Shhh…. I have a secret

Where I left off…

Kicked him out, he moved in with her, and things got messy(er).

So, kicked him out and told him to get his shit together before he came back.

Spoiler. He didn’t, get his shit together that is.

Now the way I found out that he had moved in with the whore (TW).

My kids and I were on the way back from having dinner at Pizza Hut. Back then the schools were still heavily invested in the Read for Free Pizza. My daughter was an excellent and committed reader, and got at least one free pizza a week. Anyway, we were on our way back home. On the road between Pizza Hut and our house, was hers. His truck was parked there.

How did I know it was his? Well, it wasn’t the license plate or bumper stickers.

No, it was the custom hood that my friend (that went to Belgium) and I painted. A huge, beautiful red dragon coming out of the mist. It is very difficult to be mistaken for some other truck. (My friend, J, is a professional artist and was teaching me how to paint on metal with an airbrush.)

I recognized the place where we dropped toilet paper off. My daughter also recognized it as the place where he took her and my son. “To visit a friend.”

Who he was apparently more than friendly with in front of my kids.

That was the beginning of several “conversations” concerning her and his involvement with her and her children.

He wanted to play house with her. After a couple of weeks, I said fine. However, if she is going to be in the kids life, she was going to learn what they were like because they were going to take them two nights a week. Visitation as it were.

Idiot agreed.

Kids were confused. But I answered any questions that they had as neutral as possible. I decided I didn’t want to be like some parents and turn the kids against their father. I guess even then, I knew he would be able to do that all by himself.

This went in for a couple of weeks. Then, one morning, I got a frantic call from him asking how many pills were in our son’s medication bottle. I had no idea. When I asked why, he said that the boy twin got into his medication, and they had no idea how many he had swallowed before he was caught.

Now, this was an anti-seizure medication. The son had been taking it for three years at this point. I asked how the kid had gotten a hold of his meds, and was told that ‘wasn’t important’. He said he was dropping the kids off, while TW took her son into the ER. Poor kid had to get his stomach pumped.

When my kids were dropped off, my daughter was LIVID. Now remember she is only 10. The first words out of her mouth were, “She hit my brother!”

My son walked in with a very clear handprint on his face.

You know the saying when after hearing something horrible? Yeah, well I saw red. That woman had slapped my 7-year-old! And apparently, his father did nothing about it. That was a bad move on his part.

The daughter told me what had happened. The twin that had gotten a hold of his meds, had pulled them out of their backpack. I was confused.

Was she saying that their medications (she was on Ritalin) were not put up where little hands couldn’t reach them? No, they didn’t think it was necessary. After all, my kids were older and could watch to ensure the twins (who were 4) did not get into their stuff. Again, my kids were 10 and 7.

When the boy twin was discovered taking the meds, MY kids were still asleep. However, they got roughly woken up and accused of not watching the twins, which still wasn’t their job anyway. And that is why my 7-year-old got slapped: because they, the adults, didn’t put the medication my children took up, to be out of the reach of little hands.

Now, the meds that my kids took, there were a couple more, but I don’t remember which ones anymore, were put in a bag specifically for them and clearly labeled. My ex KNEW that all meds should be put up; I reminded him every time he took the kids. In my house, they were in a locked box.

But at theirs? It was left in their backpack. On the floor. Where anyone could get into them.

Steller parenting, no?

Then, when he was found taking them and my kids were woken up, she demanded to know how many pills were in the bottles. My kids had no idea. 7 & and 10, remember? She slapped my son for allowing her kid to get into his meds and not knowing how many were on the bottle. The daughter got between them. She was, and still is, his biggest defender.

I don’t know if she realized what she had just done, or that she better look after her son at that point. Then ex called me about the numbers of pills and they left for the ER and our house.

After making sure that they were okay, I asked the daughter if she wanted to stay home from school. She knew her brother was ok and wanted to see her friends. So, I sent my daughter off to school (two blocks, an easy and safe walk) and let him stay home from school. I couldn’t send him to school with a very vivid handprint on his cheek! They would think I did it. Not to mention, I didn’t want to let him out of my sight!

No, I comforted him as best I could until he calmed down. Made sure he knew he wasn’t in trouble and it wasn’t his fault. And no, he never had to go back to that house ever again. Nor did he have to see her. If fact neither of them ever had to go back.

Then.

Then I sat down and wrote a very detailed letter addressed to their unit commander, the regiment commander, and the base commander, including names, addresses, phone numbers, and all.

By this point, the internet was a thing, and finding stuff like that was easy.

I detailed everything that I knew, from the beginning on a military paid recruiting trip, to him taking out children to see her, to him moving in with her, while he was her squad leader.

That right there is considered an abuse of power. She was not considered to be in a position to tell him ‘no’.

Included were the names of everyone that I knew for sure knew about them in the unit. All, The. Way. Up. His chain of command.

I ended with a description of what had happened that morning. The medication left within the reach of a small child, an unwatched small child.

The fact that she dared to slap my child for her own actions. With assurances that I had a picture of the damage that she had done and that I fully intended to file charges for assault.

Now here is where I may have messed up.

I emailed my husband a copy and told him I would be sending all of the above both a copy through email and snail mail.

Now, the man who couldn’t bother to answer his phone was on my doorstep in half an hour. I was printing out the hard copies when he came in.

Then the begging started.

To be continued