I’ve tried my hardest to put off writing this post.

I was sitting on a bench off the High Street the other day and that’s when my world went spinning off into this direction where I don’t know what to do or how to react.

But before we get to that, let me take you a step back to before the bench.

I had been messaging him and it all went wrong. And I knew that I wanted distance from him because he kept hurting me whether intentionally or not. So I said to him ‘I’m going to be on the High Street at this time, please also be there so I can give you this Christmas gift’

He said he’d let me know in the morning but that he’d be working.

It wasn’t definitive. I knew that I probably wouldn’t see him. And I didn’t. I was where I said I would be half an hour before but it was a pretty, sunny day and I found this bench just slightly in the shade and I was having a great time sitting in the sun and playing a game on my phone. I had no expectations whatsoever that he would show up, he’s not very reliable or consistent.

Eventually I sent him a message asking how today was looking for him? and he responded shortly after to say he’d been pulled into a work emergency. I don’t think he said that he wouldn’t be able to meet me but it was implied. When a man disappoints you another time it doesn’t always need to be stated explicitly.

So I mentally shrugged my shoulders and thought ‘well, I tried’ and got up and started walking back to where I’d parked my car.

And that’s when it happened.

It was him, just not the him that I’d been waiting to see. Walking towards me. It’s been years since I saw him face to face like this.

And I went through a million different emotions in the next few seconds. My face wanted to light up at the recognition. It did for a second before I could control my face enough to stop the way my eyes lit up when I saw him, the smile that wanted to spread on my face. I feel like my body just naturally leaned towards him, my arms wanted to lift to go to him, as though for a hug. Or maybe just to touch him.

But that wasn’t all I was feeling or thinking. I also felt confusion. What was I meant to be feeling right now? What’s appropriate? What is my face doing. Oh god, he’s not on his own was my next split second realisation and briefly I glanced next to him to confirm that he wasn’t walking on his own.

And that’s when the shock and guilt happened. Did his wife see me? Did she see my face, did she see the reaction I’ve just had to seeing her husband for a split second in the middle of town? Does that mean that she’ll suspect? Does that mean she’ll know?

In that moment I didn’t know what to do with my arms. They felt like lead next to me, my legs didn’t know how to walk. I told myself, do not cry, do not cry, do not cry.

All of this happened within seconds but I had to tell myself to keep breathing, to breathe naturally. Be normal. Because I couldn’t help but see him on a casual day out with his wife and instead of feeling how I was feeling I had to push that down and pretend something else.

And later, when I’d walked within inches of him, after he’d walked right past me close enough that I could have held my hand out and touched his arm. Later when I’d gotten back to my car, and the tears were threatening to fall I told myself I needed to make it home first, I needed to be safe. Later, when I got home, I went straight to bed and pulled the duvet over me even though we’re in another heatwave but I needed the comfort of it. And once I’d cried and once that crying had turned into a panic attack and for a moment I thought I was having a heart attack because I couldn’t breathe, why was it so hard to breathe and it lasted just long enough to scare me, it lasted long enough for me to wonder will I ever be able to breathe again and then I did, I took a breath and another one, short and shallow until I could suck the air into my lungs for a little bit longer. And the tears were still falling and I had to hold a hand to my chest to feel my heartbeat slow little by little as more air was coming into my lungs. And after, I just lay there, my legs tangled in my duvet, my pillow swept up in an angle, my face damp, with my hand just over my heart keep track of my heartbeats.

And after all of that is when I felt angry. I felt angry hours later when he responded to my message and didn’t have a clue what my message had been about. He hadn’t seen me, hadn’t noticed me, hadn’t been aware of how he’d flipped my life over briefly. Angry at his apology. Angry that there were no words he could say that would have made things right, that would make things better.

But before that I was still angry. Angry at him for going about his life untouched by guilt or shame. Angry that his life is so unchanged. Angry that after we’d ended, he’d said he’d go to therapy to figure out why he’d had an affair or to at least discuss what led him down that path but angry that of course he never did. Angry that I could spot him a mile away because my eyes, my heart, my body would recognise him anywhere and that he couldn’t. Angry that he doesn’t have to carry around the worry, the stress, the panic that one facial expression could destroy someone else. Angry that I carry all of this and have nowhere to address it.

Just angry.