Scott moved out of the house the following year, on a Sunday morning, the first week of October. “I need the space to decide if I really want to be in the marriage,” was his excuse.

A few weeks earlier, he told me he was thinking of moving out, then kept me in suspense while he decided. He had been thinking about it for some time, but “generously” waited to inform me until I returned home from a difficult business trip to Saudi Arabia. As a woman traveling alone to teach a group of executives, I was not entirely sure if the Saudis would let me in, let me teach and then let me out. What a saint to postpone the announcement of his new game plan! Played right into Scott’s self image. He often bragged he was just like his mother, always taking care of others, not doing anything for himself.

He explained the arrangement he wanted. He would have his own place but continue to have full run of our house — to be able to come and go as he pleased so he could see our daughter. He wanted to attend those family meals and events he considered important. He also offered to help me around the house “if he was available.” Like he ever would have been free to help!

The most offensive request was him wanting to “date” me to see if we could rekindle the fire. When he proposed this he leered at me like it was a super sexy offer, instead of the sleazy one it was. His inner pervert was coming out more frequently and it really creeped me out.

I suspect he wanted a free pass on sex with me when he didn’t have the energy to drive to New Jersey to see his mistress. In therapy he had even timidly asked me for an open marriage. To his whiny, wimpy “it’s not like you would agree to an open marriage………” I responded “no fucking way!” My clear no didn’t deter him from trying to weasel his way into that kind of arrangement anyway.

His offer mirrored the arrangement his sister had with her third husband. She had moved out to her own apartment and left the kids with him. A lawyer (UNC law school!) by training, she was in the midst of a career change. She had convinced her mother to invest $75,000 buying her a franchise business spraying mosquitos, the franchise territories being located in Atlanta some seven hours from her apartment in Durham, NC.

She had even rented a house in Atlanta which seemed excessive, given she was starting a business. It was public knowledge her mixed doubles tennis partner was going to Atlanta regularly to “help her with her business.” As usual Scott, his parents and even her husband acted like Chris’s new career choice (from lawyer to spraying mosquitos?) and living situation were totally normal.

The Chris deal must have looked good to Scott. If she had an open arrangement, why shouldn’t he get one too?

Scott strung me along for two weeks while he decided, even flying down to North Carolina to talk to his parents. He still didn’t have any close personal friends for support and guidance. He later told me his mother asked if I had caused our marital difficulties by having an affair. He could have been lying to protect his fragile ego, of course. Then again, his parents were probably no more capable of confronting Scott’s issues than Chris’s.

I communicated my confusion about his ambivalence in a letter I gave to him. I detailed the progress I thought we had made in therapy. I listed the things I felt I had done to improve our relationship. I even thanked him for the work he had done to rebuild my trust in him. He read it but didn’t comment.

Making things worse, Scott’s behavior on the Friday and Saturday night before he moved out signaled he was more likely to be staying. Friday night, he wanted to have sex, even though I had told him a week earlier I felt too vulnerable for it. In a disgusting move, he grunted, rolled on top of me like a horny gorilla and expected to have at it. It was surprising and not like him. When I said no and shoved him off, he was embarrassed, said he was drunk and went out to sleep on the sofa.

The next night, we went to dinner at a French restaurant we liked. I was tired of worrying about how things would end up and wanted to go out. Given his ambivalence, I was surprised he agreed to it. I was encouraged by his attentiveness at dinner and his insistence afterward on going to a bar special to us. His inner pervert emerged at the bar though, wanting to make out, like he was hoping people were watching.

So it was surprising the next day when he said he was moving out and packed a bag. I FINALLY got pissed. It was more than him moving out. His behavior in the two days leading up to it had been cruel, given he had planned to move out all along. It also triggered a recognition of the myriad of ways he had treated me like shit over the two years since he first spoke of the affair.

I agreed to see our couples’ therapist with him on Monday morning, though I thought it was pointless. I controlled the meeting and used it to communicate my feelings about both Scott and the therapist. I was pissed at both of them. Mostly Scott of course, but the therapist had violated a number of my stated ground rules. Most notably, he had spoken with Scott separately on a number of occasions, something I specifically asked him not to do. I read aloud a document I had written which captured my thoughts and decisions. In it, I reiterated all I had tried to do to improve our marriage. I didn’t know of anything else I could have done, nor had he indicated there was anything else when I specifically asked him.

I listed all of the times Scott had lied to me, the therapist, our daughter and his father about the affair. It was a long list. I described how deeply insulting and hurtful it was to hear his defense; he had pretended to be good and loving husband even though he really didn’t feel way. Was this for my benefit? More likely, he was just adding more bullshit in support of his Mother Theresa self image.

I confronted him with his total lack of concern for me and my feelings and compared it to his continued insistence I was the one who had the empathy problem. I offered as proof the things he had done on Friday and Saturday night, knowing full well he would be moving out on Sunday.

I stated I wouldn’t put up with any more of his wildly inconsistent behavior and the unbearable instability it had forced on me. I was exhausted and done trying to determine what would irritate him or really set him off. Finally, under no circumstances did I want him in the house, and I certainly wasn’t going to “date” or otherwise see him while he decided whether he wanted to stay with me.

I concluded by asking for a clear and honest answer about whether he had physical contact with the woman since I had the first HIV/AIDS/VD test so I could schedule another one if needed.

After I finished reading the letter, the therapist asked Scott to answer the last question. He said he had not had physical contact with the woman since the previous fall. I didn’t believe him and later got another STD test. Thankfully, I again hadn’t contracted anything but a final test for HIV was required in six months.

Going forward, I refused to let Scott in the house. I only saw him once. While on the phone talking about our situation, he whimpered, for a second time, “you won’t even see me,” so I met him for coffee. Oddly, he expected a “things as normal” conversation. It lasted about fifteen minutes before I cut it short when I saw he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. Being around him turned my stomach and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Six weeks after Scott moved out, he still hadn’t filed for divorce, so I asked him why. He sent a confusing email, explaining he couldn’t let go, he had tried “so hard” to make things work but couldn’t. He was still deciding whether to let go of “us” or to fully commit to reconciling. What a wimp.

By Thanksgiving I had had enough and I called him:

“Do you want to get divorced?”

“It is heading in that direction,” he responded.

“Well Scott, I need to shit or get off the pot, so I am done with you.”

He didn’t even have the guts to finally say he wanted out. Or maybe he was hoping in the end, I would agree to an open arrangement.