I couldn’t hold back… I betrayed my wife.
It happened during the toughest time in our relationship. We had almost stopped having meaningful conversations, and the house felt more like a hotel where we just crossed paths. She spent her days at home with the kids, making meals, doing the laundry, ironing, and putting them to bed while I returned home exhausted and irritable. It was as if an invisible wall of routine, silence, and resentment had grown between us. I started working late more often, and one day, a new team member joined our department — she was beautiful, lively, carefree, without children, and without problems.
I felt like I was transported back to a time when everything was fresh and exciting. She was cheerful and open, lacking the burdens I felt at home. I began to court her with flowers, lunches, café outings, and evening strolls. I lied to my wife, saying I was helping a colleague with a broken computer, was held up in a meeting, or met up with a friend. I didn’t realize how far it had gone until a month later when she invited me over. We spent a night full of passion and tenderness, and for a moment, I thought I’d found something real, something I’d been missing for a long time.
When I returned home, it was probably all over my face. The apartment was quiet — the kids were asleep. My wife met me at the door, tired and with a blank look. She didn’t say anything, just gave me a particular kind of look — like she understood. She walked to the kitchen. I took a shower, feeling the weight of guilt settle on my shoulders, and followed her. She stood at the stove, back turned to me. When I suggested we have dinner together, she said, “I’m really tired… I’m going to sleep.”
Later, when I went into the bedroom, she was already asleep in her clothes, pressed against the pillow like a child. Nearby on the ottoman was our family photo album. I picked it up without knowing why. Opening the first page felt like falling into the past. There she was — the girl I once fell in love with. Young, stylish, smiling, confident. And there I was — with eyes full of life. I remembered chasing after her, dreaming she’d be mine. And how she, once upon a time, chose me.
I couldn’t sleep all night. Faces swirled in my mind — my wife’s, the other woman’s, children’s laughter. And suddenly it hit me. I had betrayed not just my wife. I had betrayed myself — who I once was. I had lost someone who stood by me through thick and thin for the sake of a fleeting illusion. And I understood — it could still be mended. I just needed to try.
Early the next morning, while my wife was still asleep, 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 with surprise, then a slight smile. I realised: there’s still hope. I haven’t lost everything.
I stopped all contact with the other woman. Ignored calls, didn’t write back. Yes, I had acted badly. But I refuse to live a lie anymore. I won’t hide, make excuses, or hide my phone. Now, my time is 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 realized I had returned home. A real home isn’t about walls. It’s about the person beside you. The person you once chose, and who still chooses you, no matter what.
