It was going to be a good day.

BossRPH asked me yesterday, “is he working tomorrow?” and I happily told her he had the weekend off. No work, no appointments, just food shopping and his group session on Sunday morning. He works every other weekend, and these weekends off make things a bit less busy.

It was going to be a normal Saturday. There was coffee, and morning cuddles with the cats on the couch while we caught some of the morning news. I made up the dinner menu for the week. With the menu set, I made the shopping list. He popped some Warhammer 40K YouTube videos on the TV while I put on my makeup. Makeup done, I quickly did my morning post on my regular social media haunt:

Happy Saturday.

It’s the typical deal. We slept in as long as long as the cats ad our bladders would allow. This is one of his weekends off, so we’ve been up for 2 hours now, watching YouTube videos. As soon as I put some clothes on, we’ll be going out to buy some groceries. Later, we’ll come come and do some chores, then the afternoon is free to do what we want.

Have an excellent morning, my friends.

Famous last words

It was going to be a good day.

Was.

We dressed, and I joked about how my “basic bitch uniform” of skinny jeans, boots, and long sweater. He joked about wearing a matching sweater. Ready to do our weekly food shopping routine of BJ’s and Stop & Shop, he grabbed the boxes and tote bag from the spare room and I held the front door open. He stashed the boxes in the back of the car, I buckled up in the passenger seat, and we headed up the street.

It was going to be a fucking good day.

He’d driven us about four houses down the street when he pulled over. I looked up from my phone to see a SUV in front of us, looking like it was going to try to squeeze between us and a parked car. “Why are we stopping?” I asked him, as he put the car in park.

“Because the guy behind us is flashing his lights at us,” he said. I assumed he meant a car behind us saw something wrong with our car and wanted to alert us to it. I looked in the mirror and saw two SUVs pulled over behind us, and the one furthest behind with flashing lights in its roof rack. My heart sank.

Again.

They had him turn off the car. Once they verified who he was, they had him out and in cuffs in under a minute. He was walked to one of the SUV’s behind us, and an officer explained the felony conviction put his permanent resident status in jeopardy. “He’ll be taken to one of our offices from here, where we’ll ask him some questions. There’s some paperwork, then we take him to one of the jails we use to hold immigration cases. He can call you later.”

A normal day. That’s all I wanted.

Instead, I’m home alone. I’m trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces, or if they’re even worth picking up at this point. I have to find an immigration lawyer, call his boss and let them know he’ll be out for the week, call his probation officer and give her a heads up.

It was going to be good day.