You spend an hour getting ready.
You make sure your hair and makeup are just right, and you wear the outfit that subtly, yet provocatively demonstrates that you are a woman, and you walk through those doors with an attitude of self-confidence and self-loving.
Where are you going?
You’re going to work.
You’re not going on a date with your spouse, you’re going to the place that pays the bills.
At the end of your workday, you come home and put on your kid-friendly uniform: an old T-shirt and sweatpants. You wash the makeup off your face, twist your hair up in a messy bun, and start making dinner.
Your husband comes home and is greeted by the love of his life with a lukewarm hello, and barely any acknowledgement. You shrug him off as he wraps his arms around you to breathe you in. He has missed you. He spent the day with strangers, and watched the clock until he could be back with the person who means the most to him—his wife, his lover, the mother of his children. He loves you unconditionally, which is why it doesn’t bother him that you’re wearing his sweatpants and tattered varsity T-shirt.
“Until death do us part. In sickness and in health. Through the good times and the bad times.”
That’s what you vowed.
He curls up behind you at night and nuzzles the back of your neck.
“Sweetheart, I’m tired. Work and the kids really wore me out today. I’m sorry.”
He respects you and simply whispers, “I love you,” and holds you tight—before you shrug him off and put distance between the two of your warm bodies.
Although he longs to have intimacy with you, he can wait another day. He realizes that he’s being selfish.
He hears it all the time. He never complains. He knows how hard you work, and how much you dedicate to the family, so he does his best to help around the house and give you your space when you need it. You’re the love of his life. You’re the reason he works sixty hours a week. The reason you sold your modest home and bought a new one in an elite neighbourhood—for the spacious house you “needed” so that “the kids can all have their own bedrooms.” He’ll do anything for you.
He trusts you.
Not every woman has a devoted man like yours.
Most women crave to have a man who loves and adores them the way yours does you.
Now that you’re back at work (after your second maternity leave), you’ve changed. You’re distant. You’re impatient with him. You don’t seem to have the time for him that you once had. He sloughs it off and blames it on how overwhelmed you are with the responsibilities that you have at work, and at home with the children at the end of your long day.
You ask him if he’d mind if you went out with the girls this coming Friday night after work and, of course, he says yes. You are the mother of his children and you never complain when he goes and watches football with this buddies on Sundays. Why wouldn’t he let you go and spend time with your friends after a long week at work?
It starts as innocently as that, but then the group of “girls” becomes an open invitation to some other folks at work. Your peers are, ironically, a group of people who are all single. The weekly ritual of the whole gang getting together starts off innocently enough.
Until one night, you have a little too much to drink.
You forget that your babies are at home asleep in their beds.
You forget that your beloved is with them, waiting for you.
You kiss him.
You blame it on the alcohol.
You kiss him again, and then it goes further.
You blame the alcohol.
The next day, you silently vow that it will never happen again.
On Monday at work, you dress differently than usual—your heels are higher, you are wearing perfume, and you are bubblier and more flirtatious than usual.
You have coffee together.
You go out for lunch together.
You send texts to one another throughout the course of the day.
The attraction is obvious, and people begin to make comments “jokingly” to you. You choose not to see the fine line you’re walking.
As the weeks go by, and the group outings continue on a regular basis, you find yourself planning things just so that you can be alone with that one special person. It isn’t the alcohol. It isn’t a one-time thing. And now, you need to “rethink” your relationship with your husband.
You’re an idiot.
You should be ashamed of yourself.
Do you honestly think that your shiny new toy is going to be the answer?
It seems as though the sanctity of marriage has been lost in translation over the past umpteen decades. A marriage is now as disposable as a diaper—and without any ramifications towards the dishonourable behaviour.
Whether she is the offender, or he is, the scenario is becoming far too common.
Shame on you.
Shame on you.