When Evil Turns on You
By: Chris Wathen
Tags: Betrayal, Jail, Court Case, Divorce, Domestic Abuse

It had been a good and productive day at work that day, and — perhaps best of all — a payday Friday, meaning money in the bank account, even if for just the day, as well as a weekend to look forward to and enjoy.

Walking out the back door of work already a few minutes later than usual leaving, I saw a co-worker stopped in the parking lot as her son ran inside to get her paycheck. I had already deposited mine, along with other errands at lunchtime, so I stopped to chat about the various hubbub he co-workerhad missed being off work that day.

But being fifteen minutes or more coming home sent her into a furry of accusations, from drunkenness to irresponsibility and spending too much time at work to general distrust. And we weren’t even late for the “meet the teacher night” scheduled for that evening — yet. I could only imagine the tirade if we were. Of course, I didn’t know what was yet to come for me that evening either.

We had been in a fight the night before, which brought us to my parents’ home for a little advice and counsel, although it still ended in each of us sleeping in separate houses that previous night. Divorce had been brought up, and the distain for me now seemed like a continuation of that. The kids went out to the car as she continued to spout off to me in the bathroom as I changed clothes to go put my happy face on at the elementary school. Disgusted, she then left with a slam of the door to put me on notice she had.

As I came out of the bathroom and headed for the kitchen exit, she was already backing out the driveway. Confused, I shrugged while muttering, “What the hell?” then pointing at her, I yelled, “I thought I was going to go?” And she pulled back in, but not to let me in and go, but to scold and accuse me some more. She proceeded to even jump out of her vehicle and unlocked and searched my truck for evidence to support her stance, but she found none. There was no bottle, no evidence of drinking, because there hadn’t been any just because I was late coming home. A person would think that would deescalate the situation, but the lack of evidence made her even more furious. Then again, she never could handle responsibility for something, anything, let alone being wrong. Or, maybe this was part of the plan.

As she searched my truck, I just shook my hand in disbelief, then true sadness. How sad and pathetic had our 18 year marriage become that this was happening right now? In my mind, that’s the moment that it clicked that we had to get a divorce. If I had naïvely missed all of these red flags beforehand, and there were many I concede now, this one caught my attention loud and clear.

Nonetheless, I had told her very matter-of-factly that she should take the kids to the open house at school and I would just stay home. I was simply surrendering to this one battle, I thought, and went inside the house. But she followed me, hot on my heals in a fury.

Once inside her anger became physical and she shoved me twice with her all. She weighed as much as I did, so she had momentum. As I turned to face her in our kitchen of fifteen years, she shoved me into the pantry door that was always open and I broke some of the louvers in the door, as well as some plastic containers. She continues to shoving as we continue to argue and move around the kitchen.

What has been our worst fight ever, though, got even worse when I told her I wanted a divorce. Slamming the kitchen door, there was a slur of profanity so concentrated that I’d never heard from her, despite her regular cussing, many times in front of our kids, on any normal day. With her hand still on the door handle, she went to leave, but she just had to get another jab in beforehand by saying, “Go to your parents then and get your damn divorce!”

Whether I smirked or what, she came after me again in fury and I tripped over a case of bottled water sitting there on the floor and fell as she continues to hitting, grabbing, and attacking me. I reached up and grabbed her shirt, partly to help myself back up and partly to distance her enough so she was only hitting my arms and not my body, but she ducked out of the shirt and ran out the front door with only her bra on in her continuing hysterics.

Relieved it was over, I just sat there in disbelief of what had just occurred. We had never had physical fights, except for her shoving and pinching me in the past few months. This was new, and I was about to find out that this was when evil turns on you.