accept that which you cannot change. It is up to you to determine your destiny.”
They weren’t really a family any longer.
Bill stayed up all night and slept through the day. During the few meals they shared, Bill lost his temper and sent Scott to sit in a corner for punishment for some small annoyance. Eventually, Bill no longer ate with Sue and their children.
Bill blamed Sue, insisting it was her fault that things were going wrong. He told her repeatedly that she needed counseling, and she agreed to go. Sue had begun to doubt what her husband told her. One night in December 2000, after the family had gone to bed, she was shocked to find him counting out large bags full of lottery tickets and peel-off pull tabs. She eventually learned he had spent $69,000 on them—most of them were from machines on the bar of a little tavern close to their home.
When she asked Bill about the lottery tickets and pull tabs, he had an easy answer. He explained he was saving them as a favor for a guy to use as a “tax write-off.”
Later, Sue realized that her husband was using his computer for online gambling. While he had always taken chances in the stock market, she had never really thought of him as the kind of gambler who bought lottery tickets or spent much in Las Vegas. Her own limit was $300 for a weekend trip to Nevada, and while Bill wagered a little more, it hadn’t been a problem. He always told her his gambling was “totally under control” and that he knew his limits.
He had kept his huge gambling losses hidden by changing the address on their bank statements to a post office box.
Sue realized that Bill was lying to her—had probably lied to her for many years. Every few months brought more secrets she had never known about. In May 2001, he told her that he had won a $10,000 cruise just for testing some new software. It was to be a wonderful trip for their entire family. It never happened.
She finally acknowledged to herself that every time something was really important to her or to Jenny or Scott, Bill would go out of his way to smash their joy. His birthday was coming up on Memorial Day weekend, and they made plans to take a family trip to Cannon Beach, Oregon. They went, but Bill was surly and critical of everyone, and nobody had any fun.
Around June 16, 2001, she learned that Bill had just spent $28,000 on collectible coins he’d purchased on the Internet. Their marriage had spun like a colorful top for twenty-two years, the lines and patterns blurred by Bill’s glib excuses. Now, as it wound down slower and slower, Sue could see the pattern of lies.
It was all too much. Sue had finally hit a wall, and she told Bill she wanted a divorce. He begged her to stay. She said she would if he would join her in counseling.
Bill attended four sessions, but blew up when the counselor pointed out to him that he was responsible for the domestic violence incidents in his home. Bill refused to go back.
He chose what mattered most to him. It wasn’t Sue—or even their children. Their marriage had become untenable. There was nothing left to save, and no way in the world to make it work.
They reached a watershed point on Friday, June 22, 2001—the first full day of summer. Sue had made plans to drive Jenny and the girls on her basketball team to Spokane for the annual “Hoop-Fest” that drew teams from all over Washington State. They needed to take the Jensens’ Sequoia SUV, the only vehicle big enough to hold seven passengers.
But Bill would not allow it. He forbade Sue to take it, and Jenny and the team had to scare up a ride with another parent.
“It was more than his selfishness,” Sue remembered. “The team parents and the girls were my friends and Jenny’s friends. This was my social life—all that I had—and I was embarrassed, and Jenny was, too—and disappointed. Bill and I had a big fight that day, and I realized I’d totally, finally, come to the end.”
A battle comparable to the War of the
They weren’t really a family any longer.
Bill stayed up all night and slept through the day. During the few meals they shared, Bill lost his temper and sent Scott to sit in a corner for punishment for some small annoyance. Eventually, Bill no longer ate with Sue and their children.
Bill blamed Sue, insisting it was her fault that things were going wrong. He told her repeatedly that she needed counseling, and she agreed to go. Sue had begun to doubt what her husband told her. One night in December 2000, after the family had gone to bed, she was shocked to find him counting out large bags full of lottery tickets and peel-off pull tabs. She eventually learned he had spent $69,000 on them—most of them were from machines on the bar of a little tavern close to their home.
When she asked Bill about the lottery tickets and pull tabs, he had an easy answer. He explained he was saving them as a favor for a guy to use as a “tax write-off.”
Later, Sue realized that her husband was using his computer for online gambling. While he had always taken chances in the stock market, she had never really thought of him as the kind of gambler who bought lottery tickets or spent much in Las Vegas. Her own limit was $300 for a weekend trip to Nevada, and while Bill wagered a little more, it hadn’t been a problem. He always told her his gambling was “totally under control” and that he knew his limits.
He had kept his huge gambling losses hidden by changing the address on their bank statements to a post office box.
Sue realized that Bill was lying to her—had probably lied to her for many years. Every few months brought more secrets she had never known about. In May 2001, he told her that he had won a $10,000 cruise just for testing some new software. It was to be a wonderful trip for their entire family. It never happened.
She finally acknowledged to herself that every time something was really important to her or to Jenny or Scott, Bill would go out of his way to smash their joy. His birthday was coming up on Memorial Day weekend, and they made plans to take a family trip to Cannon Beach, Oregon. They went, but Bill was surly and critical of everyone, and nobody had any fun.
Around June 16, 2001, she learned that Bill had just spent $28,000 on collectible coins he’d purchased on the Internet. Their marriage had spun like a colorful top for twenty-two years, the lines and patterns blurred by Bill’s glib excuses. Now, as it wound down slower and slower, Sue could see the pattern of lies.
It was all too much. Sue had finally hit a wall, and she told Bill she wanted a divorce. He begged her to stay. She said she would if he would join her in counseling.
Bill attended four sessions, but blew up when the counselor pointed out to him that he was responsible for the domestic violence incidents in his home. Bill refused to go back.
He chose what mattered most to him. It wasn’t Sue—or even their children. Their marriage had become untenable. There was nothing left to save, and no way in the world to make it work.
They reached a watershed point on Friday, June 22, 2001—the first full day of summer. Sue had made plans to drive Jenny and the girls on her basketball team to Spokane for the annual “Hoop-Fest” that drew teams from all over Washington State. They needed to take the Jensens’ Sequoia SUV, the only vehicle big enough to hold seven passengers.
But Bill would not allow it. He forbade Sue to take it, and Jenny and the team had to scare up a ride with another parent.
“It was more than his selfishness,” Sue remembered. “The team parents and the girls were my friends and Jenny’s friends. This was my social life—all that I had—and I was embarrassed, and Jenny was, too—and disappointed. Bill and I had a big fight that day, and I realized I’d totally, finally, come to the end.”
A battle comparable to the War of the
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