As I walked into St. Andrew’s Church on my wedding day, I couldn’t believe it looked exactly the way Mom and I had pictured it when we’d selected the flowers. The church was dressed for a wedding, and the fragrance of gardenias permeated the air. Four huge baskets of multi–colored flowers, large tubs of ferns, and palms covered the altar. The aisle end of each pew was decorated with three gardenias in a bed of English ivy, tied in a white satin bow that streamed down with the ivy. The church was awash with color, and the fragrance was heavenly.
But after my bridal party and I were directed to a room off the church entrance, I began to fret. “What if David doesn’t come?” I anxiously asked the group. I was a nervous wreck. Pat, my sister and the maid of honor, plus my two bridesmaids and best friends, Wanda and Vera, immediately put the kibosh on that way of thinking. Then I began to peek out the door to check on things, saying, “Oh, I hope there aren’t too many people coming! I get really nervous in front of a lot of people. Oh, what if the church is full and I trip going down the aisle in front of everybody?”
Wanda and Vera began to laugh. Wanda said, “C’mon, Frannie, settle down! What if no one comes? Is that what you want?”
“No, I suppose not,” I replied. “Of course not.”
I took another peek out the door. What I saw were two people sitting next to the aisle on the groom’s side. I turned and moaned, “There are only two people out there. Oh my gosh, what if no one does come? And where are our bouquets? They should have been here by now.”
Pat said, “Stop it, Fran! What you need is a good stiff swig of Jack Daniels, maybe two or three. That way, you won’t even need your bouquet. You won’t care if there are two people or two hundred in this church, because Dad will be holding you up as he walks you down the aisle. And when he dumps you into David’s arms, you can give him a big, juicy kiss, and you won’t give a damn who’s in the church. You’ll just turn around, wave at everyone and yell, “He’s mine!”
We all began to laugh. Wanda laughed so hard she said she was going to pee her pants. Vera said, “Well, keep on laughing, Wanda, and then when you do pee your pants and walk down the aisle, all eyes will be on you, looking at that big dark spot on the back of your beautiful gown. Then no one will even notice that Fran can’t see straight. At least not until she gets to the altar to yell, “’He’s mine!’”
Once Vera had put that pretty picture in Wanda’s head, Wanda knew she’d better stop laughing and do something. She pulled her gown up to where modesty said stop and bolted out the door and down the hallway. The three of us tried to stifle our own laughter because we didn’t want to have to follow her.
When Mrs. Faulds came in with our bouquets, we were all in the process of repairing our makeup. My bridal party oohed and aahed over my simple arrangement of gardenias and trailing ivy. The girls looked lovely holding their multicolored bouquets against their moss–green gowns, and I thanked Mrs. Faulds for making the church look so beautiful.
Mrs. Faulds said she was happy to hear that. “My assistant was here earlier, Fran, and I’m sorry I was late with your flowers,” she said contritely. “It’s because you chose gardenias, and I wanted to keep them as fresh as possible. They have a tendency to get brown around the edges when they’re touched. But like you, I love them.” She stood looking at the four of us standing in front of her. “Girls, you look just stunning. Good luck, Fran. Have a wonderful day and a charmed life. By the way, I noticed that the church was pretty full when I came in.” She walked over to give me a kiss on the cheek and left.
In five minutes, we would hear the organ play the wedding march. Pat opened the door. The room was silent. I began to tremble. To say that I was afraid was an understatement.
I had never aspired to having a big wedding. Most girls start dreaming about this when they’re very young. David and I wanted a nice, quiet ceremony, an intimate dinner with our immediate families, and then off we would go on our honeymoon. But my mom, Maureen, felt very strongly that her daughter should have a small but tasteful wedding.
