Thank you, Sweetheart
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I’d said to Big Love, throwing him a smile like I did with every customer before him. I didn’t know him then. He didn’t know me, either – but that was the first time he noticed me.
It took one day plus a second meeting for me to notice him right back.
“Who’s your American friend,” I’d said to my friend, who we’ll call Bobby.
“He’s Canadian, dumbass,” Bobby laughed back. “And that’s Big Love.”
We were out in the War Zone. I was still married, not quite yet ready to throw in the towel for some strange, unexplainable reason that only a victim of domestic abuse can justify, but I knew that the War Zone would save me. I could feel it in my bones. It was in the air around me like the dry, dusty sand, each grain that scratched my skin a reminder of change a’coming.
Fear filled me every day, but something else did, too: excitement.
And then, I re-met Big Love.
I don’t know why I didn’t notice him on our first meeting, but it’s not the first time I’ve had to meet the same person twice before I realised that I was attracted to them. That second time, though… well, it clicked in that way that starts off all good love stories – and what a fucking incredible love story it would turn out to be.
We were inseparable from day one. I’d run back to the tin hut I called home after work, to have a cold shower with minimal privacy, shaving and moisturising and exfoliating as quickly as I could, often skipping dinner to get the job done. The food was disgusting anyway.
A quick dry of the hair, then it was time to throw on one of maybe six outfits that I had there, splash a little makeup on, lace up those sandy boots and scamper across camp to his side. We couldn’t hang out on my side; I was married. My husband was out there somewhere, too, maybe on camp, maybe not. In all honesty, I didn’t care. Once Big Love was on my radar, Husband basically didn’t exist.
I didn’t physically cheat. I mean, yes, there were stolen finger touches and the brief bit of handholding, but it was all talk and feelings. I emotionally cheated. We didn’t kiss, and we certainly didn’t fuck. I didn’t want Big Love to be my bit on the side. He was much bigger and better than that from the second moment we met.
I was honest. Big Love was, too. He was mid-divorce, had some complications, yadda yadda. I agreed to take on his yadda-yadda if he agreed to take on mine.
So, we did.
I knew that Husband had some R&R coming up, so I waited for him to go home, then I called, and called, and called.
“He’s not around right now.”
“He doesn’t have time.”
“He’s just running out the door.”
Right. I should’ve seen that coming, to be fair.
He never did get back to me. My husband of almost five years didn’t want to speak to me… at all. It was history repeating itself. It wasn’t the first time that he’d literally pretended I didn’t exist. In that moment, I knew it wouldn’t be the last time, and I also knew I’d had enough. I sent him an email that said, in no uncertain terms, that I wanted to separate. He was free to do or fuck whatever he wanted, as was I.
I felt a strange sense of relief after I’d sent it. My feet virtually skipped to Big Love’s side of camp, ready to tell him the good news.
“I did it,” I whispered excitedly.
“You did it?” Big Love asked, a frown splashed across his face.
“I left him.”
It took a few seconds, but the frown eventually made way for a beaming grin. “So… we’re on?”
I grinned right back. “Yeah, we’re on.”
And just like that, I’d closed the chapter on an abusive marriage that had completely destroyed my life, self-esteem, and mental stability. I’d also started a brand-new chapter, one that filled me with excitement, pride, and joy. I knew, from the second moment I met Big Love, that he’d change my life.
Oh, and he really did.
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
If you fancy reading the entire Big Love story, from start to finish, you’ll find it right here.
If you’re in the market for something a lil’ spicier, why not check out one of my smutty favourites:
