married when I was very, very young.He had been the only man in my life since I was eighteen, and now I was thirty. I had been on this journey with him. We had four kids together, and I just needed a break for a second. I needed him to just give me time to figure myself out. I don’t know why I was having a midlife crisis at thirty, but I was. I knew that my marriage had not been okay for a while. I knew I had not been okay for a long time. I knew I needed help. I didn’t even realize how much help I needed at the time.
“Armenians don’t get separated,” Robert said. “It’s either marriage or divorce.”
I think he was trying to scare me, but it didn’t work. It just made me mad.
“Well, this is what I need to do,” I said. “I need a separation.”
Finally, he faltered. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll give you a break.”
He left that night for Palm Springs. For two days I felt relief that he was gone. I needed my independence. I had gone from being a teenager to being the mother of four children. I now had my fourth baby. I had lost the pregnancy weight, I had had a boob job, and I was finally feeling good about myself again. I wanted to have some fun. Just a little. I had never really dated. I certainly never went out to bars or clubs at night,
ever.
I wasn’t the girl who hung out with her friends and partied. I finally realized that for some reason I wanted some of that. And Robert was not going to give it to me. It was very clear that the guy was not going to leave me alone, especially when, unexpectedly and unannounced, he drove back through the gates of our home two days after he left for Palm Springs.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
“I decided I don’t want a separation,” he said.
I believe today that if Robert had let me have a break and left me alone to get through whatever I was going through—if he had given me the break I’d asked for—I probably would have been overit in a week and back on track. But because he fought me so hard and would not let me have the time to myself to figure it out, I felt trapped.
What happened next was really odd. A good girl was about to go bad,
really
bad. I felt on some level like Satan had just taken over my body and said,
“You’re mine.”
I have a picture of me with a group of friends together at dinner at the Hillcrest Country Club. When I look at that picture today, I can remember exactly what I was thinking. I was trying to smile and look happy, to act like I was okay and that my marriage and my family—my most precious things—were going to be okay. But I
wasn’t
okay. I was going crazy inside. I remember thinking that night,
How I am I going to get through the next minute without breaking down?
Two weeks after that picture was taken, I stopped by a friend’s house on the way home from a dinner out. Our kids were with our live-in babysitter. Robert was on a boys’ ski vacation. All I could think was:
Thank you, God, for giving me a couple of days to myself.
I desperately needed breathing room.
I walked into my friend’s house alone. There was a party in progress. I met a guy there. I had seen him around. He was part of a group of people who were always at this one friend’s house. He had been at all of the barbecues and parties, but I hadn’t paid him much attention. I actually had thought he was really arrogant, and I’m sure he knew I was married.
When you’re married, you send out signals:
Married, not interested, stay away.
On the night I walked into my friend’s house, though, I must have been sending out an
I’m single, searching, available, come closer
signal, because this guy came on crazy strong. We had an instant attraction.
His name was Ryan, and he was a producer. He looked like Rob Lowe. For a second, I thought he
was
Rob Lowe. He was so cute: young, dark hair, great body. We started talking. We talked and talked, laughed and laughed. Fun, fun, fun. No one had paid that much attention to me in
forever.
I
“Armenians don’t get separated,” Robert said. “It’s either marriage or divorce.”
I think he was trying to scare me, but it didn’t work. It just made me mad.
“Well, this is what I need to do,” I said. “I need a separation.”
Finally, he faltered. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll give you a break.”
He left that night for Palm Springs. For two days I felt relief that he was gone. I needed my independence. I had gone from being a teenager to being the mother of four children. I now had my fourth baby. I had lost the pregnancy weight, I had had a boob job, and I was finally feeling good about myself again. I wanted to have some fun. Just a little. I had never really dated. I certainly never went out to bars or clubs at night,
ever.
I wasn’t the girl who hung out with her friends and partied. I finally realized that for some reason I wanted some of that. And Robert was not going to give it to me. It was very clear that the guy was not going to leave me alone, especially when, unexpectedly and unannounced, he drove back through the gates of our home two days after he left for Palm Springs.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
“I decided I don’t want a separation,” he said.
I believe today that if Robert had let me have a break and left me alone to get through whatever I was going through—if he had given me the break I’d asked for—I probably would have been overit in a week and back on track. But because he fought me so hard and would not let me have the time to myself to figure it out, I felt trapped.
What happened next was really odd. A good girl was about to go bad,
really
bad. I felt on some level like Satan had just taken over my body and said,
“You’re mine.”
I have a picture of me with a group of friends together at dinner at the Hillcrest Country Club. When I look at that picture today, I can remember exactly what I was thinking. I was trying to smile and look happy, to act like I was okay and that my marriage and my family—my most precious things—were going to be okay. But I
wasn’t
okay. I was going crazy inside. I remember thinking that night,
How I am I going to get through the next minute without breaking down?
Two weeks after that picture was taken, I stopped by a friend’s house on the way home from a dinner out. Our kids were with our live-in babysitter. Robert was on a boys’ ski vacation. All I could think was:
Thank you, God, for giving me a couple of days to myself.
I desperately needed breathing room.
I walked into my friend’s house alone. There was a party in progress. I met a guy there. I had seen him around. He was part of a group of people who were always at this one friend’s house. He had been at all of the barbecues and parties, but I hadn’t paid him much attention. I actually had thought he was really arrogant, and I’m sure he knew I was married.
When you’re married, you send out signals:
Married, not interested, stay away.
On the night I walked into my friend’s house, though, I must have been sending out an
I’m single, searching, available, come closer
signal, because this guy came on crazy strong. We had an instant attraction.
His name was Ryan, and he was a producer. He looked like Rob Lowe. For a second, I thought he
was
Rob Lowe. He was so cute: young, dark hair, great body. We started talking. We talked and talked, laughed and laughed. Fun, fun, fun. No one had paid that much attention to me in
forever.
I
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