“The church will be beautiful,” she assured me, “filled with flowers. We’ll have an early afternoon reception, a wedding brunch, at the Creekside Country Club. The buffet table will be elegantly dressed, the food will be scrumptious and plentiful, the bar will be well stocked, and I know a violinist who can walk around playing romantic music, taking requests at the tables. What’s not to like, honey?” Then she added in a very loving tone, “Fran, your wedding day should be a day you will always remember. It should be one of feeling special, cherished, and loved.” I guess I wanted that, too, because I finally agreed to Mom’s plans. Once I had, there was no turning back.
Today was that day.
The organist struck the first chord, and I jumped. The three girls that stood before me stiffened, put their bouquets in front of them and, with somber faces, were set to go. My dad, Dan, stood at the door, waiting to take my arm. He felt my fear and took my arm so firmly that I knew he was going to get me up to that altar. He gave me a kiss on the cheek, told me I looked beautiful, and said, “Let’s go, sweetie.” He boldly took the first step. Then it was feet together, stop, step, feet together, stop, as we had practiced at the church the night before. We followed the bridal party, keeping in step at the proper distance. The organist played Mendelssohn’s Wedding March, and what I hoped was a spectacular bridal party, with a trembling bride, marched down the aisle.
When I saw David standing at the altar, a smile on his handsome face, my heart gave a leap, and suddenly there was no one else in the church. It was a beautiful ceremony.
The reception line at the back of the church was kind of a blur. I remember shaking hands with so many, kissing a few cheeks, hugging others, being introduced to a number of David’s relatives, and just smiling, saying, “Thank you” over and over, to everyone.
David’s very young uncle, Marty Kuspin, who was one of David’s groomsmen, asked if he and his girlfriend, Dot, could have the honor of escorting David and me around. David’s brother, Rich, the best man, knew it was his job, but he didn’t mind giving it up. He had a girl on each arm and was otherwise occupied.
Marty parked his car right in front of the church and was standing by the open back door waiting to assist me with my gown and veil as David and I ran through a shower of birdseed. I hoped the birds appreciated our efforts.
As soon as we drove off, David put his arms around me and kissed me. I absolutely melted, as I usually did when he kissed me. After the second kiss I whispered in his ear, “Oh, David, I’m so happy!” My mother was right; it was going to be a wonderful day. We were now husband and wife, and I wanted to share these special, emotional moments with him as we drove to the reception.
But David had different ideas. He was so aroused he just didn’t quit his fondling and groping. It took about twenty minutes to get to Creekside Country Club, and I swear, if he could have had sex with me in the back seat of that car without embarrassing himself, he would have. We had just come from a ceremony in which we’d shared vows to love and cherish each other, but with David’s boorish behavior, I didn’t feel loved, and I very definitely did not feel cherished. This was the man I loved so dearly, the man I wanted to spend my life with. I had always wanted to do what pleased him. But today was mine, and I wanted it to be about me being his wife, not his hot date. Tonight would be ours and ours alone, but we still had a reception to get through. We were almost to Creekside. I didn’t want to make a scene, so I whispered in his ear, “Not now, David. Not now.” We drove the rest of the way in silence.
We had elected to have the old custom of having a wedding breakfast as our reception. Such a ceremony had been passed down for generations. It came about because the bride and groom and their families had fasted from midnight before the ceremony until after the wedding ceremony the following morning. Since, in olden days, the wedding receptions were usually held much later than the ceremony, it became necessary to have a wedding breakfast for immediate family and the bridal party. These breakfasts were usually quite grand. Our wedding brunch was a modern twist on that.
When David and I entered the Creekside lobby, David’s brother, Rich, began to applaud, and everyone else joined in and began to sing, “Here Comes the Bride.” A cute, petite hostess dressed in a black gabardine pantsuit and white silk blouse led us to a cozy room. A gas fire filled the big stone fireplace that took up one whole wall. Opposite that wall was a wall of windows. You could see the pool, the beautiful floral landscaping, and the green expanse of the golf course beyond. At the end of the room was a long bridal table that seated eight. A braid of variegated flowers and greenery ran along the table from one end to the other. An arrangement of those same flowers graced the centers of three large, round tables that seated twenty–four. The fragrance and colors made the room smile.
