Im 38, and just two days ago, my wife decided to forgive me for an affair that lasted several months.
It all started earlier this year at work, when a new colleague joined our team. We got along immediately. Our shifts were long, we had lunches together, and the conversations never seemed to end. At first, it was all about work, then we began talking about our lives. I found myself confiding that everything at home revolved around the children, that my wife was constantly tired, and that we barely spoke anymore. I never spoke badly about her directly, but bit by bit, I painted a picture of distance between us.
Before long, we started seeing each other outside work. First it was grabbing a coffee, then a pint at the pub, and finally longer meet-ups. After two months, it had become a proper affair. Wed meet once or twice a week. Id return home as if nothing was out of place dinners with the family, reading to the kids at bedtime, crawling into bed each night with a weight of guilt that I got frighteningly good at hiding.
I began acting differently. I was irritable, distracted, always on my phone. My wife, Emma, noticed the change but said nothing for a long while. I convinced myself I was keeping it under control, that I could manage the situation.
I couldnt.
In November, my eldest son, Oliver, happened to see her photo on my phone. After that, I had no choice I confessed everything to Emma later that week: how long it had been going on, who it was with, how it started. I didnt make excuses.
She didnt cry in front of me. She quietly told me to leave the bedroom and sleep in our sons room. That became my reality for all of November and well into December.
That month was easily the worst time in my life.
For the childrens sake, we kept things civil, but we spoke only when necessary. I went to work, came home, and slept on a mattress on the floor beside my sons bed. I saw my wife every day, but I couldnt touch her, could hardly even look at her. The silence in the house was suffocatingevery room thick with tension.
Emma spoke with her sister, her closest friend, and she started therapy on her own. I respected her need for space. I didnt push her or beg daily for forgiveness. I simply focused on looking after the children and the house, and living with the consequences of my actions.
Just two days ago, a few days before Christmas, Emma asked to talk. She told me this month had been absolute hell, that shed thought about separation, but she didnt want to make such a drastic decision right over the holidays, breaking our family apart. She admitted she still doesnt trust me.
But shes willing to try, to rebuild things, step by step.
That night, she said she forgives menot because what Ive done is minor, but because she wants to give herself the chance to find out if theres anything left to save.
I realise now that forgiveness doesnt magically repair all the damage Ive caused. Coming so close to losing everything I care about, I finally see things clearly:
This second chance isnt a gift. Its an enormous responsibility Ill have to earn, every single day.
