can manage. One child I can bring with me to Charles.Dédé is much too young to abandon. She still has such need of me. The others are more independent and they become more independent with every day.
I make this decision, and I tell no one about it. Not Charles. Not even Julie. It sickens me to think that this is what I will do, but I know that I will do it, just as I plunged the sharpened stick into the breast of the grouse. Feeling badly about it didn’t stop me from killing
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