I couldnt resist I betrayed my wife.
And yet, I never imagined it would happen. But lifeits stifling routine, its heavy silences, its unchanging habitshad dug a chasm between us.
She was always at home, lost in her role as mother and homemaker. Our conversations had shrunk to dull exchanges: bills, groceries, the childrens schoolwork No laughter, no burning glances, no passion left.
Then she appeared.
A new colleague at the officelets call her Sophie. Young, charming, unburdened. Her bright laughter rang like a melody through the office, and her eyes sparkled with a light I hadnt seen in years. Unlike my wife, Sophie had no responsibilities, no weight on her shoulders. She lived freely, with an intoxicating lightness that drew me in.
At first, it was nothing. Harmless chats, shared jokes. But day by day, I caught myself waiting impatiently for those stolen moments with her.
And then, the lies began.
To my wife, I spun tales of late meetings, urgent documents, a mate in need. She never questioned it. She grew used to my absence.
For a month, I courted Sophie. Bought her flowers, took her to restaurants I hadnt visited in ages. We walked together under the golden glow of London, strolling along the Thames, our hands almost brushing.
Then, one night near Waterloo Bridge, she gave me a sly smile and whispered,
“Fancy coming back to mine?”
I said yes.
That night was a storm of passion and forgetting.
But when I stepped through my own front door at dawn, a crushing weight settled on me.
My wife was awake.
Sitting in the dim lounge, legs tucked under her, waiting.
Our eyes met, and I knewshe knew.
Women always know.
She said nothing. No shouting, no accusations. Just silence. Then she stood and walked to the kitchen.
I locked myself in the bathroom, turned the shower on full, let the water pour over me like it could wash away the guilt. But some stains never fade.
When I entered the kitchen, she was making tea.
“Im tired,” was all she said. “Im going to bed.”
Later, when I slipped into our room, I found her lying there, still dressed, fast asleep. Beside her on the nightstand: our photo album.
I opened it.
And there she was.
Not the tired, distant woman of recent years. No. I saw the one Id fallen for at first sight. Bright, glowing with youth and joy. Beside her stood a manme. Proud, happy, in love.
A thought struck me like lightning: how could I have forgotten?
I didnt sleep that night. Just lay staring at the ceiling, drowned in regret. Then another idea took holdwhy couldnt I win her back?
Early the next morning, while she still slept, I rang my mum and asked if she could take the kids for the weekend. She agreed without hesitation.
Then I went to the kitchen and made breakfast.
When I carried the tray to our bed, she blinked up at me, confused.
“Whats this?”
“I wanted to see you smile.”
She didnt reply.
