The Wife's Infidelity Came At A Steep Cost After She Secretly Opened Their Marriage.

My 29-year-old wife, stunning as ever, told me something that would shake the foundation of our marriage. It wasn't in some vague or cryptic manner; she laid it all out, plain as day, in a way that even I couldn't misinterpret. To set the stage, I had planned an elegant evening at one of our favorite upscale spots.

Everything was meticulously arranged: the crisp white tablecloths, a wine selection to impress, and even a diamond necklace she'd been eyeing for a while. I had spent nearly $1,000 on that thing, not realizing how soon I'd be thinking of ways to get that money back. The entire evening, though, I couldn't shake the sense that something was off.

Our usual easygoing banter was overshadowed by an invisible tension. She seemed distracted, her eyes wandering around the room as if she was searching for something or someone. Normally, we couldn't look away from each other, but tonight her gaze danced around, barely landing on me.

It wasn't until after we had finished our main course and I poured us another round of wine that she finally spoke up, her voice heavy with something unsaid. "Rob," she started, a tremor in her voice. "There's something I've been keeping inside for a while, and I think it's time to talk about it.

" I set my glass down, a sinking feeling tightening in my gut. What could she possibly be about to say? Was she finally ready to talk about starting a family?

We'd agreed to hold off until our careers were more stable, but now that we were in a better place, I was excited about the idea. But as she avoided my eyes, it was clear this wasn't about that. No, this was something else, something bigger.

She sighed deeply and finally met my gaze. "Rob," she said, more gravely than I had ever heard her speak, "I've been doing a lot of soul-searching lately, and there's something I need to do for me, for us. " Her voice trembled as she continued, "I need to explore parts of myself outside of this relationship.

" The words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. "What are you trying to say? " I asked, my voice shaky as I leaned in, trying to hold her gaze, but she looked away, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

"I want to see other people, Rob. I need to explore that side of myself. I hope you can understand so we can avoid worse pain down the line.

" It felt like the ground beneath me shifted. Heat rushed to my face, and my heart hammered in my chest. "Other people?

" I repeated, my voice rising. "Are you telling me you want to date other men? " The disbelief dripped from every word.

I didn't even recognize my own voice—louder, desperate, fighting to hold on to something. She bit her lip, hesitated, and then finally nodded. "Yes, that's part of it," she admitted.

The room seemed to spin, and for a moment everything blurred—the elegant restaurant, the soft chatter of other diners; it all faded into the background as her words echoed in my ears. "You want to date other men, and you expect me to just—what? —be okay with it?

" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Rob, lower your voice," she hissed, glancing around, clearly worried we’d draw attention. It hit me then; she had picked this busy restaurant for a reason.

She knew I wouldn't cause a scene in public. She had blindsided me, and now I felt trapped, my mind racing to keep up with the betrayal unfolding before me. "Why, Rebecca?

" I pushed, my voice quieter but no less strained. "Why other men? What does this even mean?

Are you planning on sleeping with them? Are you leaving me? " Her eyes softened, but they were unwavering.

"No, Rob, I'm not leaving you. I love you. I really do.

You're my soulmate. I just need this time to figure out who I am, to explore parts of myself I've ignored. It's not about abandoning you.

" Her words were meant to reassure me, but they fell flat, lingering between us like a fog of uncertainty. How could she ask me this? How could she possibly think I'd be okay with her running off with other men only to come back to me like nothing happened?

My stomach churned, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't sit there any longer. I stood, neatly placing my napkin on the table and draining my wine in one swift gulp.

Without another word, I turned on my heel and headed for the door. "Rob, where are you going? " she called after me, her voice panicked.

"I don't know," I replied, not looking back, "but you should probably take a cab home. " I left her there in that fancy restaurant with nothing but her shattered explanation and a diamond necklace she no longer deserved. I drove for hours, no destination in mind, my head pounding with the chaos of my thoughts.