Mom had requested that the two families be mixed together, so they could become better acquainted. Name cards had been placed at each table setting according to her diagram, and as everyone entered, they searched for their names. David’s mother, Mrs. Kuspin, chose to sit next to her two–year–old granddaughter, so she simply switched her name card with that of her daughter’s husband, Ralph. He was now next to my mom. But no one could put a damper on the laughter and happiness that seemed to penetrate the room.
Champagne was poured and toasts were made, followed by lots of laughter and a fabulous brunch. But at no time during that meal did David show me any special affection. All his attention was directed toward everyone else in the room. I told myself that it was just his way of putting everyone at ease and making them comfortable. That was one of the things I loved about him, how outgoing he was. Still, I couldn’t help wishing that at least a little more of that attention would be shipped my way. Mom had told me this would be a day I would always remember for feeling special and loved. But so far, all I was feeling was disappointment.
Everyone else seemed to be having a good time, though.
Soon, the guests began to arrive for the reception. David, his father, his brother, and two girlfriends disappeared into the lounge area. I spent over an hour mingling and talking to everyone in the main reception room, a smile pasted on my face. God bless my sister, Pat, and her friend, Jim Murray. They stuck with me like gum on my shoe. Pat sensed my quandary before I could express it. She didn’t dislike David, exactly, but she had said at one time that she thought he was quite selfish. I remember getting very upset with her for that comment, and she’d never criticized him again.
There were so many of David’s relatives I hadn’t met before the reception. That’s because there had been no shower forthcoming from his side of the family. David’s sister, Dee, happily did the introductions. She was a gem. I liked Dee a lot. I really regretted David’s absence when it came to having my relatives meet David’s. When they asked about him, Pat and Jim were quick with the quips, covering for him as best they could.
Underneath what I hoped was a good imitation of happiness, I was filled with disappointment and more than a little anger. Shortly after the start of the reception, I had gone into the lounge and asked David nicely if he would come and join me. His answer was a peck on my nose and a smile. “Give me five minutes, hon. Jack is telling me all about his new house.” Since then, I’d been without him for at least an hour.
At one point, I considered marching into the bar and confronting him, but the thought was too daunting. I certainly didn’t want to create a scene at my own wedding reception.
Alfred, the violinist, seemed to have charmed everyone as he circulated the room playing requests. For the first time that day, I realized what a great job my mother had done putting this wedding together. Although I had helped somewhat, Mom’s signature was on almost everything. People were laughing and enjoying each other’s company, and the attentive waiters were tending to every request for more coffee, tea, or a drink from the lounge. I walked up to my mother, gave her a hug and kiss, and thanked her for everything.
I wondered, though, if she had recognized the selfish streak in David that Pat had noticed. Had Mom wanted me to recognize it before it was too late? No, that couldn’t be. She wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble and expense if that were the case.
One of the waiters approached me to remind me it was time to cut the cake. Another waiter must have gone into the lounge and rousted out the drinkers, because a group of people emerged, most of them with shit–eating grins on their faces. They scrambled for seats. David and I stood beside the cake table as the photographer prepared to take our picture. I didn’t have to ask David to smile. He hadn’t quit smiling since he’d walked into the room.
I stood holding the cake knife in one hand. The photographer asked me to have David put his hand on top of mine so we could cut the first slice of cake together. David became enamored with my arm. He kept running his fingers up and down it, like a spider on a drainpipe, then picking up my hand, kissing it, and repeating the same thing over and over again. I lost patience and said, “Just let them take the damn picture!”
The traditional sharing of a slice of cake didn’t go so well, either; David was so smashed that he almost missed my mouth with the fork. Nevertheless, we got through it, and multiple pictures were taken. All the single females lined up to catch the bridal bouquet as waiters passed out cake. Then there were hugs and kisses all around, and everyone waved goodbye as David and I left to begin our new life together.
