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I never thought my marriage was perfect. We often quarreled over little things like keeping the house tidy and how much to spend on a kid’s birthday party, and after 11 years of marriage, we definitely took each other for granted. But these issues never seemed greater than the love and commitment we shared. He was my husband, my life partner and my love. We weren’t perfect, but we were in it together. I loved him very much and was secure in the knowledge that he loved me.
This faith served as my security blanket, one that provided reassurance as I sat in front of my mirror one Sunday in December, putting on my makeup and preparing for the arrival of my family and a few friends who were coming over to celebrate my daughter's birthday. I was completely unaware that I was experiencing my last moments of confidence in my marriage and trust in my husband. My security blanket had gaping holes — and I was completely oblivious.
My phone buzzed on the table beside me. I picked it up and began to read a series of text messages accidentally copied and pasted from a monthlong email exchange between my husband and a woman who lived exactly one block from my home and everything that was sacred to me. I felt a tingle crawl up my back, over my shoulders and my neck. My face grew hot, but I kept my emotions in check as I read each sexual, intimate, loving and real exchange.
“How was this weekend? I wish I’d been there to hold your hand.”
“I’ve been up since 5 AM picturing your face.”
“What was it you were about to say to me the other night in bed? We were talking about our feelings and you stopped yourself …”