The reason he left us:

he began his sexual affair with Keistine Lynn Thorniley because--I'm crying so hard watchibg my childten sleep, knowing their father is nothinf but a monster--the last time we made love, right ehen they began their affair, I couldnt look him in the eye. I turned away in fear He became angry and hit me, saying, "This isn't right. See, you don't love me. I can't do this anymore." He was robbing us blind. He had raped me and gotten me pregnant for the second tome over stealing and selling my MacBook Air, the second MacBook Air, third MacBook, fifth Apple electronic (two brand-new Gen 6 iPads), third or fourth electronic in under a year (brand-new Nikon DSLR, used maybe three times; iPad; MacBook Air; my mom's iPhone 5S) stolen and sold...he said I had to stay quiet our entire vacation or he'd leave me and our son forever. He also forbade me deom sesrching thr car for it. I had seen him carrying the MacBook Air to the garage an hour prior to our departure and asked where he was taking it. I said I didn't need it during our trip. He threatened me and my heaet crashed. When I asked about it the first time we stopped, lightly suggesting that I use it to start working on a new book, he fladhed with such anger and set doen a fatal law...the one that moved Kristie from casual to checkmate. He said he'd better never catch me riffling through the trunk for it because that would count as asking about or for it. It was a test of loyalty and faith, he said. The MacBook Air would otherwise be stolen from my condo while we were gone, he reasoned. I asked seberal hours upon returning where it was. His volcanic wrath rained doen on me and I was raped as a result. He said that if I let him have his way with ne after being too terrified for months to let him inside my previously always willing body, I could have it the next day. I have a baby girl as a direct result. But if he hadn't left our son behind, more than six feet behind, in Lake Huron in June, and strode right behind me, his mouth at the ready at my eye, screaming into my periphery, "That will teach you to tell me what to do!" I wouldn't have had that fear so permanently etched into my psyche. He miscalculated. I didb't melt. I froze into Mrs. Lot, watching my tiny baby struggle through the waves as they lapped treacherously, his tiny sweet face figuring out the puzzle: "How does my next step land? Where's my hand to hold? Who's protecting me in this mercurial new experience?" I howled and ran to his side, and lost my voice, but reclaimed my identity. Kristie seems rather proud of herself for having sex with a man who betrays his own children across the generations. I'm proud to say he had to rape me through the abuse of our child. My children matter more than a fuckstick.