I always believed my life was in order. Secure job, my own house, a marriage of over ten years, neighbours Id known since childhood. But what no one realisednot even herwas that I had been leading a double life.
For years, Id had affairs outside my marriage. I convinced myself they didnt mean anything, reassured myself that as long as I came home, no one got hurt. I never worried about being caught; never once did I feel genuine guilt. I walked around with the false confidence of someone who believes he knows how to play the game without ever losing.
My wife, on the other hand, was a reserved woman. Her life was a tapestry of routineclear schedules, polite hellos to the neighbours, an outwardly straightforward and orderly world. The man next door was one of those people you see each dayborrowing a spanner, taking out the bins at the same time, exchanging a wave over the garden fence. I never thought of him as a threat. Never crossed my mind that hed step across a boundary that wasnt his to cross.
Id come and go, travel for work, and assume that home stayed the same in my absence.
Everything unravelled the day a string of burglaries swept through our street. The council asked residents to review their CCTV for any clues. Out of curiosity, I decided to look over ours. I wasnt really expecting to find anything, just wanted to check for anything odd. I fast-forwarded through hours of footage, then rewound.
And thats when I saw something I wasnt looking for.
My wife entering the house through the garage at times when I was away. Seconds laterthe neighbour following her in. Not just once. Not twice. The same scene repeating. Dates. Times. A clear pattern.
I kept watching.
While I thought all was under control, she too was leading her own secret life. The difference was, the pain I felt was beyond description. It wasn’t like when I lost my fatherthat deep, aching sadness. This was something else.
This was shame.
Humiliation.
It felt as though my pride was trapped in those recordings.
I confronted her with the evidence. Showed her the dates, the videos, the times. She didnt deny it. She told me it began when Id become distant, that she felt lonely, and one thing led to another. She didnt apologise right away. She asked me not to judge her.
And thats when the bitterest irony struck me:
I had no right to judge her.
Id cheated too.
Id lied.
But that didnt make the pain any less.
The worst part wasnt even the affair itself.
The worst part was realising that while I thought I was the only one playing at deception, in reality we were both living a lieunder the same roof, with the same audacity.
I thought myself clever for hiding my secrets.
But I was simply naive.
It wounded my pride.
It wounded the image Id built for myself.
It wounded me to be the last to know what was happening in my own home.
I dont know what will become of our marriage from here. Im not writing this to justify myself or to blame her. I just know there are wounds unlike any youve felt before.
Should I forgive her?
She doesnt know that Ive been unfaithful too.
