After fifteen years of marriage, I made the kind of mistake that destroys trust in an instant.
I cheated on my wife.
There’s no gentle way to say it. I betrayed the woman who stood by me through everything — and the weight of that truth nearly crushed me. For weeks, guilt ate at me until I couldn’t live with the lie anymore. One evening, I told her everything.
She didn’t shout. She didn’t throw anything. She just sat there — silent tears running down her face while I stood frozen, realizing I had broken something I could never truly fix.
The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was empty.
Days passed. We lived under the same roof but in separate worlds. Her voice was calm, polite, distant. I thought time would dull the pain, but then something unexpected happened.
Her behavior began to change.
One morning, she made my favorite breakfast. A few days later, I found a note in my jacket pocket: Have a good day.
Then one night, she smiled softly when I came home late and asked how work had been.
It should have felt comforting. Instead, it scared me. Her kindness felt too deliberate — too calm. Like she was planning something I couldn’t see.
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