The Epic Disaster I Made of My Chances at a Life with a Rich Older Man: Part 1

I had just had an abor­tion because I didn’t know if the baby was my hus­band, Robert’s, or my lover, Derrick’s. And after hav­ing gone through the trau­matic pro­ce­dure, here I was, stand­ing at Derrick’s door, ready to end our May-December rela­tion­ship once and for all.

When Der­rick opened the door, the look on his face was shock. I must have looked like hell. He grabbed my hand and walked me to the liv­ing room. Then he gave me tis­sues and brought me a glass of water with lemon. I took a sip and set it down. I looked up at him and pointed at the wine cel­lar. He was sur­prised at my request, but hur­riedly went to get me a glass.

I wasn’t sure how I would break the news to him. In fact, I wasn’t even sure what story I would give him. Did I want to tell him the truth or would I tell him a lie? I was unsure if I needed to set myself free or if I should I con­sider his feel­ings. I knew he wanted me to keep the baby and leave my hus­band so we could raise a fam­ily together.

When he came back from the kitchen with the bot­tle of wine, he asked me if I was sure. When I nod­ded my head in approval, he handed me the glass. I had been advised not to drink so shortly after the pro­ce­dure, but I didn’t care. I downed the glass of wine and asked for another.

Tell me what hap­pened. Did you leave him?” he asked concerned.

No,” I replied bluntly. When he didn’t start mov­ing to the kitchen, I snapped. “Wine, please!”

No, you are preg­nant and you shouldn’t—”

Not any­more. I need more wine please,” I said. I kept inter­rupt­ing his words, ask­ing for wine. “When you give me what I want, I’ll tell you what happened.”

When he came back with the sec­ond glass of wine, I downed that one as well and asked for more. He said he wasn’t giv­ing me any­more and I grabbed the glass and stood up to pour it myself.  When I downed that third one and started pour­ing another, he rushed to the kitchen and took the bot­tle away from me. When I tried to take the bot­tle back, he pur­posely broke it on the counter.  The wine was every­where. The red gush of wine flooded the counter and it reminded me of blood and I began to cry. He held me in his arms and I couldn’t stop cry­ing. I knew my life as I knew it was over.

In killing my baby, I had ulti­mately made a choice to move on from the life I knew. For me, the choice was easy. On the one hand, I could keep the baby and fig­ure out which man I wanted to hurt in my web of lies, or two, I could kill my baby and start over, leav­ing both men behind. Because I could not choose Der­rick as my mate for life, and because I could not lie to my hus­band, I was left with no choice but to do the unthinkable—leave them both.

It was harder than I thought. As I stood there wrapped in his arms, I thought of all the years behind us. It all started that day at the bar I worked in. He was an old man in a suit with just the right tip to spark an inter­est in my heart. I fell hard for him and thought I would be mar­ry­ing him some­day. I had been will­ing to give up every­thing just to be with him, until I real­ized that he was mar­ried. In a moment of weak­ness, I chose to keep see­ing him and then it was his­tory. Now, many years older, I was a bro­ken soul with a failed mar­riage who had just killed her only baby.

Now it was time to face the music. I had to say good­bye to Derrick…