Lifelines

This piece is a raw and introspective dive into the complexities of betrayal, self-deception, and the silent endurance of a woman who clung to marriage long after love had unraveled. It captures the slow unraveling of trust, the quiet battles fought in the stillness of night, and the painful irony of hindsight.

Her thoughts keep circling back to the nights she lay in bed with her back to him—the nights she kept moving forward even after she had, in truth, given up on him but not on them. It’s fascinating how women cling to marriage—not just for love, but for the structure, the family, the children. They sink their teeth into pain, waiting for the marks to fade, only to bite down again.

She remembers the deep conversations with her friends, the hypothetical questions they tossed around. Would you leave him if he cheated? She can still hear her own voice, bold and unshaken—Nah… cheating is overrated. Love, family, and time outweigh fleeting indulgences.

But let’s not dwell on the cheating—on the how, the who, or the why. Instead, let’s focus on us. Let’s focus on why we do not see it.

That work trip —when she left the girls with him. When she returned, she sensed something was off. Young and naïve, she confronted him, held it up to his face like a blade. She did not know then what she knows” now: Never draw a knife unless you’re ready for the stab.

And why wouldn’t she? They have so often had those conversations—the ones where they shook their heads at cheating couples, called it shameful and unforgivable. How could it have ever crossed her mind that he was the very man he condemned? The unashamed, shameful man pointing fingers while hiding his own betrayal.

She remembers the times they both sat in disbelief, dissecting other people’s scandals? Each time he spoke, she trusted him more. Each time he judged another’s infidelity, the idea of him being that man seemed more impossible—until it wasn’t.

That one time she borrowed his phone, she remembers that wretched text lighting up his screen as she stood there, blow-drying her hair for him, styling it the way he liked. The jolt that ran through her wasn’t just shock; it was electricity, fire, something primal.

She read it. Again. And again. And again. Disbelief twisted into something darker. In that message, she heard the whining of an angry women who blamed him for not responding and changing on her. For a fleeting, twisted second, she almost admired him. Not for the betrayal, but for the fact that he had, at least momentarily, tried to abandon that fling. She was proud of a cheater who suddenly realized he had something to lose, who in the end lost it anyway.

And she confronted him. Again. And again. And every time, that same pathetic excuse sat her down because neither her weapon, nor her wit was sharp.

Until she stopped fighting altogether.

Until she lay there, night after night, her back to him—rigid, frozen, an iceberg in their bed. Holding her breath like she wanted him to think her dead. Hoping the fear, the pain, the betrayal wouldn’t rise to the surface, wouldn’t melt her edges and leave her drowning in the mess of it all. Because if she lets go, if she lets herself break, she’d soak the bed in tears—tears that would force her to change the sheets she has just changed, exactly like she did every single day for the last eight years of her marriage. She lay there, frozen, in the same bed they once joked was “super king”—big enough to fit the whole world. And in the end, it did. Just not in the way she ever imagined.

It’s almost ironic—how that failed marriage has taught her to keep others intact. How her silence, uncertainty and helplessness back then has given her all the answers that could save someone else.

Now she feels a sharp pang of jealousy, a quiet envy that she could not salvage hers while she tries and helps others rescue theirs. It’s a bittersweet victory—the joy in knowing her understanding of failure has shaped her into someone wiser, someone better. Yet sadness lingers, because she sees the patterns, she predicts the consequences and knows which one is doomed. And she cannot help but wonder—why wasn’t she this version of herself back then?

And she tells herself that if she has saved nothing, she still saved forgiveness—for him, for herself. Enough of it to love him again, not as a husband, but as someone stripped bare of his deception and exposed to the whole world. To her he is special and distinctive in his shame. Today she is proud of how shameful and exposed he is while many walk past their doorsteps every morning soaking in the glory of deception.

Fun fact: Men and women cheat at equal rates. Women are just smarter at hiding lifelines laced with toxins and fillers.

Advice: Never confront a cheating partner unless you have already decided on your next move.

Fact: The moment you confront your partner, you expose him completely—no matter if it’s just the two of you. From that point on, you lose him forever.