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2014

I'm 25 and pregnant with our first child. Jon and I are expecting a girl at the end of June. Both of us have finished our degrees; mine in Recreation, Jon's in accounting. I work the opening shift as a Team Lead at the Mount Royal University pool, Jon works as a Registries Agent. The tumultuous beginning of our marriage has levelled into smooth sailing, my depression is treated and I'm thriving, we're thriving. We're making friends, a co-worker of Jon's had us over for dinner and games not too long ago. Pooja made the most delicious curried chicken and she gave me a beautiful anklet from India, where her and her husband are from. Life is good.

Except I'm growing uncomfortable with how often Jon communicates with Pooja on an app called "Snapchat." What do you even talk about? He shows me a picture he took of the kitchen counter with a finger-scrawled smiley face and "Hi!" written across the screen. It seems harmless enough, but why not text? Why even message a co-worker outside of work? I know Jon would lose it if I messaged a male co-worker the way he does with Pooja, he's even told me he's afraid I'm cheating on him with a guy from work. So despite my reservations, I let it go. When you're the spouse that almost destroyed your marriage with your poor mental health, you'll do anything to make amends and keep the peace.

Eventually I reach my breaking point. Blame it on the pregnancy hormones; my discomfort has reached a place where I need to say something. I calmly communicate that I'm uncomfortable with how often he messages Pooja, I'm uncomfortable with their relationship in general. Jon dismisses everything I say, I'm stupid to have tried to speak to him about this while he was gaming. I leave and cry. Fortunately, Jon clues in and finds me, sees my tears and comforts me. I'm so sorry, I promise I'll delete Snapchat. Nothing is more important to me than you. I'm grateful, I'm mollified, I'm in love.

The due date is near, I go to stay with my parents since I'll be delivering in the Raymond hospital. Jon stays behind a few more days for work. When he finally arrives it's with a giant bouquet of roses in hand. I'm so excited for you to have our baby. I'm happy, I'm excited.

I'm a mother. Labor drags on into the early hours of the morning, between contractions I look over at Jon and ask him if he is okay. Our little girl is here, we are a family of three. Those first couple days of motherhood are a blur; I stare at my baby, I'm careful with my tender body, and I'm filled with joy and gratitude. 

My baby is three days old and we have a family reunion to attend. We're still at my parents and they have a cistern, water is to be conserved. Jon and I hop into the shower together, I barely recognize my body. Everything hurts, everything sags. And soon, everything is anguish. Jon chooses this moment to tell me that he didn't stop messaging Pooja. That he actually download Snapchat again and kept it hidden on his phone. That eventually they started sending each other pictures of their bodies. That she kissed him at work. That his boss could even tell that something was happening and told him to, "Think about Kristen."

I am ugly crying, sobs wracking my body. I can no longer stand, I sit in the tub as the shower continues to run. Jon is crying too, repeating again and again that he is so sorry. That he never meant to hurt me. My family can hear me, they're knocking on the door trying to shout over the sound of the shower, "Kristen? Is everything okay?"

The joy of new motherhood is muted now. My happy misty eyes have been replaced, tears stream down my face as I struggle to bear another pain. I'd rather have given birth twice, physical pain I can handle. This new pain of betrayal, a broken heart and crushed spirit, is crippling. Somehow I find the strength to tell Jon that if this ever happens again, I will take our baby and leave. Through tears he swears it will never, ever happen again. He loves me and our new baby too much to lose us.

2023

Life is still heavy at the moment due to our marital issues, but I am confident and optimistic that Jon will choose me and our family. Jon will "get out of Vancouver." It's the Sunday before Valentine's Day. I have a Ward Council meeting to get to, Jon will stay behind and finish getting himself and the kids ready for church. We're both standing in our bedroom and I need to leave soon when Jon says he needs to tell me something. Remember how I told you I have a crush on a classmate? There's more I didn't tell you. And by "more," he means he lied to me.

It's more than a crush. We've kissed. We sext. We make out in study rooms at the U of L. She's 22 years old.

I am blindsided. And I'm going to be late for a meeting. Fortunately, going into shock is an excellent way of masking all of your emotions. I tell Jon that I need to tell the Bishop everything because I have a really big calling and ask him if that is okay. He says it is and then I leave. I sit through Ward Council. When it ends I ask my Bishop if I can talk to him. And as soon as the door closes and we both sit down, I start to cry. Jon is having an affair. This is the second time he's done this to me. I don't know what to do.

He tells me I have some tough decisions to make. He tells me how much he loves me and my family. To illustrate this he explains how he believes that in heaven he'll be able to look out a window from his family's mansion and see the mansions' of the people he loved on earth. You're going to be next door to me in heaven, just like you are now (but relatively speaking, because we both live on farms - our daughters walk across a field to play with each other). And then he tells me how he could see Jon was distancing himself from the church and had been doing it for quite sometime. 

Somehow I manage to clean myself up and calm down. I carry on. But inside my mind I can't stop thinking about the 25 year old Kristen who mustered up all the strength and courage she had while holding her newborn baby and said: "If this ever happens again, I will take our baby and leave." Except this time, there are four of them and one on the way.