Once again, Marty and Dot were there to drive us back to my house so I could change. David and I didn’t have too much to say to each other. He did try to kiss me once, but I turned away and looked out the window. He reeked of alcohol. I suspected it was his brother and the two girlfriends who had gotten him so drunk. It wasn’t David’s fault, I told myself. More excuses.
We arrived at the house, and Marty and Dot began to play with the family dog, Charley, while I headed upstairs to change. When I got to my bedroom door, I began unbuttoning the back of my gown. I sensed that David was right behind me. When I reached the bed, he pushed me down, pulled up my gown, and with a little grunting and fumbling, managed to enter me. I was shocked. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?” I protested. I was trying to speak firmly, but I didn’t want to shout. Marty and Dot were right downstairs. I couldn’t make a big scene. David didn’t respond, and I didn’t struggle. I just lay there and let it happen.
When David was done, he merely got up, zipped up, and waited for me to get dressed. Once again, I could not confront him about what he had just done. There was no doubt in my mind that his brother and those girlfriends had done this to him. They probably thought it was funny, plying him with all those drinks. Well, it wasn’t funny, because I didn’t like this David. I didn’t even know this David.
I was heartsick, but I got up and began to change my clothes. I had spent so much time planning what I would wear after the wedding, wondering if David would approve. But now I knew he was beyond even noticing my new dress. I was just slipping into my shoes when he came over and put his arms around me. Of course I didn’t melt as I usually did. He gave me a quizzical look, backed off as though he knew he had done something to offend me, and picked up my suitcase. He didn’t seem to have a clue as to what was wrong. The two of us walked downstairs in silence.
God bless Marty and Dot. Without knowledge of what had transpired upstairs, they had saved the day for us by using their good sense to find the coffeemaker. A pot of the welcome brew was waiting, ready to pour down David’s throat.
Marty pulled onto Mackey Street, and I saw cars parked everywhere. “Wow,” I said, “there must be a party happening.” When we got to David’s driveway, it was obvious that the party was there. Marty dropped everyone off and went to find a parking space. As soon as we entered the house, Dot headed for the basement to join the party. It sounded as though it was in full swing. David disappeared down the hall to shed his tux and collect his suitcase.
His mom was standing at the stove, stirring a large pot of something. It was obvious that someone had been doing some serious cooking. There were platters of food covering the kitchen counter and table. Mrs. Kuspin looked up from her pot, gave me a cold, superior stare, and said, “I had to invite my family back here. They didn’t get enough to eat at your reception.”
I stiffened. It wasn’t as though I didn’t know how to respond, but I knew I never would. What I thought, I kept to myself. The woman had just enjoyed insulting me. She had insulted not only me, but also my mother, who had worked so hard to make everything so beautiful. Of course everyone was hungry again. It was well after six o’clock. I was a little hungry myself. But if she thought for one minute that I didn’t understand how much time and effort it had taken to shop for all this food, not to mention how many hours had gone into preparing all the platters of food I saw before me, then she’d also insulted my intelligence. Obviously, this party had been planned days in advance.
I tried to think of a reason why this woman didn’t like me. I couldn’t understand why it had been so necessary for her to deliberately want to hurt me or my mother, but I could name other times she had blatantly done so.
On one occasion, Mrs. Kuspin had called and said she wanted to take me shopping for a stove, her family’s wedding present to her son and me. I was quite excited about the idea and said I would pick her up around noon. I even told her I would take her to lunch. It was a date. I was finally going to get to know my future mother–in–law.
Mrs. Kuspin was out the door the minute I pulled into the driveway. I had intended to take her to a very upscale restaurant for lunch. In the calm, unhurried atmosphere, we could spend some real bonding time, talking about the wedding plans and the one we both loved: David. But Mrs. K. informed me she didn’t have time for lunch. Her women friends were coming for cards at 2:00, and she had to be back before then.
