The other shoe drops.

It had to happen sometime: recently, like a sudden storm, broke the first wrenching conflict we've had in the whole eight months. It took what was forecast to be a sunny weekend and plunged us into darkness.

I think we are okay, individually and jointly. But it's by no means certain. And the storm laid bare the (obvious but until then unacknowledged) fact that this could all go away in an instant. It would be messier than the end of your average secret relationship, in that Chloe runs my business (which was NOT my idea, rather my partner's, and we've been aiming for an exit strategy all along but not expecting to deploy it for a few months yet), and our families are pretty thoroughly entwined. We can get away with this because, well, women have women friends, right? And when someone's going through a divorce, they go stay at their friend's house a lot, right? (Yeah, there's that happening too.)

Anyway, it's early days to see how this seismic event will affect us. But I'm cautiously optimistic. The Trifecta started out as fun; I don’t think any of us foresaw the tumble of events that have led us to where we are now, and the intensity that would develop as a result. Upheaval was ultimately inevitable.

Each of us three, as it turns out, has demons. These may or may not be fatal. I had such a desperate hunger for affection, earlier in life, that at first I was just plain reckless, and later wound up in two long and awful relationships in a row. I have learned much since then. What I’ve got with Red is healthy. But I notice my anxiety rising when I feel tremors of interpersonal conflict, and I feel that old panic: "do anything to keep from being left behind!" At such a point I recall a Sufi poet, advising me to invite that nasty feeling into the house, and see what it has to tell me.

Of all the things I never imagined, one is this: what if Red wants to call it quits? I’ve known from the start that the odds are against this relationship lasting very long, and I’ve always assumed that if it ended, the reason would be that Chloe walked away. She’s the one at a stark and persisting disadvantage. I guess I might have thought, in a fleeting way, that Red and I could together decide it’s not a going concern. But it never occurred to me to wonder: what if one of the original pair decides they’ve had enough? It goes without saying that Chloe could shut things down unilaterally. But does Red get veto power over what I want? Or do I, over him? Would either of us keep seeing Chloe without the other? These are thoughts so alien I could not think them, could not conceive of them.

These thoughts have now been thought.

It happens all the time, that one person of a pair makes a bad choice. The two go through a crisis: there are spasms of doubt, anger, grief. There may be fear: will we survive this? Will one of us decide it’s a deal-breaker? Now draw the polygon: whose deal gets broken, among three?

A decade ago, someone in my marriage made a bad call. One of us threw in the towel. The other was not willing to let that happen. I had never seen a conflict successfully resolved, in any of my relationships, or anyone else’s. Red convinced me it was possible – not a foregone conclusion, but possible. He was right. I was surprised. Here we are now, with me making the case for taking our time, doing the hard work, giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. Assuming the best.

Chaos is – as I often tell my patients about certain symptoms – not dangerous in itself. Merely uncomfortable. If we learn to sit with it, it has less power to lay us low. Here I sit.