Sunday morning, P. encouraged me to go to one of the churches I had picked out to try. I felt lonely every time I went alone. After the day before, I had hope and wanted to be close to him. Instead, he spent the day cleaning up his study, listening to a Hawaiian radio station streaming live through his computer. I’d pop in now and then only to be brushed off. Pretty soon, it was only the kids that went in to greet P. now and then.

Sometime in the late afternoon, P. went upstairs to go to the bathroom. He thought I was taking a nap. Urged by some inner sense, I went into his now clean study and touched his computer. The Hawaiian music was still playing as I went to the Hotmail site I had noticed weeks before. Unlike the last time, this time it allowed me to log on. All the emails were from one person, a woman named C.M.

Shaking, I forwarded all the emails sent and received. P. had learned from the AOL incident and this time had deleted all emails as they came in and went out. The exception was that day. C. happened to be online at the same time as P. and they volleyed emails back and forth while he hid from his family under the guise of cleaning.

My heart was in my throat as I feverishly moved my evidence to my email account, then ran to my computer and changed my password. My vision began blurring, I was dizzy. I checked P’s email one more time and reeled, reading his email to her about how watching the movie “Click” the night before was making him reevaluate what was important in life.

I tried to hold it in, but I rushed upstairs. Throwing open the bathroom door, I shot out, “I know about her!”

“Her? Her who? There is no one!”

“C.M.” I answered, putting as much sarcasm and disgust as I could into her full name.

“Oh, you have it wrong, we’re just friends.”

“‘Every time you are with me instead of your kids, I am thankful.’” I sneered the quote from her recent email.

His normally tan face blanched, I could swear it did at least. I supposed it was good he was on the throne, he likely needed it.

“Just a minute, we need to talk.”

I agitatedly left, allowing him to clean up. He came into our bedroom and closed the door. I was calm, eerily calm. He confessed to an affair with C. It had only been going on a little while, he claimed. They had sex once, a few weeks ago. Shocked that P. admitted to sex with C., I asked if he had had sex with S. all those years ago. I got a strenuous denial.

He did it because I was depressed and didn’t bother to get help, he said. P. was tired of me and so sought someone who did not have the drama of me.

We talked, who knows how long. I don’t even know what the kids were up to at that point, likely watching t.v. We took a break. I know now that he likely contacted her during that break, though he claims now he can’t remember. We talked more when the kids were in bed. I revealed how I had put all the blame on myself for our distance. I had shopped for sex toys, our first ever. By the time they came he had rejected me so often, I just packed them away. I was trying to be who he seemed to want. I was searching for answers, never knowing that the problem was something I couldn’t have changed.

Every loving action, every attempt at growing closer, was twisted by him. Or, if he shared it with her, she found a way to twist it. I was fighting a losing battle, one I did not even know I was in.

He promised to ‘take a break’ from her so he could concentrate on our marriage and family. So he could decide without undue influence. I fell into his arms. I don’t know why. I had always said I would leave if it happened again. Here it was, worse than before. Yet I yearned for him. We had passionate sex that night. What I now know is termed as ‘hysterical bonding’. That dual need to feel wanted and to claim your territory. At the time, it was so uplifting.

I came to regret it later.

I had had my d-day. Discovery day. Unbeknownst to me, I was yet again on the early discovery ride. Stops include rounds of trickle truth, minimizing, blame-shifting, gas-lighting, fence-sitting, and (as I found out later) cake-eating. I will explain all of those in the next posts. If you are a betrayed spouse, or suspect you are, I highly recommend checking out some of my links. Each affair is different, but they all follow the same script. Leonardo DiCaprio may have played a modern Romeo, swords may have been replaced with guns, but the lines were still the same. So it is with affair partners.

“I love you but I’m not in love with you.”

“We’re just friends.”

“It was only a kiss.”

“It was just the one time.”

“We used protection.”

“You drove me to it.”

“We’re soul mates.”

“You never understood me like this.”

All to excuse the inexcusable. Each time, each word, each careless phrase, is a bomb into the betrayed heart. Everything will be said to protect the affair and its participants, no matter that the betrayed will be obliterated until our tears feel like they are rivers of blood.

Each d-day is its own pain, own destruction. I am two years away from the one I share here and my heart still quakes reliving it. I can go to that day in June ‘99 and feel the utter devastation of having the man I love tell me he loved my friend. It is like an emotional time machine. Suddenly I am standing in the doorway to my bedroom and its the first Sunday of December ‘06. My husband is telling me that the woman he is seeing is everything I am not. Believe me when I say, there is a mark left on you forever.

My world was invaded, my family facing destruction. Where would we go next?