In February of 2013, Mark Pitta’s nephew was getting married and of course we were invited to attend. However, the morning of the wedding I woke up to a terrible burning feeling in the back of my throat. I knew I was coming down with something but I didn’t dare tell Mark. If I did he’d accuse me of making it up in order not to attend the wedding.I had a hair and make-up appointment that morning so I took some over the counter medicine we had laying around and also made sure I drank plenty of hot tea. However, my throat continued to get worse and finally I told Mark about it but promised him I was still going no matter what. I can’t remember what he said or if he even cared…guess as long as I was dolled up and attending the wedding is all that mattered to him.
I was able to get through the ceremony but not the reception. When we arrived Mark introduced me to his nephew and his new bride but now my throat was raw so I didn’t say much. I desperately looked for anything hot to drink but there was nothing so I sat down at the first available table. Mark had wandered away leaving me alone among a ton of people I didn’t know. I was embarrassed, and sad that I couldn’t converse with anyone due to my now painfully soar throat.
I got out my cell phone and began to text Crystal because she was the only one I could talk to, without actually having to talk. I can’t remember how long I’d been sitting there but eventually Mark came over to me and wanted to know why I wasn’t with him mingling. In a low, almost whispering tone, I told him that my throat had gotten severely worse and I was beginning to feel run-down.
I could see the daggers coming out of Mark’s eyes as he told me to take the car and go home. He would get his sister Kathy to drive him home later. With his “permission” I drove myself back home, luckily the wedding was in Marin so it only took me about 15 minutes. When I got to the house I quickly changed into my sweats, made a hot cup of tea and went to bed. I woke up later that evening and could hear the television upstairs so I knew Mark was home. And although I was groggy and my throat still hurt like hell, I got out of bed and went upstairs. Mark was sitting on the couch with his laptop and even in my sleep induced daze, I could sense the anger permeating from within him.
I’m certain I said hello as I slowly made my way to the kitchen to get something to drink and slowly made my way back down the stairs. How silly of me to think I could make it to the bedroom without Mark stopping me and giving me an earful. I don’t remember what was said but as with all of his confrontations, I couldn’t win. He didn’t give a damn that I was sick, that I could barely talk and was struggling to stay awake. He expected me respond to him NOW. I’m must’ve said something but all I remember is finally making it back into bed and falling asleep.
The next morning he was gone (no note or clue as to where) and not only had my throat gotten worse but I was too weak to move. I mustered up the strength to take Reno for a walk and feed him breakfast. I spent the rest of the day in bed, only getting up to walk Reno or make something warm to drink. Mark returned early that evening and stayed upstairs while I remained downstairs in bed. This went on for one or two days until finally on the morning of February 17, 2013 Mark left a typed letter in the kitchen. The letter ends with
I don’t really want to be with you right now and I’m going to stay in a hotel. Call your father or mother and sister and spend time with them…When you leave let me know so I can return to take care of our pets. Just text me.
You can read the letter below and I’ve highlighted Mark’s abusive insults not just towards me but also my family!
longer than the last time, and so I called Crystal and a flight to Atlanta was booked for the next day. I packed a suitcase, reserved a taxi to take me to the airport and sent Mark a text with my flight information.
My next post will continue with the story. And for those of you who read Mark’s letter, I’ll explain the part where he refuses to have a vasectomy.