While I drove to the appliance store, she told me she did not want to be called “Hey.” She said, “You can call me Mom or you can call me Anne; just don’t call me ‘Hey.’” She accentuated the word “Hey.” I found it quite interesting that the woman should demand this of me when she had never yet addressed me by my first name. I also felt that Mrs. K. had been anything but motherly to me. I couldn’t possibly call her Mom. I hadn’t been around her very much, but when I was, I found her cold and unwelcoming. I always call my friends by their first names or nicknames, but Mrs. K. did not act as though she wanted to be my friend. So I decided to address her as Mrs. Kuspin—and maybe even “Hey” once in a while.
David came into the kitchen. He was all dressed and looking pretty darned handsome—and sober. But somehow my heart didn’t do its usual little flip–flop. It’s probably his mother’s presence, I thought. Yet another excuse for him had turned up.
“Oh, my goodness, son! Don’t you look handsome!” Mrs. K. said with a big smile. She walked over to a drawer and pulled out a stack of envelopes. “Since your bride didn’t have a money box at her reception, I collected all these cards from our side of the family.” My blood did a quick boil, but I was silent.
David went to his mother, put his arms around her, and gave her a big hug. “Gosh, Mom, you’re the best,” he said. “What would I do without you?”
Mrs. Kuspin gave me a smug smile.
Well, I’ll be darned, I thought. The woman is jealous of me!
Some thoughtful soul had had the good sense to park David’s car at the curb in front of the house. David said, “Oh, thank you, Jesus. What a nightmare this would have been, trying to get three drunks to come up from that party to move their cars out of the driveway so I could get out. No telling how many fender benders we would have had.”
I wanted to shout at him, “It wouldn’t have been any worse a nightmare than the one the drunk I know gave me in my bedroom earlier this evening!” I didn’t say it, of course. I kept it to myself, even though I actually felt like stamping my feet and screaming. This day had been the most miserable, disappointing, hurtful, and unhappy one of my life. And it was my wedding day, the day my mother had told me I would feel special and loved. David still hadn’t mentioned what had occurred in my bedroom earlier, and I decided it was because he was so drunk, he didn’t even remember. Now he was sober, or close enough.
I was still hopeful that the man I loved was not the man I’d spent the day with, the one who had made me so miserable. The culprits were nerves, alcohol, his brother, and those girlfriends—and let’s not forget his mother. Those were what had made the drastic change I’d seen in him that day. Surely he could not really be so self–centered and self–serving.
There was still the wedding night. There would be no one to influence him there. It would be just the two of us. I was sure that David had something wonderful planned for me, for us. He had to.
The drive to Pittsburgh was going to take an hour and a half, so I suggested, “Why don’t we go to the drive–through at McDonald’s and pick up a couple of burgers to eat on the way. Okay, David?
“Good thinking, Frannie. I’m starved. I didn’t have much to eat today. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it when we were at my house. We could have eaten there. Did you see all the food Mom had laid out? She’s been cooking for the past three days. What a great cook!”
Once again, I swallowed my words and softly said, “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never eaten at your house.”
We stopped at Mickey D’s. While driving, David wolfed down a Big Mac and two orders of fries, then slurped on a chocolate milkshake while listening to me. After eating, I leafed through a tour book, reading all the things we could see and do while we were in Washington, D.C. Our plan was to get there around 4:00 the following afternoon.
David pulled up to the marquee at the William Penn Hotel. A bellhop was there to take our luggage, and the valet whisked David’s car away immediately. After he signed in, I said, “David, give the bellhop his tip and let him take our luggage up to our room. Let’s go to the lounge and have a drink. I really need to unwind, honey. I can hear the music from here, and it sounds heavenly.”
“Not tonight, babe. We can do that tomorrow night. Okay?” He gave me his most charming smile and followed the bellhop. Of course I followed them both.
When we entered room 314, David looked around and seemed quite pleased with the accommodations. He tipped the bellhop, immediately dimmed the lights, and led me over to the side of the luxuriously appointed, king–size bed. He sat next to me and began to kiss me. It was just like what he’d done in the car after the ceremony. I also realized that this was exactly the way we almost always started to make love, in the front seat of his car. Right then, I felt as though that was where I was. Sex in the front seat, sex in the back seat, sex in the park. Always passionate but hurried, never slow and intimate. Didn’t I have a right to something different, here in this beautiful bed on my wedding night?
