I was tired when I got home from a business trip, but I couldn’t wait to sleep in my own bed. But I did find something that didn’t belong. Underwear for women. Lacy. Dainty. She wasn’t mine at all.
I didn’t shout. I didn’t cry. I just stood there, staring at them on my pillow as if they had every right to be there. I picked them up, and instead of asking questions or blaming anyone, I did something that even I didn’t see coming: I washed them. I put them on after that.
I was waiting for my husband to come in via the front door.
I said, “Look, baby,” and showed him what they looked like.
He didn’t move anymore. He looked blank as he held the keys in his hands. I couldn’t see that dumb smile he always gave me when I surprised him. There was nothing but silence. I got closer, kissed him on the cheek, and asked, “Do you like them?”
I talked in a light, almost funny way, but I was shaking inside. I didn’t know what to do; I just needed to know what he would do.
His smile came back, but it was weak and unsure. “Yes, they look great on you.”
He simply said it before he went to the bathroom. He was in there for a long time, twenty minutes. I stood at the sink and looked at myself in the mirror, wondering whether I had finally lost it.
We had been together for seven years. We had been married for four years. Things hadn’t always been that far apart, but now they were. There were no more messages. The affection went away. Working late at night became commonplace. I blamed stress, deadlines, and life. I didn’t want to face anything but the truth.
But what about those underwear? That wasn’t a mistake. He didn’t even try to hide them. They weren’t hiding under the bed or in the laundry. They were waiting on me. They were right next to me. It seemed like a big job.
After that, I didn’t get angry or yell. I just started to look. He modified the codes. He took his phone with him to the bathroom. He kept up with his fitness plan. He alsolit Calm. I didn’t say anything. I just smiled, made dinner, and took on the job.
And I began to gather the truth in silence. Notes. Times. Receipts. I wrote everything down, not to get back at someone, but to make sure it was correct.
He said he was going to Milo’s house a few weeks later to assist him set up a TV. That morning, Milo had just put up images from his trip to Santorini. I put on my coat and followed him in three cars after he left.
He drove to an apartment complex that didn’t stand out. A person down the street buzzed him in. Ten minutes later, lights turned on in an upper window. I didn’t have to go up. I already knew.
He kissed me goodbye the next morning and told me he had an early meeting. I smiled and wished him luck. I cried as soon as the door shut. It wasn’t that they didn’t know; they wanted to be shown wrong.
That afternoon, I called Mira. She was a friend of mine in college and is now a lawyer. She didn’t say “I’m sorry” or “I told you so.” “What do you want to do?” she said.
I told them I didn’t know. But I truly did. I just wasn’t ready to say it out loud.
Later that week, I made a reservation at the restaurant where we dined on our first anniversary. I told him I wanted to talk to him again. His eyes lit up, like a man who had messed up and had a second chance.
I wore the red dress that he admired. I did my hair the same way I did when we first met. He said I looked great. I grinned.
I opened my bag and offered him a folded photo as dessert was being served. The picture is clear yet blurry. Him, outside of that apartment. You’re holding hands with someone you don’t know.
His face turned completely white. “What is this?”
I sipped the water. “I think you know.”
He stuttered. She told me her name was Clara. She made it clear that it wasn’t a big deal. He admitted that he was wrong. He didn’t want things to become this bad.
I took his hand. “You know what hurts the most? The lying doesn’t hurt the most. But you were so careless. You put her underwear in our bed and then looked me in the eye and lied to me for weeks.
He claimed he was sorry. He wanted to know. But I was already awake. I put the house key on the table.
“You made your choice.” I’m finally getting over it.
And I went. Stay calm. Steady. No charge.
The next few weeks were a blur. I was with Mira. I didn’t take him to court or try to make his life hard. I just wanted peace.
One afternoon, as I was out shopping for food, I ran across Dante, who I hadn’t seen in years. Dante was a friend from school. A friendly smile. We put almond milk and cinnamon toast in a cart.
We got coffee that weekend. Next, it’s time for lunch. He didn’t ask a lot of questions. Just heard. Laughed. It brought back my feeling of self.
I didn’t care about love. I was just starting to breathe.
At the same time, rumors started to spread. Yes, Clara was going to have a kid. My ex called me and said he missed me. He admitted that he had made a mistake. I told him I hoped he was doing well and then carried on with my life.
Clara wasn’t even pregnant with his child, it turns out. She sent me a note two months later to say she was sorry. She said she didn’t know he was married. She said she was going away. That he had also told her a falsehood.
I didn’t answer right away. Then I did.
“It wasn’t your fault.” I hope you have peace and a life without lies.
Sometimes, the other woman isn’t the evil person. Sometimes, she’s simply another woman who has to deal with a man who can’t be honest.
That night with the underwear? That was dumb. Not big. Maybe a little nuts. But it was also the time when I stopped looking for answers and started figuring things out on my own.
I have my own little place to reside now. Just my. I decorate anyway I like. There are no secrets in the drawers. The sheets don’t smell weird at all.
Dante and I are going slowly. I really like his daughter. We go to the park. We make pancakes on Sundays. There isn’t any drama. Just take a breath. Laughing. Silence.
One night, Mira and I were drinking wine on my balcony when she asked, “Do you wish you had confronted him right away?”
I thought about it and smiled. “No.” If I had, he would have just lied. That night made things plain to me. And power.
Sometimes, not saying anything is more powerful than yelling. Walking away is sometimes the greatest thing you can do.
And how about getting better? You start to heal the moment you stop accepting less than what you deserve.