I Met My Ex-Husband’s New Girlfriend

Three days ago, my marriage officially ended. I received an email from my ex-husband informing me that I was a free woman. It was about time. Although we only just separated in February of 2020, our relationship had been slowly dying for many years, bleeding out from a million tiny cuts inflicted by our words and deeds on a daily basis. We had been to marriage counseling three times in the past eighteen years and had nearly separated twice before. On an annual basis, my ex-husband would announce that he was done and our marriage was over, only to stay and tough it out a little longer.

Even though the end was not unexpected, I was taken aback by how swiftly he worked to replace me in the house we both still owned. When we separated, he said he needed time alone. He said he wasn’t good with relationships. He said he needed to just “be”. Despite what he said, less than two months after I found my own place, and before he had even filed divorce papers, he had moved another woman into my house. Into my bedroom. Into the bed I had once shared with my husband. On top of that, he hadn’t done me the courtesy of letting me know she was living there with my youngest daughter. I had to find out from my six-year-old.

Frankly, my mindset toward this new woman who dared to live with a man who was technically still my husband, in my house with my child, was negative to say the least. I gleaned what information I could from her Facebook page (until she blocked me) and from my daughters. Here is what I knew:

She was recently separated.

She had known my husband in high school.

She had been commenting on his social media posts incessantly for the last couple of years.

She didn’t have a driver’s license or a car.

She was a massage therapist whose business had failed.

She played the drums and sang.

She deleted my profile from the Netflix account I still shared with my husband.

We had the same name (seriously??).

Not a lot to go on, but more than enough to make my imagination run wild and plenty to not like about her. Who did this woman think she was? My daughters reported that she was redecorating the house and had filled the basement with her art supplies. She referred to my oldest daughter as goddess and invited her to join a drum circle (what!?!?). She didn’t sound like anyone my husband would even know, let alone live with — in short, she was nothing like me. Looking back, that was probably the point.

After I realized that another woman was actually living with my husband, I asked him to introduce us. I wanted to meet the woman who was spending so much time with my daughter and burning so much incense. The thought both terrified and intrigued me. Would I gain some radical insight into my husband’s mind by meeting the woman who had so quickly replaced me? Would it enlighten me? Would I be jealous?

He declined my request. I have no idea why, but I think that maybe he was scared of what I might say or do. I was kind of relieved. Maybe I didn’t need to meet her after all. Maybe I didn’t quite trust myself yet.

However, two days ago, all of that changed, due largely in part to my now ex-husband’s cowardice. It was my turn to drop off my youngest at her dad’s and I let him know that I was coming over when he got home from work. He said okay. When I arrived at his home (I officially gave up the house in the divorce), my daughter and I stood out on the front porch ringing the doorbell for some time. I saw his car in the driveway. I knew he was home.

Finally, the door opened. Only it wasn’t my ex, it was her. I was unexpectedly face to face with the woman who had taken my place. She looked older than I had expected, I guess her Facebook pictures were out of date. But everything else was as I had anticipated. She had long blonde hair pulled back into a hair clip at the crown of her head. She wore readers and her large, pendulous breasts swayed freely in the halter top dress she wore.

I asked her if my ex was home and that I needed to talk to him. She practically grabbed me and pulled me in as she explained that he was asleep. I didn’t believe her, I was sure he was hiding in the bedroom, reluctant to make the introduction himself. I stammered something like “Hi, I’m Alecia” which she took as an invitation to exclaim “Me too”, then she did something I hadn’t expected, she pulled me in close for an awkward hug. Awkward on my part, at least.

Good Lord. I am not a hugger. The only people I hug often and freely are my daughters. It has taken me years to get comfortable hugging my closest friends, and since the pandemic hit, I have gotten out of practice even with that level of closeness.

Her entire manner was open and vulnerable. The word that instantly popped into my head was docile. She was not threatening at all, and suddenly I realized what my husband saw in her. She was everything that I was not.

This was a woman who hugged strangers and played the bongos. This was a woman who would lie for my ex when he didn’t want to deal with something that was actually his responsibility. This was a woman who would never challenge him or question him. She would go along with his plans. She would smile and burn some incense and probably light up a joint at the end of the day. He would never have to fear that he was letting her or himself down. Because he couldn’t. Because she wouldn’t have any expectations of him.

In our brief interaction, my entire perception of this “other woman” changed. I had wanted to hate her because I had been so easily replaced. I had wanted to blame her for moving into my house and spending time with my daughter that was rightfully mine. I had wanted her to stand up to me, to challenge me so that I could give her a piece of my mind. So that I could shame her for what she had done.

But that would have been like kicking a puppy.

This woman was no one to fear or hate. If she found happiness with my ex and he with her, then so be it, it would work out for everyone. She was a kind person and my youngest daughter loved her. She was quiet and brought peace to a house that I had never embraced. She definitely wasn’t me and that was fine, in fact, that gave me a small comfort that I didn’t realize I needed.

I could never be like the “other Alecia” and that’s quite alright. I am happy with who I am, and now I know that my ex would have never been happy with me, no matter how many counseling sessions we attended. Meeting my ex-husband’s new girlfriend was just the thing I needed to close that chapter in my life.

Thank you, next.