Street lights blurred together, and the hum of the engine was the only thing keeping me grounded. At some point, I must have fallen asleep in the car because the next morning I woke up in an unfamiliar parking lot, my head still aching, the reality of the night before crashing down on me all over again. The first thing I did was relieve myself behind a bush—classy, I know.

Then I set out in search of coffee, finding a small diner. I ordered breakfast and a large cup of coffee, trying to piece together a plan. There was no way I was going to agree to this—no way in hell.

But what now? I powered up my phone, which I had turned off the night before, only to find countless missed calls and texts from Rebecca. She was worried; she said scared about where I had gone.

I didn't respond; I wasn't ready to face her—not yet. After several cups of coffee and a plate of eggs and bacon, I decided I couldn't avoid it forever. I had to go home.

When I pulled into the driveway, Rebecca was already outside waiting for me. She ran over as soon as she saw me, her face pale with worry. "Where were you all night?

" she demanded, rushing toward me. "I thought something terrible happened to you! " I stepped back as she tried to kiss me, raising a hand.

"Rebecca, I need to clean up. Then we're going to sit down and have a serious talk about what you said last night. " I walked past her and headed straight for the shower, the hot water pounding down as I tried to make sense of everything.

Was she testing me? Was she really serious about this? Could our marriage survive this betrayal?

By the time I came out, dressed in fresh clothes and with another cup of coffee in hand, Rebecca was seated at the kitchen island waiting for me. I grabbed a notepad and pen and sat across from her, trying to keep my emotions in check. "So, Rebecca," I began, my voice steady but strained, "can you explain again why you think this exploration is a good idea?

" She didn't hesitate this time. "Rob, I feel like something's missing in me. I need validation as a woman.

I want to figure out what I need, and I think I can only do that by exploring relationships outside of ours. " I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. "So you're saying you don't know what you need, but you think sleeping with other men will help you figure that out?

" Her voice wavered. "I'm not saying I'll definitely sleep with anyone, Rob, but if the right connection happens, I might consider it. " My chest tightened.

This wasn't the woman I married, and I wasn't sure if she ever would be again. I stared at her, my heart hammering in my chest, trying to comprehend what she was really saying. "So you're telling me you might sleep with another man if the connection feels right, and you expect me to sit here in our home while you do this?

" My voice cracked, the weight of it all pressing down on me. "Rob, it's not like that," Rebecca said, frustration creeping into her voice. "I'm not leaving you.

I don't want to leave. I just need space to figure myself out. " "You need space to figure yourself out by dating other men?

" I shot back, feeling my composure slipping. "How is that supposed to work, Rebecca? How can you possibly think I'd be okay with this?

" She glanced down at her hands, twisting her wedding ring around her finger nervously. "I've been feeling this way for a couple of years now, Rob. Our lives have been so consumed by work, by routine.

I don't feel valued like I used to. I'm not saying it's your fault, but things have changed. " "Valued?

" I repeated, incredulously. "Everything I do, I do for us, for our future together! Do you think it's been easy working day in and day out to build this life for us?

Do you think this house, this life, just happened on its own? " Rebecca flinched at my tone, but I didn't care. My anger was bubbling to the surface, and I wasn't about to hold it in any longer.

"We're about to pay off this house, Rebecca! We've built a life together, and now, after all that, you're telling me that I haven't made you feel valued? " I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head in disbelief.

She sat there quietly for a moment, her hands still fidgeting, before finally speaking. "I just feel like there's something missing—a connection that we had. It's been gone for a while.

" I clenched my fists, struggling to keep my voice steady. "So let me get this straight: You're planning to fill that gap by going out and finding it with another man, or however many men it takes, and you expect me to what? Stand by and watch while you explore this missing connection?

" She avoided my gaze again, clearly unsure how to respond. "Rob, I don't know what's going to happen. I'm not saying I'll definitely sleep with someone, but I need to at least see if I can find what I'm missing.

