Looking back, I would see a pattern between Wayne and I.  I would take every opportunity to spend time with my husband and children, spending any free moment at the house, hoping to catch them home.  Wayne on the other hand, as I recall now, sought me out when he needed something.  I think those were the only times that he came to my parents’ home.

One evening, while Alex was out with friends, Wayne called to say he was going to come over to my parents’ house to visit with me.  He wanted to discuss Christmas plans and I wanted to give him the Christmas bonus check I received from work, to deposit.  I met him at the door and we walked into the living room to talk, away from my parents who were watching TV in the family room.

Wayne and I chatted about the kids mostly, and shared some of our work status.  He never could say much about his work, but sometimes he’d tell me when he got a new assignment or he’d tell stories about some of the geeks he worked with. He was very good at doing impersonations of his coworkers and bosses.  He had a flare for exaggeration that always made me laugh.  My work details weren’t nearly as interesting, usually just frustrations in getting things done, or heartfelt stories about my coworkers.

In December, my company always paid out a bonus, and it was usually a few mortgage payments, which in Silicon Valley might give you an idea that these were not insignificant, even after the Feds and the State took their portion.   When I was responsible for our finances, I would put the money aside in our savings, and leave it untouched.  I hoped that Wayne would be able to leave it in our savings, untouched, as I handed the check to him to deposit into our joint account.  I was worried that he would be tempted to spend some or all of it, knowing it was there, but I had to trust him given he was now in charge of the finances.

After we finished our business, Wayne and I joined my parents in the family room and Wayne stayed to watch TV with us.  For a minute, I forgot things had changed. It felt like old times – before the long weekend, before life had changed so utterly, and before being exiled to my parents’ house.  I took the calm and peaceful moment to bring up The Question.

“Wayne, when can I come home?” As the words escaped my mouth, it was like time stopped. I could almost see the expression on everyone’s individual face, at the same time.  My mother looked concerned as if telling me I shouldn’t start an argument.  My father looked at me with an expression of pain or sympathy. My husband, well he looked nonplussed.  There was this pregnant pause in the room.   And it felt ridiculous that I had to ask permission to be in the home I paid for, cleaned, and maintained.

Wayne stalled and his eyes darted around, like he was searching for one of his quick and clever responses. In the long silence, my dad (who always protected me), saw the pain of his daughter’s exile, and said “Yes, Wayne…when can MY daughter come home? She needs to be home with her family.”

Wayne was silent, searching for something to say, but being careful considering his audience. He looked agitated. Then firmly Wayne said, “Not right now.”

In a much stronger voice, my dad said firmly, “Then when?  When?  Give me a date.”

Wayne slowly stood up to his full height.  He said, “Ray”, in a threatening way, his face leaning toward my dad, eyes narrowed, voice very firm, “When I say so.”

Wayne was clearly annoyed at my father putting him on the spot, or with my father’s no-nonsense tone of voice, or maybe that my father was getting into the middle of our relationship.  If he thought that would be the end of it, he didn’t know my dad.

My father had always looked out for me and my best interests. I was his little girl and the closest of my siblings to him.  We spent a lot of time together so he would know better than anyone else how I was feeling about not being at home.

Small in stature, my dad stood up, about a foot shorter than Wayne and 50 pounds lighter, looking all of his 79 years of age.

His voice sounded frustrated and urgent, “My daughter is hurting and she needs to be home.”

He was a quiet man, rarely raising his voice outside the family, certainly not one to argue with others unless it was for a just cause.  He was a man who would always revere his wife and do everything to keep his family whole.  The fact that he decided to meet Wayne’s gaze head on, steely-eyed, meant that he was in his super-dad protective mode.  In all our years together, Wayne had probably never seen this level of determination and confrontation from my father, directed at him.

On the surface, the two men have always had a positive relationship although privately I’ve had a sense that they were jealous of each other.  The two main men in my life had to share my attention and affection.  Wayne had never overtly said anything, always seemingly appreciative of the support my parents provided to our family.

I could see the anger on both men’s faces, so I stood up and walked toward my dad, to stand between the two of them. The air was tense with the possibility of some level of escalation coming.   Both men looked angry. I was appalled at how such a simple question had set off this level of vitriol between the two men and I was distressed that the two men I loved most were at odds because of me. As usual, when dealing with a (potential) crisis, I always become calm and instead of reactive, get more responsive. The physical movement to put myself between them was to diffuse a potential physical fight.

I faced my dad and said, “It’s fine, we are working this out.”

By facing my dad, and not Wayne, I had chosen sides.  Wayne over my dad. Signifying that my husband and family came first. The level of animosity and simmering anger made me realize that this wasn’t something that would easily blow over. I regretted asking the question and putting Wayne in a position that left him feeling isolated and/or ganged up on.

“Dad, I don’t need your help right now.  Wayne is my husband and we need to figure this out. Please respect that.  I love that you want to help us, but you can’t do this for me.”

And as I said that, I know that he and I both flashed back to the other times that Wayne had cast me adrift. My dad probably thought that Wayne was going to leave me again, but he didn’t realize that this was entirely different.

This confrontation was a huge slam to Wayne on so many fronts.  His narcissistic self couldn’t stand being questioned by anyone.   My dad put him on the defense, so Wayne came out aggressively, threatening my parents.  He probably felt betrayed and isolated, alone against my family, offended by people pushing back on him.  And yet, he would not give in or be questioned. He declared war against me and my family.

Practically yelling at my parents, Wayne said, “You are no longer welcome at my (not our) house, and if you try to come onto my property, I will kill you and call the police! “

To further ram home his anger, he said, “You are dead to me.”

My close relationship with my parents was a concern to Wayne’s parents early on.  Wayne’s parents had warned him that my relationship with my parents would get in the way of our marriage.   I don’t know how much of their concern influenced Wayne’s thinking, but I’m sure that he felt betrayed by my dad, the closest father figure he’d had in his life. Wayne had been close to his grandparents but they were gone now and his own parents were disowned years before that.  My family was his family.

Wayne should have realized that I was choosing him in this confrontation. I always stood by him, even when I knew he was wrong, because he was my husband.  I knew he valued his image and would expect me to be a “good” wife.  I always presented that image to the world.  But perhaps Wayne was struggling internally with something else about this confrontation.  I would find out later that Wayne thought there was something “weird” about my relationship with my dad.  He shared that little tidbit of information with Agatha while they were conspiring against me.  It was like he implied it was an Oedipus Complex.

Wayne had now disowned two families.  His arrogance, pride, and inability to deal with his emotions allowed him to rationalize his actions.   Some would say this behavior is used by sociopaths, narcissists, or even serial killers, but I just thought it was Wayne separating himself emotionally from us due to his arrogance that we would dare to disagree or question him.  I also wondered if he didn’t use his anger as a tool to manage others, by intimidating them into submission.  If so, he would have been very frustrated that we didn’t comply.

The fallout between Wayne and Dad caused stress fractures in my extended family. Wayne was chipping away at the bonds between our family and my mom and dad. He was distancing himself from me, which separated us further.  He was also laying down the gravitational pull of our kids away from me, something that I was helpless to stop.

Photo by Uriel Soberanes on Unsplash

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Nikita@dontreleaseme.com

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