Choosing Money Over Love: How I Lost What I Cared About Most

When we say our goodbyes, before she hops into her car and heads off to spend the summer with her family, neither of us knows the finality of those words. We don’t know this will be the last moment we’ll bask in the warmth of each other’s embraces. The last kiss we’ll share.

That day is perfect. Waking up with her snuggled tightly against me, the citrusy fragrance of her curly hair teasing my nostrils. Breakfast together, then off to church, our first time as a couple. An early afternoon excursion to the city zoo before a romantic picnic at the city park, hugged up on our cozy blanket, snacking on Oreos and playfully lobbing cheese puffs into each other’s mouths. Strolling hand in hand along the oceanfront, cool, frothy water tickling our bare feet as the sun sets on the horizon. Paradise. We believe the rest of our lives will be this way.

One month later, we’re seated across from one another in the visitation room at the city jail, where I’m being detained for a series of armed robberies. The thin glass partition separating us may as well be as wide as an ocean. Her sobs shatter my heart into a million fragments. Our perfect life together now lies in ruins due to my stupid choices. Her eyes are desperately pleading for an explanation. The fact that I have none, at least none that will justify why I’d risked losing what we have over something as fleeting as money, makes me feel like a complete shitbag. She wants me to tell her not to worry, that everything will be okay, that our love will propel us over this hurdle and I’ll be coming home soon. But we both know none of that is true.

For a while, we try to maintain our relationship in spite of the physical distance between us. Lots of people make long-distance relationships work, and so can we, we convince ourselves. What we don’t anticipate, what no one ever anticipates, is the slow death that emotional distance brings. Brick by brick, it chips away at our foundation, causing my trust in her to falter, her patience with me to shorten, our disagreements to more frequently escalate into heated arguments. Phone calls and visits begin to feel strained. We go through the motions, but we’re both stressed, worried, frustrated, and miserable. Friends and family urge us to move on with our lives. Although we don’t see the writing on the wall, everyone around us does.

At the time, I don’t understand the impact my imprisonment is having on her life. I can’t comprehend the difficulties she’s now forced to endure in the outside world. She’s been stripped of her individuality. Her entire social identity has become unfairly entangled with my misdeeds. Most of her peers label her naïve and foolish, and either smother her with unwanted pity or ridicule her for her apparent obliviousness. How could she not have known that her own boyfriend was this horrible criminal? Others capriciously judge her guilty of my sins and shun her altogether. She was knowingly dating a criminal, so that makes her just as horrible as he is. The friends and acquaintances she once felt comfortable with now cause feelings of shame and anxiety, so she avoids them. That’s the odd thing about self-esteem: how we feel about ourselves is actually reflective of how we think other people feel about us.

Most days, she struggles with depression. Weed, alcohol, and molly help her cope. Over time, they all become addictions.

As the years pass, we lose contact. Along her journey, she becomes a different woman entirely, one I don’t recognize. Maybe evolving is the only way she can survive. Her lack of confidence influences the choices she makes and the people she associates with. She goes through a period of sexual promiscuity. It pains me knowing this, but I try to understand. I’m the reason she no longer trusts investing her emotions or her spirit in a relationship. I’m the reason she no longer believes in love. She had the perfect relationship with me, until my selfish choices snatched the rug from under her feet and left her to fend for herself in a cruel new world. Keeping it casual and avoiding attachment is how she learns to protect her heart.

They say that time heals wounds. My time, my 33-year prison sentence, dug wounds in my heart that grow deeper and more painful with each passing year. Days I once looked forward to sharing with the love of my life become tormenting reminders of what I’ve lost. On her birthday I wonder what she’s doing, how she’s celebrating, what new experiences she’s gained and memories she’s made throughout the year. On my birthday I wonder if she’s thinking about me. I wonder what gifts she received for Christmas each year, how she brought in the new year, where she watched the fireworks on Independence Day. On our anniversary, I’m a wreck. Does she remember? Does she still watch our favorite movie? Listen to our favorite song by T-Pain? Eat at that Jamaican diner we frequented? Or are memories of me, of us, so torturous that the only way she can function is by pushing them all away? Has she moved on with someone else? Is she happy? Has she started a family?

Some years ago, my sister was badly beaten by a guy she was dating. My ex reached out to her to offer sisterly support and comfort. In the conversation, she shared her own traumatic experiences of the abuse she was suffering at the hands of a guy to whom she was now engaged and had a young child with. He’d broken her jaw, blackened both her eyes, and strangled her until she’d lost consciousness. On several occasions, he threatened to kill her. She felt trapped, fearing he’d carry out his threat if she attempted to leave him. My ex stayed on the phone with my sister for hours. I imagine her reason for calling was just as much about her desperate need for consolation as it was about offering it.

When I was told about her abuse, I felt like a scalding hot dagger had been thrust straight through the center of my chest. It’s a pain that I feel even now as I write this, because I understand, in a way that I couldn’t before, my hand in the tragic direction her life went. The life she now has isn’t the one she chose. Her choice was to be happy with me, to proudly wear my engagement ring on her finger, to be the mother of my child, to grow with me until crow’s feet and laugh lines graced her lovely face from decades of cracking up at my corny jokes. But with one reckless decision, I took that choice away from her and unintentionally set her on a path filled with turmoil and heartache.

The choices we make are our greatest responsibilities. Each one creates ripples which extend outward and touch the people closest to us, altering their lives in ways we can’t anticipate. Lovers, parents, children, friends, even our communities. When we make the choice to break the law, they all become unintended victims, suffering just as much as the individuals we’ve directly victimized.

My criminal offense may not be defined as a homicide, but I am guilty of taking the life of the woman I love.

MarQui Clardy, Sr. #1404630
Lawrenceville Correctional Center
1607 Planters Road
Lawrenceville, VA 23868

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