" The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I had always imagined we'd face problems like every other couple—financial stress, maybe disagreements about kids—but this?

Never in a million years did I think I'd be sitting across from my wife, having a conversation about her wanting to sleep with other men. "And what if you find it, Rebecca? " I asked, my voice cold.

"What if you go out there, meet some guy, and you feel that connection again? Then what? You come home and tell me everything's fine, that our marriage is stronger because you got what you needed from someone else?

" She finally looked at me, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I don't know, Rob. I don't know how this is supposed to go, but I swear I still love you.

I don't want to lose you. " "But you are losing me," I said quietly, the realization sinking in as I spoke the words. "Every word you said tonight has driven a wedge between us.

This—this thing you want—it's not something I can support; it goes against everything I thought we stood for. " Rebecca reached across the table, trying to take my hand, but I pulled away. "Rob, please!

I just need you to understand that this is something I have to do—for me, for us. " I laughed bitterly. "This isn't for us, Rebecca.

This. . .

" Is for you. You're the one asking for this; you're the one who wants to step out of this marriage. I'm not stepping out, she said, her voice soft but firm.

I'm asking for space to sleep with other men. I spat, standing up abruptly. The room felt too small, too suffocating.

I needed to get out of there before I said something I'd regret. Rebecca stayed seated, her eyes following me as I paced the room. "Rob, I know this is hard, but we can get through this.

I'm not asking for a divorce; I'm just asking for time. " I stopped and turned to face her, my chest tight with anger and pain. "And what happens after this time you're asking for?

Do we just pretend like none of this happened? Do I just forget that my wife was out there searching for a connection with other men? " She didn't answer; she couldn't answer.

I shook my head, feeling a deep sense of betrayal wash over me. "Rebecca, I don't know how we're supposed to move forward from this. You've changed everything.

" Without another word, I turned and walked out of the room, leaving her sitting there in silence. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I couldn't stay—not with the weight of her words crushing me from the inside out. Finally, she spoke, her voice quieter than before.

"I can't say definitively what I'll do. If it feels right with the right person, I might entertain the idea," she responded, avoiding my gaze. "So you're contemplating infidelity then?

" I asked, barely able to keep the disbelief out of my voice. "It's not infidelity, Rob. It's not cheating if it's done with your knowledge," she replied calmly, as if that made everything acceptable.

My blood pressure spiked, and I took a deep breath before sipping my coffee, wishing it were something stronger. I had to stay composed; I had to navigate this conversation with a clear head. "Let me get this straight, Rebecca," I began, trying to wrap my mind around her absurd proposal.

"You plan to meet other men, go out with them, maybe even get physical, and yet you still plan to live here with me? Is that what you're saying? " "Honey, it's not that simple," she said, her voice faltering.

"It seems pretty simple to me," I shot back. "What about us? Are we supposed to just pause our marriage while you go out and explore?

Are we still physically involved while you're doing this? " "Absolutely," she said, her tone full of conviction. "You and I are a family, Rob.

I love you, and I want to stay with you. This is just something I need to do for myself. " "And how often do you expect to do this, Rebecca?

" I pressed, my frustration mounting. "Every weekend. Twice a week.

Every night. How far do you plan to take this exploration? " "I haven’t decided yet," she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Why are you so focused on the specifics? " "Because I need to know what my life is going to look like while you're out there meeting, dating, and sleeping with other people," I said, my words dripping with bitterness. "I don't have a girlfriend, Rebecca, at least not yet.

" She winced, but I wasn't done. "Rebecca, I need some clarity here," I continued, my anger barely contained. "Are you really set on this decision?

Have you even thought about what this will do to our marriage? " She nodded but didn't respond directly, avoiding my eyes. Then she said the one thing that would define the course of our future: "If you love me, you'll let me do this.

