CHAPTER ONE

BAD DAY

It was supposed to be an ordinary day. I was in our ensuite brushing my teeth before work when I stopped, transfixed by the woman staring back at me from the bathroom mirror. I barely recognized her. I stared at my reflection and with my index finger, gingerly traced the furrows that had taken hold between my eyebrows. I wondered how much cover up it would take to make the bags under my eyes disappear. Deciding it wasn't worth the effort, I shook my head in defeat and flipped off the light. Just then, the doorbell rang. I walked over to our bedroom window and craned my head, hoping to get a glimpse of who was at our door at 7:30am, but I couldn’t see anyone. I heard the front door open and muffled voices. I let the drapes fall back into place and went to see what was going on. I started to descend the stairs and watched in disbelief as nine police officers burst into my home! I stood paralyzed mid-step as two uniforms shot past me and headed toward our bedroom. The others had taken over the main floor and basement.

"What's going on?" I begged. I felt invisible. No one stopped to answer me but continued to race around our home like they were looking for something or someone. I braced myself with both hands on the staircase railing and yelled, "Someone needs to tell me what the hell is going on here!" I must have been holding my breath because I thought I was going to pass out. As I started to sink into the stairs, unsure of what to do next, one of the officers began to speak. I watched his mouth open and close as he introduced himself — Sergeant someone from district somewhere — but I couldn't make sense of his words. I did, however, clearly hear the word "arrest" and in that instant, realized the world, as I had known it, ceased to exist. If asked, I might be able to piece together the details of the next several hours, but truthfully, they are foggy. I remember the police intrusion, followed by a clear image of my boyfriend, Dirk, being led out of our home in handcuffs wearing the ridiculous velour sweatpants he seemed to favour instead of blue jeans. Amid the seriousness of the situation, I almost giggled when I thought of him sitting in a jail cell wearing purple loungewear. Once he was forcibly removed, two of the remaining armed officers turned their attention to me. They instructed me to sit down and in front of Jenna and Sierra, my two teenage daughters, who had been abruptly woken up during the commotion, began an in-depth interrogation, peppering me with questions about Dirk, our living arrangements and my custodianship of my daughters.

Eventually, the questions stopped, and the officers left as quickly as they had arrived, taking with them my desktop computer, Dirk's cell phone and my naïvety. I had more questions than answers but knew one thing for certain, the man I had been sharing my home, my family, and my life with for the last six years, had been living a lie. The man I thought he was didn't exist; I had been in love with a stranger.

Now, faced with the truth, I needed to escape and sever myself from this toxic relationship. My daughters sat frozen on the sofa. Wide-eyed and pale, they both looked terrified. Two girls, two years apart and two very different creatures. When one of them is angry with me, the other is my defender. If one of them is happy, the other is sad. Most people would believe that Jenna, as the older sister, is the role model, but I've often heard Jenna remark that Sierra is her hero. Jenna treats everyone with respect. As a dance teacher, she has a lot of experience interacting with students and their parents, so she often seems more mature than her age. Sierra is braver, sassier, but has this empathetic side to her that not everyone sees unless she wants them to. She's quick to judge, but her assessment is often on point. Jenna has high standards of herself and others, which makes you never want to disappoint her. Sierra is quick tempered, but one of the most loyal people I know. They are yin and yang. I could feel my chest tighten and knew we needed to escape. We weren't in any immediate danger, but the thought of staying in the house made me sick to my stomach. I barked at the girls. "Get dressed right now. We are not staying here."

I was in survival mode. Within moments, I ushered them and our two cats out of the house and into my car. I went back in alone to collect clothing and toiletries for the three of us, and whatever else seemed relevant, then drove directly to my parents' bungalow, a short distance away. They were out of town, so I knew I could take refuge at my childhood home without having to explain myself. I needed to let the reality of my situation sink in. We unpacked the items that I had thrown together and tried to make the best of the situation for the night. The girls had their own rooms at home, so they weren't thrilled to share a bed, but I could tell they didn't really want to sleep alone either. Once I was certain they had fallen asleep, I walked into the kitchen, and it dawned on me that I hadn't fed the cats. As I bent down to pour the dry food into their dishes, Shadow, my ragdoll kitty, brushed up against me and knocked the bag from my grip. I watched in dismay as the pricey kibbles scattered onto the floor, and I crumpled to the ground among them. Hunched over on all fours, I pounded the floor with my fists, trying to drive out the images of Dirk in handcuffs, the police officers racing through my home and the look of horror on Jenna’s and Sierra's faces. I still didn't understand what had happened or how I could have been so blind. Finally, when I'd succumbed to the fact that I wasn't going to get the answers I was looking for from the kitchen floor, I stood up and walked slowly toward my bedroom in the basement of my childhood home. The cats must have known something was wrong because they didn't complain about eating their food straight off the floor. I got into bed, turned on the bedside light and picked up a journal that I had thrown into my duffel bag at the last moment. I opened it and realized that I hadn't written an entry for over three years. Wow! Was my life that miserable, that I hadn’t allowed myself to record any of it? I scrounged around in my purse, found a pen and began to write.

July 4

The world as I know it is over.

Everything was a lie.

What the hell am I going to do?

What am I going to tell my parents?

I am terrified to face tomorrow.

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