We had never yet seen each other completely naked. We’d certainly seen all the essential parts, however. He had taught me everything I knew about sex, and I was beginning to think that maybe it wasn’t really very much. One thing I did know, one thing he didn’t have to teach me, was you didn’t have that kind of sex on your honeymoon. I thought, C’mon, David, it’s time to act like a man, not a teenager. I sure was one dumb cookie, and blind as a bat. Oh, but I loved him so much!
Then he whispered in my ear, and I became quite aroused when he asked me to go into the bathroom and change. I can’t believe it, I thought. He really does have something planned.
I picked up my suitcase and happily went into the elegant bathroom. I had wanted a quiet ceremony, a small celebration with family, and a wonderful honeymoon starting with a night of beautiful, passionate, unhurried lovemaking. The entire exhausting day of pomp and ceremony was now forgotten, and anticipation had taken its place.
I took my time washing my face and hands, then made sure that my hair and makeup were perfect. I even took the time to take the clothes I didn’t want to wrinkle out of the suitcase and hung them on the hook on the back of the door. If he has to prepare something for me, I thought, I don’t want to spoil it by fussing with clothes.
By now, I was convinced that David hadn’t been just ignoring my wishes when I’d asked to go to the lounge. He was going to surprise me in our room.
I happily thought, Well, I have a surprise for him. Wait ‘til he sees me in this! I put on my gorgeous white satin negligee and just knew it would knock his socks off. I was so filled with excitement and desire I couldn’t wait to open the door and go into David’s arms for a night of lovemaking that would last until dawn. I had been dreaming about this night for weeks. It was as though the day’s events had been washed away. All the disappointment and frustration of the day were forgotten. As far as his mother was concerned, I would deal with her later.
Filled with desire, I opened the bathroom door to face a room in darkness. If it hadn’t been for the night lights of Pittsburgh that filled it with shadows, I would not have found my way to the bed. A red neon light was blinking off and on somewhere out there, casting an eerie glow over everything.
David was under the covers, obviously waiting. He looked at me with his arms outstretched and said, “Get rid of the nightgown and climb in.” The minute I did, he was on top of me, kissing me, telling me he loved me. He always told me he loved me when we had sex, and it seemed we had it every time we were together, once we got started. The thought hit me that he had never told me he loved me other than when we had sex. Why I hadn’t noticed that before, I don’t know.
He briefly fondled and kissed my breasts and then entered me. That’s when I really had an epiphany—and not an orgasm. I realized that he had no intention of catering to my needs, because he didn’t think he had to. Before, I had always been intent on pleasing him, and my raging hormones had made it possible to completely enjoy the sex I had with him. I’d needed no affection or even foreplay.
Well, tonight I did, and I began to feel deep resentment toward his complete indifference to my feelings and needs. This awakening left me with a very sour taste in the back of my throat.
I lay there until he was done, the way I had in my bedroom that afternoon. It was obvious that he had no intention of making the effort to think about me at all. Without saying a word, he had made it clear that what I had always been willing to give was what he was going to expect in our marriage.
When he had finished gratifying himself, he rolled over beside me and said nothing.
I said, “David I’m very tired. This has been a long day.”
Before I turned my back to him, David said, “I don’t understand you, honey. This is our wedding night. You always loved having sex with me. That’s why I love you so much.”
Gritting my teeth to hold my temper, I said, “I told you, I’m tired. I don’t think you could possibly know just how exhausting this day has been for me.” I turned my back on him and was asleep within minutes.
