I Cheated On My Husband — And Now He Hates All Women
I just finished reading a popular romance novel. On page four the main character states, "I finally had sex with him last night." She’s talking about a childhood friend who she has been close to for forty years.
Over the course of the book, she tries to decide if she wants to be with the old friend or with her husband, who she claims to truly love and describes as lovely, tall, handsome, elegant, and wonderful. She says adores her husband with, "love as deep and strong as tree roots."
She says he adores her and their children and admits she does not deserve him.
She loves him — everything about him. Yet, after the betrayal, an act one could call impetuous despite it being forty years in the making, she chooses the lover.
She believes her husband is not vindictive, saying, "Whatever happens, he would never take my children away from me, never create a rift between me and them. He loves us all too much for that."
The book ends without mention of what happens next. I suppose the reader is meant to believe that the woman knows her husband well and their marriage ends amicably.
I wouldn’t be so sure.
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I had a similar experience and, at the time of my affair, thought much like the character in the book. I was deluded by my own narcissism and found out just how different real life is from romantic fantasy.
I, too, had a male friend from childhood who never gave up hope that one day I would be his.
Even after we both had married we remained friends, even though I knew his ultimate goal was to possess me.
My husband trusted me and saw no reason for me to give up an old friend. Of course, I was never truthful with my husband. I never told him about the kisses my friend and I shared or the many times he begged me to leave my husband and children.
As with the character in the book, the mundane sameness and weight of married life and raising children took its toll and I eventually succumbed to the allure of passion.
And like the character in the book, one night I finally had sex with him. Our covert affair occurred at a party while my husband and my friend’s wife were in another part of the house.
The sex was great but guilt began eating at me immediately. I tried to distance myself from my friend but by now he was a part of our lives and to cut him off would have required an explanation to my husband.
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We continued having clandestine sex for several months until my husband figured it out and confronted me.
Before our confrontation, my husband was a kind and gentle man. He loved to laugh and treated me and our kids with respect and endless love.
He was devoted to us — until that moment when he finally understood the extent of my betrayal.
I saw his body tensing, his fists clenching, and the pain in his eyes turned to hate and burned into my soul. He drew his fist back and I knew he was going to hit me.
I’m very lucky he hadn’t lost all self-control. His fist came at me like a freight train but slammed the wall behind me, missing my face by inches.
When he pulled his hand from the crater he had made in the wall it was bloody. I took hold of it and tried to lead him to the sink to rinse the blood off but he pulled his hand away and raised the bloody fist threatening to hit me again. This time I knew he wouldn’t miss.
"Leave me the eff alone," he screamed and shoved me away. I no longer recognized my gentle husband.
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My wonderful husband, until then, a good man, changed that day.
He became sullen, vindictive, and hostile. He packed up and left the house. His only words to me were that I was a slut and he hoped I would rot in hell.
He woke our two girls and told them he was leaving because their mother was a lying, cheating whore and that he wouldn’t see them for a long time. But that they should remember it was their mother’s fault.
It was a long time before we spoke again and when we did, he did little more than curse at me.
Suddenly, random acts of violence and vandalism began occurring. My lover’s tires were slashed, and the word slut was keyed into all my car doors and spray painted on the front door of the house I once shared with my husband.
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His divorce lawyer was a shark.
She made me admit every last deceit and betrayal during my deposition. I may as well not have had a lawyer.
There was no blame to lay at my husband’s feet. He had done absolutely nothing wrong.
I, on the other hand, appeared to everyone in the court — including the judge, my family, and myself — as a vile evil creature. The woman who deceived a generous, supportive, loving husband, who for her own selfish motives, blew up her family so they would live with chaos, misery, and despair rather than the light and love they had known for so long.
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My daughters hate me now.
They are in pain. They know I’m the cause of it and my ex has done nothing to take the onus off me.
Why should he? He was a wonderful partner, a good and kind man.
He had been a man who respected women and treated them well. It is because of me that he no longer thinks or acts like women deserve kindness or trust.
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We don’t talk to each other and I don’t hear about him very much.
Our mutual friends took his side, and most abandoned me completely.
There is one woman, the wife of a friend of his, who tells me that my ex has become a different person. He spends time in strip clubs and has sex with prostitutes.
He dates women but never stays with one longer than a few weeks. When they start getting close, he shuts them out, blocks their numbers, and ignores their calls. Her husband told her that my ex has said women are no good, can’t be trusted, and never will be equal to men.
I’m truly sorry for what I did to my ex-husband. I’m sorry for the pain I caused him and my children.
And I am sorry that there is another misogynist in the world because of me.
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Megan Starr spent many years as a working film editor and writes scripts and stories in her spare time.
This article originally appeared on YourTango
