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What Every Second Wife Needs To Hear

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What Every Second Wife Needs to Hear

The most romantic statement Gabe ever made to me didn’t happen on our wedding day.  He didn’t declare it at the base of the Eiffel tower, or pen it in a greeting card.  The sentence caught me by surprise as we were out to dinner on a rare weeknight alone.

It was around the holidays, a particularly tough time for blended families.  The mix of holiday hoopla and memory and grief is a tough one for parents and kids alike. We were no exception, and were feeling particularly banged up and bruised that night. Truthfully, we weren’t all that excited about going out, but felt like we should take advantage of our childless state and paint the town red.  Or at least share a pizza.

We settled in to a corner table in a small Italian restaurant.  It was busy that night, filled with kids and groups of friends celebrating together.  We weren’t bothered; this wasn’t a real date night, after all.

We placed our order and began devouring the hot, pillow-soft dinner rolls.  Too exhausted to talk about the comings and goings of our blended bunch, or what we had on our combined agenda for the rest of the week, we sat in silence.

Two butter-slathered rolls later, I was feeling more comfortable. I was remembering how much I love the tall blue-eyed guy seated across from me, and was ready to talk.

“Tell me a secret?” I asked.

“That’s not a secret!” I exclaimed.

Gabe responded by sharing the latest client deal news from work.

“It’s confidential,” he shot back, grinning.

Undeterred, I pressed on.  “Tell me about that high school girlfriend you really loved. The one who’s overseas now.”

Gabe began to talk about his crush, and we settled into a real conversation.  Our pizza and token salad came, and we kept talking as we shared our meal. The conversation grew more serious, covering the choices we’d made as adults. We wondered together about roads not taken and opportunities missed at work and at home; it was the kind of conversation you can have with someone who wasn’t there for the beginning.

We each talked about longing for a simpler life, unfettered by the logistics of our blended family. I told Gabe that I sometimes missed parts of my marriage to Billy, even knowing I was happier in my current marriage. I was close to Billy’s family, and miss them particularly around the holidays.

“What do you miss from your marriage?” I asked him.

Gabe paused.

I waited.

“My first marriage produced three of the people I love most in this world. I am eternally grateful for them and for the marriage in that respect,” he began.

“But I don’t miss anything about it.”

I just looked at him. I didn’t understand. Gabe’s marriage to his first wife lasted more than a decade. They shared holidays and family and a thousand meals.  How could he not miss anything from that life?

Gabe continued.  “Our life is wildly different from what I experienced before. I learned the lessons offered by my divorce: I stopped traveling for work, began looking for ways to enjoy my life with my family now and focusing on what makes me truly happy. I’m a different person.”

“Our marriage is a different entity than my first.  It serves me and challenges me. I view you as my equal partner. My life before was black and white, and you have colored my world.”

I sat stunned, blinking back tears.

Our marriage is different. You have colored my world. 

I didn’t realize until that moment how much baggage I carried. Up until then, I was painfully aware I was Gabe’s second choice.  Joining his life, very much in progress, made me feel like our relationship was missing the foundation of a first marriage.

Continue reading on This Life in Progress.

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