" "If you love me," I responded firmly, "you wouldn't even ask for this. So here's my ultimatum, Rebecca: infidelity, even with forewarning, is a deal breaker in our marriage. Here are my terms: if you decide to see other men, you need to move out.

I'm not sharing a home with you while you're off dating and sleeping with other people. " "Move out? " she asked, her voice wavering.

"Where am I supposed to go? " "I don't know. Maybe you can stay with your friend Matilda," I said, bitterness lacing my words.

"She's divorced, right? Living alone? I'm sure she'd love to help you out.

If that doesn't work, rent a short-term apartment, but you'll be responsible for all of it: your rent, utilities, car payments. I'm not covering anything while you're doing this. " Rebecca worked as a third-grade teacher, earning a decent salary, while I was a forensic auditor for a major firm, making a good living with yearly bonuses.

Money wasn't the issue, but from what she was saying, it seemed like I wasn't fulfilling all her other needs. That stung. She looked at me, seemingly thinking I might be softening.

Maybe she thought she had the upper hand, that I'd give in, but I wasn't done. "So if you're considering an open marriage, I guess I'm supposed to sit here patiently while you're out there with other men? Are you planning to come back to me eventually?

" "Honey, absolutely," she said, her voice dripping with reassurance. "I love you, you're my husband, and I want to have a family with you. " I couldn't help but let out a hollow laugh.

"And what am I supposed to do while you're out there physically involved with other men? Stay faithful to you? Just wait until you're done with your boyfriends and then what?

Pretend everything's normal? Have you even thought about what this does to me? " "I only want you, Rob.

You're my husband, and nothing about that will change. My feelings for you won't change, even while I'm exploring. When I come home, I want you to be here; to be my husband and the father of our future children.

" Her words were almost surreal. She really believed that she could have it both ways—that I would. .

. "Stand by while she pursued these other men and that somehow we'd still have a future together. " Well, I said, standing up and crossing my arms, "You need to start packing your things and move them into the guest room.

I don't think I can sleep next to you right now. Your plan is too much for me; it feels like you're leaving, even if you're not saying the words. " Rebecca stayed silent, perhaps finally realizing that I wasn't going to just accept this without a fight.

Maybe she thought I was a pushover, that I'd let her carry on with this madness while pretending everything was fine. Well, she was wrong. I'd seen this coming for a while now.

Matilda, her divorced friend, had been a bad influence from the start. I suspected this whole idea was coming from her. Matilda had been a fourth-grade teacher at the same school and had her own scandal a couple of years ago, cheating on her husband with multiple partners.

Now she was single, 35, and living a carefree life, no doubt whispering her warped ideas into Rebecca's ear. But here's the truth: if Rebecca crossed that line, there wouldn't be a family—not with me anyway. There'd just be divorce papers.

I stood up, and Rebecca looked at me confused. "Is that all, Rob? Are you asking me to leave?

" "Yeah, for now. Let me be clear, Rebecca: I don't want you to go through with any of this. We made vows to each other to stay faithful, and now you're planning to break that vow.

What do you think I'm supposed to do, just wait around while you see other men? If you want an open marriage, I guess I'll have the same option. " She didn't have an answer for that.

Without another word, I grabbed my car keys and walked out the door. "Rob, where are you going? " she called after me.

"I don't know yet," I replied, not turning around, "but move your things into the spare room and start looking for a place to stay. You're not bringing any of your affairs into this house. " I shut the door harder than usual, the sound echoing in the silence.

As I got into my car, I considered driving to Matilda's apartment, confronting her directly, but I knew that wouldn't help. This mess was on Rebecca, not Matilda, and she'd have to deal with the fallout. Monday came, and I was already out of the house before Rebecca even woke up.

I had no intention of letting this go on without a fight. She thought she could just waltz around dating other men, and I'd stand by idly? No way.

Step one: contact my attorney. Luckily, I had a good friend who handled all kinds of legal matters, from real estate to wills, and while he wasn't a divorce lawyer, he could refer me to someone who was. He came through, recommending a top-notch divorce attorney from his firm.

