I lost control… I betrayed my wife
It happened during the toughest time in our relationship. We were hardly having any meaningful conversations, and our home felt more like a hotel where we merely crossed paths. She spent her days at home with the kids, cooking meals, doing laundry, ironing, and putting them to bed, while I came back exhausted and irritable. It was as if an invisible wall of routine, silence, and resentments had grown between us. I started staying late at work more often, and then a new colleague joined our department—an attractive, lively, carefree woman, with no kids and seemingly no problems.
Being around her felt like stepping back in time to when everything was fresh and exciting. She was fun, open, and didn’t carry the heaviness I felt at home. I began to woo her—flowers, lunches, cafes, evening walks. I lied to my wife about staying late because a colleague’s computer broke, a meeting ran over, or I stopped by a friend’s place. Before long, it went too far. After a month, she invited me over. We spent the night together, full of passion and tenderness, and at one point, I thought that this was it—the real thing I had been missing for so long.
When I returned home, I must have had it written all over my face. The apartment was quiet—the kids were asleep. My wife met me at the door, tired, with a distant look. She didn’t say anything, just gave me a look that seemed to understand. Then she moved to the kitchen. I showered, feeling the weight of guilt pressing down on my shoulders, and followed her. She was standing by the stove, her back to me. When I suggested we have dinner together, she simply said, “I’m really tired… I’m going to sleep.”
Later, when I entered the bedroom, she was already asleep in her clothes, curled up like a child against the pillow. Our family album was on the ottoman beside her. I picked it up—not even sure why. I opened to the first page and felt like I was falling back into the past. There she was in the photos—my girl, the one I had fallen in love with. Young, stylish, smiling, confident. And there I was, with eyes full of excitement. I remembered how I pursued her, how I dreamed she would be mine. And how she, once upon a time, chose me.
I couldn’t sleep at all that night. My mind raced with images—my wife’s face, my lover’s eyes, the sound of our children’s laughter. Suddenly, it hit me. I had betrayed not just my wife, but also myself—the person I used to be. I had lost the one who was with me through thick and thin, for a fleeting illusion. And I realized—it was still possible to fix things. All I had to do was try.
Early the next morning, before my wife woke up, I called my mum and asked if she could take the kids for the weekend. She was surprised but agreed. Then I made breakfast and brought it to my wife in bed. She opened her eyes, looked at me in surprise, then with a slight smile. I knew then that I still had a chance. I hadn’t lost everything.
I never spoke to that woman again. I didn’t answer her calls or messages. Yes, what I did was wrong. But I didn’t want to live a lie any longer. I refused to continue hiding, making excuses, or keeping secrets. My time was now solely for my family.
That day, I sent my wife to a beauty salon, and in the evening, we went to our favorite restaurant, where we once celebrated our first anniversary. The next day, we went to the theatre. Sitting next to her, holding her hand, I felt like I was home again. A true home isn’t just walls. It’s the person beside you. The one you once chose, and who still chooses you, no matter what.
