Normally I would examine a relationship that ended, an argument with a family member, a challenging conversation at the office, or some other ridiculous situation that goes on in my life, and go over it in my head again and again just to confirm that I was (of course) right in my position. But this time, I really wanted to know something else. This time I really wanted to know what I had contributed. What was my role? Rather than become a bitter man-hater who had a cheating husband, I really wanted to dive in. Completely. But I was so angry for such a long time, and I just couldn’t see. He cheated. I didn’t. He was wrong and I was right. Right? I needed to get out of my own way not so that I could forgive him and move on, but so that I could forgive myself and move on.
More than two years have gone by already since I hit the pivotal moment in my marriage that I was absolutely sure it was over. The man I married was still in there somewhere, but was also completely absent. He loved me. He definitely did. But there were no measures of physical affection, no more longing looks, no more knowing smiles, no more connection. No more physical contact, really, of any kind, in fact. Instead, he dutifully performed some wonderful little tasks that many women love: leaving notes with a glass of wine when I got home to our empty, overpriced apartment; never saying no to those fabulous shoes or handbags I had to have no matter what the cost; booking spa appointments when I was stressed out. He made me laugh when I was angry with him. Endearing, but completely avoiding the issues. I wanted deep, deep love. True love. I had a sweet, funny, on-the-surface, fabulous-on-vacation buddy. A buddy who was falling for someone else. All the time.
My husband always had a second woman in his life. I’m a confident woman. I know that I’m worth the full attention of my partner and all of that. But my husband. Wait, ex-husband. I’m still not totally used to that. My ex-husband always had a female office pal that was a sort of “work wife.” A confidant. She was usually attractive. Funny. Much like him, but female. Was a little raw. A little more “fun,” as he later described it in marriage counseling sessions. They were untouchable to him. He was a married man. And that’s what made them so attractive. And the innocent office flirting was no big deal, of course. That’s what I was told when I protested. But little by little, these women chipped away at my relationship. They had personal, inside jokes. Had things they didn’t tell anyone but each other. Looked. Smiled. Sneaked out for lunch. Then drinks. All of them. In total I remember five. There was one in college, too. But we weren’t married then. I don’t count her.
The women, over the years. would be replaced by another as they changed jobs or got into serious relationships of their own, or moved away. But it was constant. And then one day I was visiting his office. Legitimately. I’m not like one of those weird women who sneaks around her husband’s office suspiciously. I used to work there, too (that’s not where we met), and was picking up a former colleague for lunch. And I saw her. Saw them together. She was new to the office. He introduced us and said he was showing her around. Being the nice guy. I ignored it.
He’s with her now. She keeps a toothbrush at his house. They spent his birthday together going hot-air ballooning. Something I would never have done.