By that same afternoon, I had a meeting set up with her. It wasn't a conversation I wanted to have, but it was necessary. I made it clear to the attorney that I wanted to keep things as amiable as possible.

I wasn't out for blood; a 50/50 split of our assets was fine by me. After all, we had built this life together. Until now, I wasn't going to drag it out over a cheating wife, but I wasn't ready to file anything yet.

I needed proof of her infidelity before making the next move. The week crawled by. I spent as little time at home as possible, going to the gym every night to burn off the stress.

Meanwhile, Rebecca was practically glued to Matilda. By Thursday, she told me she'd be staying with Matilda for a few weeks until she could find a place of her own. I knew exactly what that meant: it gave her free reign to see her new boyfriends without me in the way.

Saturday rolled around, and Rebecca was packing her things into the car, getting ready to leave. But just before she drove off, she paused, looking at me with wide eyes. "Rob, I don't want to go.

Are you sure we can't work something out so I can stay? " she asked, her voice soft. "I love you, and I really want to make our marriage stronger.

" I sighed, feeling the weight of it all. "Rebecca, if you really loved me and wanted to fix this, you wouldn't be doing this. I want you to stay, but I can't let you be with other men and still call yourself my wife.

If you're not willing to try counseling, I don't know what else to say. So go. " As she loaded the last of her bags, I drove to the hardware store, bought new locks, and spent the rest of the weekend changing them.

I also changed the garage door code, ensuring she couldn't get back in. The following week was torture. I hit the gym daily, running until I couldn't think anymore, trying to shake the sinking feeling that I had failed as a husband.

How had it come to this? Was I really so inadequate that my wife had to turn to other men? In my confusion, I started researching infidelity online, desperate for answers.

To my surprise, I found out that nearly 40% of married people cheat, and what shocked me even more was that about 90% of them stay married. In many cases, the infidelity was simply tolerated, especially if there were kids involved, and couples just carried on like nothing had happened. Many of these wives even claimed they still loved their husbands but felt something was missing at home.

Many women who cheat often explain that the demands of family life make closeness with their husbands feel monotonous. They juggle kids' activities, housework, and the daily grind, which can dull the connection. with their spouses, they crave something exciting—someone who gives them attention without immediately talking about kids or errands.

It made me wonder if the secret to a lasting marriage was acting as if your wife were having an affair, but without the actual cheating, focusing purely on the physical connection. I briefly considered the idea of trying to pick my wife up at the club she and Matilda visited, though the thought felt absurd. People cheat for all sorts of reasons: a lack of physical satisfaction, missing passion, or just feeling disconnected from their spouse.

Some even cheat out of revenge for their partner's betrayal. A few claim that affairs help save their marriage; though I'm skeptical, still, that's what research on infidelity shows. Marriage is complicated, and maintaining a relationship requires work.

Open marriages where both partners agree to see other people rarely work out: emotional attachments develop, feelings get hurt, and most of the time, it leads to divorce. Polyamorous relationships are no simpler, especially when children are involved. There's also the constant risk of bringing a sexually transmitted disease into the home.

For me, monogamy is the only way a marriage can work. If both partners don't agree on that, they need to reconsider the relationship or find someone else. Had I neglected my wife?

Pushed her away while I focused on building a life for us? Did I miss something? I couldn't be sure, but I did know I wasn't happy about her leaving to pursue other men.

She claimed I wasn't giving her what she needed, but I didn't see how her actions were going to fix our marriage. The next week passed slowly, much like the one before it. I didn't reach out to her, and Rebecca only sent me a single message asking me to forward her mail to her new address.

There was no sign that she was interested in repairing our relationship; it was all business with no personal touch. It was clear that she was moving forward with her plan—finding herself a boyfriend or maybe more than one. The thought crossed my mind to follow her from her apartment just to see where she and Matilda were going and who she was meeting.

