Where am I going?

The father-in-law of my future, I am told without chagrin, is a philandering evangelist.  Not only is he on his third marriage by this point, but he had started two new families while being married to other women.  (He was to do this one more time during his life, though he would marry again twice - tying the knot with wife number 5 in his 70s.)   

My fiance is the first of this man's many children - a product of the first marriage, and the only male.  I am told of a woman and her baby coming to live with the 3 children of marriage #1.  It is a household now consisting of paternal grandparents, mother, father, 3 children, another woman and her infant daughter.  I know that the finances of this family have always been very modest, which meant they were living in a small home.  This arrangement is unimaginable to me.

I remember being told about a dramatic altercation in the kitchen, the grandfather chasing the father around, kitchenware broken, a knife brandished.  The children, the grandmother and the two women are witnesses.

Madame X and her daughter are distant history, though.  In fact, nobody in the family is quite sure what became of the two, as of this moment in time.  There is suspicion, but not confirmation, that the baby is their sister.  It will be nearly 50 years until she comes into their lives again.

Uh oh.

Soooo, my sister-in-law-to-be is most surprised that her brother has never mentioned the "colorful" family past to his future wife.  But she is quite delighted to divulge the details I've been spared.  I loved her candor instantly, yet why didn't I grasp how much he, in his deceptiveness, suffered by comparison?

I am in the front passenger seat, big brother is driving.  Little sister is behind us, but leaning excitedly into the space between the front seats so we can better hear her over the loud phutt phutt of the old VW engine as it labors over the Grapevine pass.  I take furtive glances to my left, but I watch in vain for a response; he is implacable, facing forward, ramrod straight.  He never once looks at me to gauge my reaction.  In retrospect, it's almost embarrassing to admit that I didn't have the guts to hitchhike back to LA right then and there.

"You never know a man until you have divorced him."

Zsa Zsa Gabor said this.  But I don't think it's really true.  I think divorce can bring out the best or the worst in someone, depending upon their character.  In my case, I had clear signs of my husband's character before we married.  Three completely independent but equally influential factors, however, prevented me from backing out of the engagement.  They were:

1. Youth.  He was my first boyfriend and I was already (gasp) 21!!!  My mother had immigrated from Europe when she was nearly 17 and had 3 children already by the time she was my age.  I had absolutely zero experience in a relationship, and he was so accommodating, devoted and polite (insert warning bells here).
2. Insecurity.  Because of my unusual (read, ethnic) looks, I was not easily accepted nor much pursued by boys at school.  So when one of the stars of our small department at a large and exclusive university asked me to marry him on our first date (CLANG! CLANG!), I figured if I didn't accept I could end up a spinster at the ripe old age of 25.
3.  Indecision.  I didn't know what I wanted to do as a career when I graduated, but I had been raised to think motherhood was inevitable, desirable and completely fulfilling.  He wasn't sure what he wanted to do either, but with my encouragement and support, he started taking pre-med classes.  This decision seemed like my ticket onto the parenting train.

So, what were the signs?  Besides those alluded to none too subtly above, there were significant issues that arose prior to walking the aisle that made me uneasy.  The most serious of them was his family history, compounded by the fact that he had carefully concealed it from me.  It was only when we were driving from Southern California to Northern California to meet his family and announce our engagement that I was introduced to the sordid stories.  That introduction didn't even come from him - it came from one of his sisters, whom we picked up on the way.  It turned out that a 6 hour drive up the very boring I-5 in an old VW bug provided an irresistible opportunity to open the closet door and bare hidden skeletons.

Awaiting judgement

How did my divorce end up in court? Now that I'm nearing the end of my ordeal, I'll start at the beginning in case it helps anyone else avoid the money sucking, time wasting, humanity crushing disaster that has been my last 30 months.

He's brushing his teeth, getting ready for bed.  After 1 year of couples therapy (our third try), and 6 months of rumors of his infidelity (earnestly rejected each time I gave him the option to come out of the closet), something makes me realize that the phone conversation I interrupted him in earlier that day had to have been with the predator.  I stand in the doorway of our little bathroom and say, "She's the one I've been asking you about.  She's the divorced nurse with 3 little kids."

He glibly responds, mouth full of minty foam, "No, she's just a nurse in my bike group."

I'm a trusting soul.  I've believed every denial so far.  But I'm finally getting it. "You know I can check your cell phone records."

At this, he freezes.  His shoulders droop a bit, and he admits in defeat, "There's no need to check.  There are plenty of calls."

After 28 years together, in that moment I know our marriage was a sham.  The enormity of his deception, not just about this woman, but about who he is as a man washes over me.  And I know I am up against something that I am not equipped to handle.  And so, without hesitating a second I say,

"Then you need to move out."