After fifteen years of marriage, I did something I’ll regret for the rest of my life — I cheated on my wife.
The guilt was unbearable. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t look her in the eyes without feeling sick. So, I confessed.
She didn’t yell. She didn’t throw things. She just stood there, silent, her face pale and still. Then the tears came — quiet, steady, heart-wrenching. The silence that followed was worse than any anger I could have faced.
But then… something strange happened.
A few days later, she began showing me kindness again. She cooked my favorite meals, left little notes on my desk, even smiled as if nothing had happened.
I should’ve been relieved, but instead, I felt uneasy.
Why was she being so calm? Why wasn’t she angry anymore?
Weeks passed, and I noticed she’d started visiting her gynecologist regularly. Every time I asked, she’d say it was “just a routine checkup.”
Given what I’d done, I didn’t feel I had the right to question her. But the guilt kept gnawing at me. What if she was hiding something? What if she was quietly planning to leave me?