I even drove by the place a few times but resisted the temptation to stop. I knew I couldn't do that to myself; I had to let her make her decision. If she was going to come back to me, it had to be on her own; otherwise, she wouldn't really be my wife anymore.

Each day that passed, the chances of her return seemed slimmer, and the longer it went on, the less willing I was to take her back. A month went by with almost no communication between us. Then, out of the blue, Rebecca showed up at the house.

When her key didn't work, she knocked and rang the bell. I answered, keeping my face neutral. "What brings you here, Rebecca?

" I asked. "Honey, my key doesn't work. What's going on?

" "That's because I changed the locks," I replied, blocking the door as she tried to come inside. "What do you want? " "I came to grab a few things I left behind when I moved in with Matilda," she said, not bothering with any small talk.

It wasn't about seeing me; it was just about getting her stuff. I stepped aside and let her in; after all, it was still partly her home, legally speaking. We went to the garage where I had gathered her belongings into several boxes.

"Why did you pack up my things? " she asked. "How long do you plan to stay with Matilda?

" I asked, ignoring her question. "Matilda’s been really supportive," she said, brushing off the topic. "I'll stay with her a little longer, maybe a few months, but I'll come back.

I'll be a better wife then, and we can start a family. " I internally rolled my eyes at her comment, wondering how she could possibly believe that being with other men would make her a better wife or prepare her for motherhood. "So, have you found a boyfriend yet?

" I asked bluntly. Rebecca blushed; she didn't need to answer—I already knew. Eventually, she admitted, "Matilda and I have gone on a few dates with guys from the club, but that's all.

" "And how's the physical part going with your new boyfriends? " I asked, knowing the question would make her uncomfortable. She turned red and busied herself rummaging through the boxes.

I left her there and returned to the kitchen, where I grabbed my coffee and sat down with the newspaper. A few minutes later, Rebecca came in carrying a large bag and looking around the kitchen as if she expected to find the place in disarray, but it wasn't. In fact, it was spotless.

I had a cleaning service coming three times a week. There were no dirty dishes, no beer bottles, and no piles of laundry; everything was in perfect order. "Need anything else?

" I asked, seeing her curiosity. "So, how have you been since I moved in? " she asked.

"I'm fine," I replied flatly. "Work keeps me busy. I've been traveling a lot.

" She looked slightly worried and pressed further, "Have you been going out, or are you just staying home alone? " There was the question I had expected. She wanted to know if I was moving on, and it was time to give her something to think about.

"I've been keeping busy," I said. "I joined a cycling group; we meet twice a week for rides. It's fun, and I've met some new people.

We usually grab a burger and a beer afterward. " I could see the interest flicker in her eyes—more than she was letting on. She hadn't expected this.

Maybe she thought I'd just sit at home, waiting for her to come back, but it was starting to dawn on her that things might not go as she hoped. As she planned, later I found out that Rebecca had been seeing two men from the club she frequented with Matilda. She had been sleeping with both of them, but neither had any interest in spending more than the occasional night with her; both were married and just looking for a bit of fun.

Rebecca was nothing more than a temporary distraction to them—a typical pump and dump. By the time two months had passed, I had made peace with the fact that my marriage was over. Rebecca had been silent for weeks, which only confirmed she had no interest in coming back or fixing anything.

Even if she did want to return, there would be conditions, and I wasn't sure if I'd even let her. What made things clearer for me was learning that she had taken a vacation to the Dominican Republic with one of her boyfriends during her school break. They had enjoyed a week in the sun, apparently working on their tan and who knows what else.

If this was her idea of making our marriage stronger, she was sorely mistaken. It didn't help that Matilda had influenced Rebecca's view of me, likely painting me as the neglectful husband who drove her to cheat. Now Rebecca was living in a two-bedroom apartment with her disgruntled divorced friend, while her reputation with colleagues and family members was steadily tanking.

