By Ricky Johnson
Like many people, 2020 was the hardest year of my life. Lockdown took everything from me; my father (C0VID), my job (I was a club promoter, the clubs were closed) and my sanity.
I was quarantined with a club friend that I was just passing time with; but I liked her. She cooked and she was nice to me.
In about 4 months, she graduated from a friend-with-benefits to my wife.
Don’t judge me; it was 2020, we were locked down and I thought it was the end of the world.
We got married without a ceremony. It was sweet and it felt sincere. She got pregnant.
I was happy and nervous about fatherhood.
I wasn’t allowed in the delivery room when she had my son. I waited in the car overnight.
She came home with my son and things changed—fast. The lockdowns were easing and she was ready to get back to work.
She refused to breast feed, she says she wanted to keep her breasts “plump.” Unfortunately, our son had digestive issues with his baby formula.
My wife returned to work right away (she worked at a national hotel chain) and I stayed home with our son.
I bonded with my son, instantly. My wife was more concerned with losing the baby fat and “getting back to her life.”
My wife only showed interest in our child for Instagram. She’d take pics with our son without me, and wouldn’t tag me.
One guy commented on her pic “do I get a discount on the box since a baby just slid thru?”
When I asked her about the comment she made her account private and blocked me.
Then she went to work. I sold my mix tapes to earn money, and was a stay-at-home dad. My wife was pulling double shifts at work.
Something was wrong. Riddle me this, if the entire state is just easing out of lockdown, why is she pulling overtime at the hotel? All conventions and concerts were cancelled.
I strapped my son in his car seat and we followed her. I wanted to SEE my wife working behind the front desk at the hotel.
This is where I must warn you, if you look for dirt, you will find it.
My wife didn’t work behind the desk, she had a room there. I had a $100 bill on me, a gift from my wife. I gave it to the young woman at the front desk and asked her a few questions. I had my son with me; she felt bad for us.
The woman at the desk confessed that my wife was an escort and she met men and couples at the hotel. My wife’s “pimptress” was another woman who worked at the hotel that gave my wife clients and a discounted room in exchange for kickbacks.
The following morning, when my wife came home from work, I exposed her.
It was ugly.
Me: “You should have told me you were a [s3x worker.]”
Her: “You should have told me you were insecure. And you proposed out of fear of dying alone.”
Yep. I was as fake as she was.
Also, I resented her because she didn’t stay home to become the wife I wanted.
My ex was fine with it, she had things to do. She signed over her parental rights and moved out.
That was the end of our pandemic union.
And it fu*ked me up.
All I thought about was what she was doing with her clients while I was changing diapers. She visits occasionally to give us money and take new pics for her Instagram fans and then -poof- she’s gone.
My ex-wife's spotty visits remind me about what I don’t want in a life partner.
My son deserves stability.
As a single father, I must date slowly and with purpose.
Love will come in due time and I’ll be ready.