When I opened my eyes, the room was still in darkness and very quiet. I looked at the clock on the nightstand, surprised to find that it was only 9:15. David stood by the window, naked, his body outlined by the lights below as he leaned against the window frame, watching the Pittsburgh night life. I had never seen his entire body naked before, and he was beautiful. My first impulse was to go to him and put my arms around him. Oh, how I had loved the David I thought he was! But after today, I knew better. I had been naïve enough to think that his love for me was as deep and tender as mine for him. I had ignored every red flag that must have been waving frantically in front of my very blind eyes.
It began to dawn on me that this was all my fault. I had allowed it. It was not my job to change David. David was who he was. If I had chosen to be the submissive party, then he had every right to think I would continue to be that way in marriage. Unfortunately, I had recognized that our marriage would be in trouble a little late in the day.
As I lay there, I knew there was only one way to repair this horrible mistake I had made if I wanted to avoid a lifetime of misery and unhappiness for both of us. I knew what I had to do if either of us would ever have a chance of happiness.
I put my face in my pillow and wept softly, then slept.
Althugh I didn’t know it, David looked away from the nightlife he’d been watching below, then turned to look at me as I slept. He thought, She sure must be exhausted. It’s not like Frannie to miss out on a good time. He got dressed and went down to the lounge for a drink.
I awoke to face the dawn that was struggling to break through the maze of skyscrapers. The clock on the nightstand told me it was 5:50 a.m. I stretched and yawned, amazed that I had slept all night. I felt David next to me and looked at his handsome face. On my way to the bathroom, I picked up my beautiful, wrinkled negligee, which was lying in a heap on the floor next to the bed. Softly closing the bathroom door, I dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, then packed my bag. I didn’t bother to wash my face because I didn’t want the running water to wake David. I tiptoed quietly back into the room. What I was about to do scared the crap out of me. Confronting David was something I could only do indirectly.
The desk drawer slowly slipped open without so much as a squeak. I took out a sheet of hotel stationery. David moaned and turned over. I froze and sat motionless for a half a minute, then began to write:
Dear David,
As our wedding progressed yesterday, it became increasingly clear that you had not attended a wedding. You seemed to be having a wonderful time at a great party held at my parents’ expense. All the time you and I have spent together this past year seemed to be washed away by your indifference toward me. There was not a minute I felt affection or love from you— although I did experience a great deal of lust. I held out until last night, thinking it was all wedding jitters and the influence of others, but last night, I realized that I’d been blindly in love with you the entire time we went together. For this I take all the responsibility. I should never have been so submissive and naïve. I found no fault in you until yesterday. And that behavior was a real eye–opener.
When you proposed to me, I couldn’t believe I could be so lucky. To have someone like you want me was a dream come true. Last night it became quite apparent that you actually didn’t love me, or even want to please me. Your main objective seems to be pleasing yourself, and I was the person that helped you do that. As a matter of fact, I took great pleasure in pleasing you. I do believe, since I was so submissive, that you were sincere in wanting to marry me because, as your wife, I would continue to please you without question. I loved you so much that I didn’t want to see what was right in front of me: a very selfish, self–centered, and self–serving man. It’s my fault that I never recognized it before, and I don’t have any right to expect you to change. You are who you are. I take all responsibility for allowing this marriage to ever happen.
Unfortunately, for me, the David you showed me yesterday would kill the love I had for the other David. And since your behavior yesterday proved to me that you have no real interest in my needs, then this marriage will never work. So, for both our sakes, I am leaving you this morning.
And here’s a word of advice. If you continue to think that everything is about David, you will never have a good and satisfying relationship with another woman. Handsome and charming are great for selling real estate, but at the end of the day, a relationship takes a lot more nurturing.
I suppose that by now, you realize I’ve left. I took the bus and am quite possibly home by the time you read this. There is no reason to contact me. You have the envelopes and gifts from your family. Your mother’s stove will be returned to the appliance store this afternoon, and her money will be returned to her. I owe you nothing.
Please tell your mother I didn’t appreciate her unkindness towards me.
I wish you a very happy and successful life, David. Part of me will always remember you as my first love.
Fran Carter, your ex–wife