When Rebecca's mother found out that her daughter had gone on a tropical getaway with another man, she called me to ask what was going on. I told her the truth—Rebecca had left to pursue relationships with other men. She was stunned.

I encouraged her to speak with Rebecca directly, and when she did, Rebecca's response was predictable. “Why did you leave, Rebecca? What's going on with you and Rob?

Is he treating you badly? ” her mother asked. “No, Mom.

He's not mistreating me, but he doesn't make me feel the way I need to feel. I don't feel wanted or attractive. I need that, and I'm not getting it from him, so I'm looking elsewhere for now.

But don't worry, I'll go back to Rob in a few months, maybe a year, and then everything will be fine. ” Rebecca's mother didn't mince words. “If you keep doing this, Robert won't be waiting for you when you decide to come back.

Cheating is a sure way to end your marriage. Don't you see that? ” But Rebecca was confident.

“Rob loves me, Mom. He understands. I'll come home and we'll start a family.

It'll be fine. ” Her mother tried to warn her, but Rebecca wouldn't listen. Seeing that, I realized it was time for me to move on.

What was good for the goose was good for the gander, after all. It had been about three months since Rebecca left, and I knew I couldn't stay stuck in this rut any longer. So, I asked a woman I knew from the cycling group to go out for dinner.

It wasn't anything serious; I just wanted some company and a change from the routine I’d been living since Rebecca walked out. My daily routine became predictable: work, the gym, cycling, sleep. Day after day, I followed the same pattern, waiting for things to settle down.

That was my life. Part of me hoped that Rebecca would come to her senses and return home, putting an end to this absurd situation, but deep down, I knew that wasn't likely. If she did come back, it wouldn't be as the wife I once knew.

It was clear she was enjoying her newfound freedom, searching for the excitement and validation she believed had been missing in her marriage. This lined up with everything I’d read about why married women cheat, so I made the decision to arrange a date. But I didn't want it to seem desperate or awkward; I figured the best way was to get to know the people in my cycling group a little better before making a move.

I didn't want a pity date; I wanted something real. Most of my cycling friends already knew about my separation, and I suspected that some of them had even heard about Rebecca's active dating life. In a city this size, word gets around.

When I asked Ruth, one of the women in the group, if she'd like to grab a drink or tea with me, I was surprised when she agreed without hesitation. We made plans for a casual Saturday night outing, followed by a kayaking trip on a nearby lake. I had kayaked a few times before, so I was comfortable with the idea.

Ruth had never tried it but was interested, so we went ahead with the plan. It turned into our first date. The kayaking went well; we covered about 10 miles in 3 hours, and afterward, we had dinner at a nice little restaurant.

I had a craft beer with steak and fries; she ordered white wine and pasta. The atmosphere was relaxed—no pressure at all. We ended the evening with ice cream from a stand by the waterfront, and I drove her home.

I was planning on just giving her a polite kiss on the cheek, but she surprised me by leaning in and kissing me on the lips. It was unexpected but not unwelcome. To avoid coming across as too eager, I waited until our next regular Tuesday cycling meetup to suggest another date.

Ruth mentioned she had been concerned that I didn't enjoy our time together because I hadn't reached out sooner. I reassured her that I’d had a great time and really enjoyed her company. We scheduled another date for Saturday—a round of golf.

Having read about the rules of maintaining interest through texting and calling, I sent her a message on Friday expressing my excitement for the game and offering to pick her up. She preferred to meet me at the golf club, so we settled on that. An early afternoon time, we spent a fun few hours on the course, even though neither of us was very good at golf.

That evening, we had a barbeque at my place and shared a bottle of wine. As the night wore on, I got ready to drive her home, but Ruth took my car keys, placed them on the counter, and asked to see the bedroom. The next morning, I woke up with Ruth beside me, her arm resting on my chest.

