Letters I will Never Send: Dear The Other Woman,

Clair…Claire (However the hell you spell your name),

I don’t know you. I don’t want to. I don’t like you. I used to hate you but time is the most wonderful healer of pain. I just don’t like you.

I hope you find love. I hope you have a beautiful family and your life is in order. I hope you feel confident one day that you have established the future you want. And then I hope you feel the rug pulled from under you. I hope someone shows you what it is like to lose all of your security. Your sense of who you are. I hope you think back on how your actions caused the same pain to me. I hope you find yourself again, and you rise from it. You learn how truly strong you are and I hope you see the path you helped set me on. I don’t wish you the worst because that isn’t who I am. And the journey you set me on was terribly be tremendous.

Don’t pat yourself on the back for a job well done just yet.

I still find your existence to be disgusting. What you did was deplorable and low. You are in the category of the worst kind, and when you go to bed at night I know you don’t give me a second thought.

When I saw your name, I also grabbed your phone number. Thank god you didn’t pick up when I called.

I used the little information I had to learn about the Home Depot Whore, home wrecking slut. You had a twitter. I couldn’t see anything except a black and white photo of you and a zebra background. I had a face. Finally. Your eyebrows were big looked painted on. Yeah you look pretty but I know now what was on the inside, it was rotten.

Facebook was harder. There were 2 Clair/Claire’s that worked at that Home Depot. One, a sweet looking girl who goes to Bible camp. I didn’t find yours right away. So the Bible Camp Claire through me for a loop.

When I found your Facebook your page is full of pictures of yourself and men commenting on it. You love attention. It’s what feeds your ego. Disgusting

I paid $20 for a background check on you. I know about a house you once lived in, schools you went to. Your mothers name, your brother. I knew what car you drove.

One day, while I skipped work I went to Home Depot. He was at his bank job. I had a feeling you would be there. And you were. I stealthy photographed you. I even walked down the flooring isle where you work. You greeted me. And the chicken shit I am just said “Hello”. Because it’s not me. In my head I tore you to a million pieces. But no. That’s not me.

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I was driven to the brink of insanity. I still drive around town to avoid that Home Depot. I felt so unstable, so alone.

You guys never even dated after we split. Proof you were just looking for attention. Proof you didn’t care. Before all this, deep down he was a good strong man. He was never a quitter and he was kind. I don’t know what happened, but I know you helped usher him into this new person.

Because of you my life is new. I am happy now. But I still shudder at the mention of Home Depot. I can joke about it. Like:

“If you want to have your home remodeled, just go to the flooring section of Home Depot, ask for Clair, she will do a completely redo, you may even have an entirely new place to live, or no place at all”.

That family you broke up, we had a baby boy. We had 11 years of ups and downs. We had proms, weddings, vacations, graduations, college, home ownership, baby, deaths, we had a history. You should take a look through the albums, if i didn’t throw them away. You would see what ever picture of us you had, it was good.

Who am I kidding. You wouldn’t care.

Ironically my brother has new girlfriend who knows you. Small world. Your mom and her mom are friends. I heard stories about you. You got drunk one night and screamed out the window of the car you had a “Platinum P*ssy”. Oh you classy woman. She tells me you got married and you are pregnant now.

Good luck to you all.

And how I wish we could talk face to face about the events that took place, share a coffee and share stories. I could put some pieces to the puzzle together, get answers I always wanted. But we won’t.

Sincerely,

The woman you helped destroy and then rose from the ashes.

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