Updated: Jan. 28, 2020
Originally Published: Aug. 31, 2016
I’ve seen infidelity unfold in real life, leading to both breakups and reconciliations. I’ve witnessed countless portrayals of affairs on television, sometimes to the point where I felt desensitized. Conversations with friends have revolved around what we would do if our partners strayed, examining the dynamics between those who cheat and those who choose to stay. I used to think, “Not me. I could never be that person.” I was adamant that I wouldn’t marry someone with wandering eyes, nor would I remain with a cheater—especially not in a marriage.
When I met my husband, Jake, 20 years ago, he felt like home. I was his first serious girlfriend, the first woman he introduced to his family. He had never cheated and was utterly devoted to me; everyone could see it. I felt secure, perhaps too much so.
We got married and had three kids within just three years. Over time, I grew fatigued. Our focus shifted predominantly to our children and his job, leaving our marriage at the bottom of our list of priorities. Date nights became a distant memory. After putting the kids to bed, we would retreat to our separate corners, too exhausted to connect. For over six months, I rejected him entirely. The thought of intimacy was unbearable after spending long hours with the kids while he worked. I was simply drained.
We became a cliché.
Then one day, he returned home with a few paintings and hung them in his office—paintings I would later destroy in a fit of rage after he confessed to his affair. I knew our marriage was struggling, but I never thought he would betray me. I would have bet everything that Jake would never cheat, but he did. He revealed it one October night while sobbing beside me on the sofa.
In shock, I threw up and called my best friend, Sarah, despite it being the middle of the night. She lived five hours away but assured me she would be there the next day. I made Jake leave, and she helped me stay composed for our kids.
He was a wreck, but it didn’t matter. He claimed it was a brief fling without any real feelings involved; he just liked the feeling of being needed. But there was nothing he could say to make things right. I was consumed by anger and pain, and I couldn’t even direct those feelings toward the woman involved. I never sought her out online or even wondered what she looked like. She was irrelevant to me. My focus was solely on the sadness surrounding our marriage and how I would move forward.
Some days, I barely spoke and struggled to function. I managed to mutter a few words to our children, who were just 4, 5, and 7 at the time. Those days were challenging. On other days, I found the energy to be a great mother, but it was often just a distraction from my anger and resentment toward Jake. I would find myself lashing out over minor issues, telling him to go be with her if he couldn’t even pick up paper towels.
He took it all in silence, hanging his head in shame. He planned date nights, took me to my favorite restaurants, and said nothing about my spending spree to fill the void that had formed in our lives. Our happy life had been replaced by a gaping hole.
I told him to leave, to walk out the door and be with her, insisting I would be okay. I would rather be alone than with someone who felt obligated to stay. I deserved more, and so did he. Those were the moments I saw true remorse in his eyes—he seemed genuinely haunted by his actions, and that brought me some sense of satisfaction.
Slowly, I began to work on our marriage, but that commitment has been inconsistent, even now.
Our children remain blissfully unaware of Jake’s infidelity. We never mention it in their presence. Their perception of their father is sacred to me, and I never want them to know. His actions don’t define him, nor do they define our marriage. Sometimes, when I feel raw from his betrayal, I take it out on him during petty arguments in front of the kids. They always side with him, telling me I’m being unfair. It takes immense strength not to shout, “If only you knew! I’m not the villain here. He hurt me.” But I keep quiet, not because I think it’s wrong to share, but because I believe it would only complicate our family dynamic.
Every family is unique, and whether to disclose your struggles to your children, family, or friends is a deeply personal choice. I confided in my best friend and my sisters, but that was it. I chose not to share with others because I knew I couldn’t handle their reactions to Jake’s betrayal. I needed clarity and focus to rebuild my family, and I didn’t want outside opinions clouding my judgment.
I’ve gone back and forth between wanting to leave and deciding to stay. The uncertainty is ongoing.
Here I am, five years later, still married and still unaware of Jake’s mistress. I chose to stay because my family is worth the fight. I love the man I married, even though we’ve both faltered in our commitments. I stayed because the thought of him leaving or sharing custody and meeting at McDonald’s to exchange the kids brings me to my knees. I stayed because I believe in our marriage. I’ve learned the meaning of accepting his choice, forgiving him, and loving him despite everything. That understanding came only after experiencing betrayal firsthand, contrasting sharply with my previous judgments of those who chose to stay.
Jake’s affair doesn’t define our marriage, nor does it define me. I know I could lead a happy life as a single mother. I could choose to end our marriage whenever I want. Yet, as of now, I still want to be his wife. I have committed to investing my energy into this new chapter of our relationship, as we can never revert to the way things were. It’s different now. I won’t pretend it’s easy; it stings at times so much that I can barely breathe. However, this pain is less than what I would feel if I ended our relationship.
I chose to stay because it is my life, my marriage, and my decision. I’ve decided to share my story because, if you find yourself in a similar situation (and I hope you don’t), it’s essential to know that it’s your life, your choice—whether to stay or go, or to leave and return. You can choose what to share with your children, your neighbors, or your friends. It’s your journey. You have the power to navigate it and reach your own happy ending, no matter what path you take. For further reading on navigating relationships, check out this insightful article.
Summary:
The author shares her personal journey of navigating her husband’s infidelity while choosing to stay in the marriage. Through emotional turmoil and reflection, she emphasizes the importance of personal choice and the complexities of love, forgiveness, and family dynamics in the wake of betrayal.
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