I ran out to the garage and locked myself in the car. I called my mother-in-law in a panic and screamed as the pain made a home in my stomach that would last two years.
I didn’t know what to do.
It wasn’t real.
My suspicions couldn’t have been true.
Why is this happening to me? I thought he loved me.
He was supposed to be my Prince Charming, and we were going to live happily ever after.
And that’s when the glass slipper in my Cinderella marriage broke.
I had caught my husband in a full-blown online affair. I can’t imagine a time when a person ever wanted to be more wrong about a hunch. Ever.
My mind raced, and I fell into a deep depression. We attended marriage counseling, had a new baby (our fifth).
The pumpkin carriage was riding down the way toward our castle. I could see the end credits rolling in our film. What a story, what a good, pretty package of a testimony—or so I thought.
And that’s when my Cinderella glass slipper in marriage broke once again.
Eventually, the stomach pains stopped, and instead of sharp glass in my belly, there was numbness.
I no longer felt human.
It wasn’t a fairy tale—this was a war story. Our marriage was the victim.
My husband’s heart was broken. Intellectually, I knew this had absolutely nothing to do with me. But it still hurt.
I started spending money like crazy to feel better. I felt trapped and gave up hope.
Where was Prince Charming or a superhero to save the squad in the end?
Were other people’s marriages this broken?
I was so angry with choices I never wanted to make.
My dream of a Cinderella marriage wasn’t what I thought it would be.
The princess stories of my youth never talked about this.
Church never talked about this.
No one ever talked about this.
How could I have a broken family? I never wanted one of those. I wanted a whole family. I would stay for all the kids.
But how could I not leave to be an example for my daughters? I wanted them to have good boundaries and healthy relationships, and I wanted to feel like me again. I would leave for the girls.
The truth is, in fairy tales, all stories follow the same plot. Good defeats evil. The guy gets the girl. They have troubles, but work through them easily.
But that wasn’t real life—at least that wasn’t my experience with it.
When my sister got married, I couldn’t attend the wedding. I was happy for her and jaded at the same time. As her beautiful glass slipper was being placed on her foot for what she thought would be a happily ever after…the Cinderella dream of my marriage was shattering into millions of pieces of sharp glass.
She had no idea the pain a fairytale-pictured life could cause. She was ignorant of the struggle.
How was I supposed to make it through this? How was I supposed to know where the line was of pushing through and potential divorce? How was I supposed to grieve this idea, this dream for my marriage?
We were a perfect fit.
We knew each other’s skeletons.
We were Christians.
We were in ministry.
I wish I could say we worked through it and had the happily ever after together.
I wish I could say I left for myself and had my own dreams come true.
But the truth? Life isn’t a fairy tale at all. There isn’t black and white in relationships or in marriages. Sometimes it’s cut and dry, and other times it’s mystic smoke we can’t see through.
Sometimes what we think should be the plot and the ending are entirely different from reality.
Some of us stay with our Prince Charming, and some of us make a tale on our own.
But no matter what, we can cling to the one Prince Charming who will never leave.
The Prince Charming who will never deceive.
The Prince Charming who forgives and heals every single one of our hurting places, if we let Him.
The Prince Charming who sees neither villains nor heroes, but broken people desperately wanting to be loved.
The Prince Charming who sees his bride for who she is and loves every part of her.
The Prince Charming who, one sweet day, will place perfect everlasting glass slippers on our feet and dance with us on streets of gold where there are no more tears from this story we call life.
by Erin DeLorenzo 
by Her View From Home 
