Just a little over a month ago my husband Charley took off for Arizona. His friend from along while back, who helped him relapse and miss Dakota’s birth, came all the way from Arizona to pick his drunk ass up in the middle of the night. He totally fell of the wagon entirely out in the desert and dehydrated and delusional, he climbed into the car in Flagstaff, where I picked him up/saved him. He insisted he would get an in-treatment program. Back in Taos he said that would suck but promised to do out patient. Two weeks later he quit that. Then he stopped his daily AA meetings. Then he got a job and a few dollars and started drinking again, and now I don’t know where he is. Again. But I saw this coming. The history told me it would happen. It so did a psychic I called a day after he left for Arizona. She said he was empty and weak and would keep running from things for a long time. “Would he cheat again?” No. “Would we be married?” Yes. She didn’t see that changing.
Yes I called a psychic. Because it was something I could do. Something.
But I didn’t believe her, until now.