When I was 35, I believed that my life with Victoria was a dream come true: I had a stable job as an engineer, we lived in a cozy suburban home, and our family seemed like the epitome of happiness. After ten years of marriage and raising a son, I was convinced that nothing could break our bond. However, that pivotal year left a scar on my heart that has yet to heal.
It all began in early summer when Victoria started working at a local gallery. She had always loved art, and this position was like the realization of her long-cherished dream. Her eyes were constantly lit with joy, and she would come home brimming with stories about exhibitions, colleagues, and new acquaintances. At first, this seemed like a positive change, but over time, I began to notice how she was transforming.
She started working late more frequently, claiming it was due to exhibition preparations, or she would mention “meetings” after work. Victoria was always friendly and energetic, and I had never doubted her honesty. However, her constant busyness began to make me uneasy. Each evening I spent alone prompted me to question if everything was as she claimed.
One evening, I returned home to find that Victoria was not there. Her purse and keys were in their usual place, but she was gone. This was unusual, as she would typically inform me if she were running late. The following day, I decided to drop by the gallery under the pretense of picking her up after work. That evening, from a distance, I saw her leaving with Andrew, the gallery curator. They were laughing, and he walked her to her car.
That sight felt like a punch to my heart. I tried to convince myself that it was just a professional relationship, but my unease continued to grow. Later that night, when Victoria returned, I asked her directly, “Are you hiding something from me?” She seemed startled but denied everything. Still, her eyes, filled with guilt, spoke louder than words.
A week later, I learned the truth. One of her colleagues, unable to remain silent any longer, told me that Victoria and Andrew had been involved for quite some time. When I confronted her again, she admitted, “It was a mistake. I got confused.” Her words tore through my heart. She tried to explain that it was a one-time thing and meant nothing, but I found it hard to believe.
We tried to save our relationship for the sake of our son. Victoria promised never to repeat such a thing. I also tried to forgive her, but the rift between us only grew. Two years later, we decided to divorce—not just because of the betrayal but also because we had become strangers to each other.
More than 40 years have passed since then. Victoria has long been out of my life, but I still cannot forget the moment she shattered my trust. Sometimes I wonder if I would have been happier not knowing the truth. But those are just questions without answers.