Dolus left our rather tidy beige garage for the last time shortly after 8:30am on Sunday, February 14, 2021. He drove away to officially begin his new life of marital separation in his recently acquired, black, 1990’s era Japanese sedan.
Importantly, the official story was that Dolus was relocating in response to his organization’s requirement that he transition from remote to onsite work. His physical presence was needed to fulfill the tasks of his recently acquired, high profile position. According to Dolus, they would no longer extend the courtesy of working from home.
His parting became an intentionally and agonizingly drawn-out endeavor. In the month and a half preceding his departure, Dolus canvased the house day and night in search of his possessions and various legal documents. Partially filled suitcases and boxes lined the walls of our bedroom and family living spaces.
From early January until his departure, we were confronted by unescapable daily reminders of his pending departure. As he found the most valuable treasures such as car titles and financial documents, they were immediately stored and locked in his sedan. Until he found more treasure to stow away, he would place the keys in what he thought were hidden locations. I found them, of course.
A Little Gas Lighting for the Road
Before crossing the threshold between the kitchen and garage, he turned to me and blurted, “I was waiting for you to beg me not to leave! I did the same thing when you wanted to leave!” As contradicting emotions of anguish and euphoria simultaneously flooded my being, I could only conjure tears of anxiety and desperation in response.
From the moment Dolus secured his new position, I had begun crafting, presenting and maintaining a blatant lie to assure him a smooth transition. To guarantee his departure, I agreed to list our 4,000 square foot, three-level townhome for sale and follow him to his new location with our children in the summer. I embraced the concept of us “trying to make things work” for a year in the new location. It was a risky, but necessary, gamble for my freedom and that of my children. I was beyond afraid. I was terrified.
The emotionally wrecked me was deeply wounded because Dolus was the father of my two beautiful children and the one with whom I had dreamed of conquering the world. Conversely, the common sense me – the woman who had been resurrected through intense trauma therapy – desperately needed Dolus to leave as quickly and as calmly as possible. This time, his words were powerless, and as such, could no longer sway me.
Freedom At Last
Dolus crossed the threshold. He descended the stairs, approached his vehicle, opened the door and took his seat behind the steering wheel. As the ignition turned, he pressed the garage opener still clinging to the sun visor. Dolus only glanced back at me when I tearfully requested the opener citing the need to include it with the sale of the house. I could not have cared any less about selling the house, let alone including a garage door opener to sweeten the pot. I simply needed to prevent his unannounced and unwelcomed re-entry.
Although experiencing an avalanche of emotions, I never failed to maintain clarity during that seemingly endless point in time. In the days preceding his actual departure, I successfully executed the first part of my plan to ensure he would be denied entry should he attempt to unexpectedly return.
Dolus was known for his lengthy showers of thirty minutes or more. His indulgence would ultimately conclude with him lying on the shower floor allowing the water to run over him. Knowing his pattern, I waited until I heard him transitioning to the shower floor. At that moment, I quickly swapped his house key for a decoy of similar shape, color and wear. Given he was working remotely and rarely left me alone, there was never a reason for him to use his house key. He would never know the difference. This act along with requesting the garage door opener just as he was leaving were extremely important components of my safety plan that paid off the very next month. We will talk about that later, ok? Ok.
As he drove out of the garage, the thick scent of exhaust engulfed the resulting empty space. I pressed the garage opener and watched the door finally close on a life so desolate that at times it did not seem worth living. In his wake, my then 17-year-old daughter, Isis, who was only three months shy of her high school graduation, never once emerge from her bedroom. My then 15-year-old-son, Suchus, watched the black sedan exit the garage from his perch behind the kitchen island seemingly unmoved by the whole spectacle. As was her immediate response to sensing or witnessing household turmoil, our black and white lab mix, Bailey, whose name has also been changed to protect her privacy, was crouched on her pillow – ears laid back and flat to her head, tail tucked and body trembling. Her emotional response seemed to join those of her remaining human pack members whose proverbial alpha male simply left them to pursue his need for freedom and grandiosity 700 miles away.
