Consuming Jealousy: Is My Wife Faithful? Or Am I Losing Her…
My name is Andrew, and I’m reaching out to those who might have experienced something similar. I’m not here for pity or judgment—I just need to express myself because I can’t stay silent any longer. I can’t handle this on my own anymore.
My wife’s name is Claire. We’ve been together for nearly sixteen years, officially married for fifteen. We have two children—a son and a daughter. We’ve built our home in Surrey, work, raise our kids, and sometimes go on seaside holidays—just like everyone else. On the surface, we look like a happy family. But I can no longer sleep at night due to a suffocating… jealousy.
I still love Claire like I did on our wedding day—even more now. Because now I know her in everyday life, during tough moments. I’ve seen her tired, sick, disheveled, upset—and I still think she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. Sometimes, when she leaves for work, I secretly watch her get ready—choosing earrings or smoothing down her skirt. I’m so delighted to be her husband. I still bring her coffee in the morning and leave notes on the bathroom mirror.
But because of this love, I’m starting to burn up inside. Because I’m afraid. Afraid of losing her. Afraid that one day she won’t come home to me. Afraid that someone else will make her laugh the way she used to laugh with me.
My fears didn’t come from nowhere. They are fueled by stories I hear at work every day. Men who chuckle in the break room, sharing tales about trips with “girls” while on business. How their wives are clueless. How easily things can be hidden. One of them even bluntly said to me, “Do you really believe your wife is completely faithful? They’re all like this now…”
After hearing such talk, I started noticing every little thing. Claire used to lounge in pajamas for hours, but now she puts on light makeup even before going to the shop. She used to be home by six—now she calls and says she’s delayed because of a “new project.” She used to share daily details—now it’s just “Everything’s fine.” Though she always liked tidiness, her wardrobe now includes several dresses clearly “not for work.” New perfume. A fresh blush on her cheeks. Or am I imagining all this?
I’ve found myself wanting to check her phone. To install GPS in her car. To call the office to confirm she’s there. Or to unexpectedly pop by her work, acting like it’s a coincidence. I’d stand at the entrance, watch who she goes to lunch with. Is it always the same man? Isn’t he too attentive? But then I freeze—what if she sees me? What if I’m wrong? What if it’s all in my head? How would I explain my actions then?
But these thoughts eat away at me. Every evening, I listen intently for each step at the door. Each delay is a stab to my heart. I can’t ask her outright—I fear hearing the truth. And if she says “no,” will I even believe it?
I don’t recognize myself. I’ve always been a confident man. Never spied or made scenes. But now, I’m torn between love and paranoia. I don’t want to ruin our marriage with my suspicion. But I can’t live pretending not to notice that something’s changing.
I know jealousy is a sickness. But what if it becomes chronic? I truly don’t want to lose her. I want to be with her, wake up beside her, grow together, age alongside her. I want to trust. But I just don’t know how.
If you’re reading this—someone who has also felt the ground slipping away—tell me: what should I do? Should I honestly talk to her, risking the most terrifying answer? Or should I stay silent and just be there, hoping the storm will pass?
I can’t cope anymore. I’m drowning in my jealousy. And I don’t know how to surface.