She had long dark hair, green eyes, and flawless skin, except for a small scar on her chin that gave her face character. She was tall, about 5'11", and slim, probably around 140 lbs. She worked as a nurse in the pediatric department, which spoke to her compassion.

From the moment we met, her genuine personality and quiet charm had drawn me in. We had breakfast on my patio, and eventually, the conversation turned to my situation and the possibility of divorce. I knew it was a sensitive topic, but I also understood why she needed clarity before becoming emotionally invested; no woman wants to waste time with a man who might reconcile with his wife.

I explained Rebecca's reasons for leaving, and from Ruth's reaction, I could tell she didn't think Rebecca was coming back. That conversation nudged me toward the next step in my plan. On Monday, I contacted my lawyer to hire an investigator.

I needed to know how many men Rebecca was seeing before moving forward with the divorce. It turned out she was dating multiple men, mostly married, and spending time with them at Matilda's apartment after their nights out at the club. Two weeks later, Rebecca was served with the divorce petition.

That evening, she showed up at the house, clearly upset and holding a large brown envelope. I greeted her at the door. "Rebecca, what brings you here tonight?

" I asked. "Sweetheart, a guy delivered these papers today. Why did you file for divorce?

I was planning to come home soon, maybe even this week. We can start working on that baby we talked about. " I invited her in and motioned for her to sit down at the kitchen table.

"It's too late for that now, Rebecca. I made it clear when you left that I didn't want you to go, but you made your choice. " She tried to defend her actions.

"Honey, I told you I needed to find myself, to feel more confident. " Cutting her off, I asked with just a hint of sarcasm, "So do you feel more confident now? Have you found what you were looking for?

Had enough of the new relationships and physical encounters? " She started to protest, but I didn't let up. "Because it sure seems like it.

I've barely heard from you since you left. You didn't even call me on my birthday—probably too busy with one of your flings in the Dominican Republic. Even your mother reached out, wondering why you didn't call her on Mother's Day.

" Rebecca's face fell as I continued. "So, how about it, Rebecca? Did you spend all this time chasing after pleasure?

" "Honey, I love you," she pleaded. I realized now I may have gone too far. "I'm ready to come back home.

" I didn't budge. "No, you're not. " "What do you mean?

" she asked, her voice rising. "I'm still your wife, and this is still my home. I'm going to Matilda's to get my things, and then I'll be back.

" "You can't," I explained. "Did you even read all the papers in that envelope? Toward the end, there's a judge's ruling: you're not allowed within 500 ft of this house until the divorce is finalized.

Technically, you're violating that order right now. I'm not going to push it, but you need to leave. We'll handle the rest of this legally.

" Rebecca finally seemed to understand how serious the situation was. The vows we had made to love, respect, and stay faithful had been broken, and there was no fixing that. I told her that if she really wanted the house, she could buy my half for $150,000, which was nearly paid off.

If not, we'd sell it and split the proceeds; either way, she wasn't moving back in. I escorted her to the door, closed it behind her, and locked it. A month later, without needing a court appearance, we quietly finalized the divorce.

Rebecca got her share of the assets, we sold the house, and I moved on. Rebecca, meanwhile, continued her routine. I heard through a friend that her charter school had asked her to keep her personal life more discreet.

Parents had learned about her relationships with several men, and some were uncomfortable with her teaching their kids. The mothers, in particular, had been vocal, suspecting that some of the fathers had been involved with her. Eventually, Rebecca was diagnosed with an STD—not life-threatening, but serious enough to require a year of abstinence.

That might not have been much of an issue since she was also pregnant. One of her partners had gotten her pregnant, and she hadn't been careful with birth control. The father wasn't identified, though the child bore a strong resemblance to one of the married teachers at her school.

The divorce freed me from Rebecca. It's been about a year since all of this began. I've bought a new house, gotten promoted at work, and most importantly, Ruth and I are now living together.

We're excited to share two pieces of news: we're getting married this summer and we're expecting our first child around Christmas.