I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT HIM — this man I’ve been with for the last fourteen years, this man who has been the center of my life, this man who is my everything. What am I to him? Am I just the mother of his children? Does he even love me?

When he leans in for a kiss, I turn, and his peck lands on my cheek. “I should tidy the kitchen,” I tell him as I stand slowly, still in shock. “I’m not feeling well at all.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Was it the wine?”

Red wine occasionally doesn’t agree with me for some reason, but I’ve found a few kinds I like that don’t seem to cause any trouble. “Yeah, I think so,” I say, absentmindedly wiping the kitchen counter.

Who is she?

How long has this been going on?

What does she look like?

Is she blonde? Skinny?

It’s how I picture her for some reason.

How many times has he fucked her?

Does she know he’s married with kids?

She has to, the man is famous… it’s right there on his fucking Wikipedia page.

Fucking whore.

I load the dishwasher. It’s one of those tasks I’ve done a thousand times, it doesn’t require conscious thought. “I’m going to lie down in my studio,” I tell him. It’s usually where I go when I want a little peace and quiet — it’s quiet up there in the loft. The kids don’t venture up there too often. There are no toys, no television, just a desk and sofa, an easel, and my art supplies and books. Elsie, on the other hand, is always there. I think she likes the quiet too. When she’s up there, the kids don’t bother her. I think she also likes how warm and bright it is up there. She loves to bask in the sun streaming through the windows. It is a quiet bright airy space… our little haven.

I kiss Emma and Theo. “Daddy’s going to put you to bed tonight, okay? Mommy’s not feeling well, so I’m gonna go lie down upstairs.”

Emma’s brows knit together. “Will you be okay?”

I smile. “I’ll be fine… too much wine.”

“Alcohol is bad for you,” she tells me, matter-of-factly.

“I know.”

“Love you,” Theo chimes in. His sweet little voice tears at my insides.

I’m crying by the time I reach the stairs to my loft.

How long has this affair been going on? Weeks? Months? Years?

When did they meet? Where?

Do they make love? Or just fuck?

I want all these questions answered. But I can’t even bring myself to look at him to ask them.

I lie on the sofa, in tears, face down on the cushions. My whimpers can barely be heard — I’ve always been a quiet crier. I don’t cry often, and when I do, I don’t want anyone to know — it’s my little secret. I’m no attention-seeker, and certainly not a drama queen. I hate drama. I hate this.

Elsie, who had been snoozing in her cozy cat bed, knows something’s up. She inches closer, and comes to see me. She sniffs my elbow, and I turn to look at her. She settles her white paws on the edge of the sofa, leaps up and snuggles up close. She nudges her sweet little nose up against mine. Her whiskers tickle my face as she licks the tears off my cheeks.

A smile curves my lips. “You’re coming with me,” I tell her. “When we get a divorce.”

I can’t believe I’ve uttered the word ‘divorce’. This is a taboo word for me — just the thought of it gives me hives. I don’t want a damn divorce. But I don’t want a fucking cheating husband either.

We can’t get a divorce — we have two small kids.

Fuck. When did my life become such a fucking mess?

A divorce would tear our world apart. I can’t imagine it: the kids being shuffled back and forth between the two of us, like freakin’ boomerangs. They’re too small to understand — a divorce would break their little hearts. And what about all the wonderful years we’ve shared? John has always been such a great husband — he’s been my real-life prince. And we’ve always had passion, which is a precious and rare thing.

It’s just been these past few months…

It all makes sense now… the constant travel, and his distant behavior. I should have known. The affair must have started months ago.

I stroke Elsie’s back, and she purrs loudly.

I try to think about it logically. Where would I go?

Damn it, I wouldn’t go anywhere. He’s the one who’s cheating, so I’d kick him out obviously. But the kids would miss him so much. They’d wonder why he was never here. I could always tell them that he has to go on business trips, lots of business trips.

Was it so bad, what he did? I ask myself.

Yeah, it was. He’s a dog.

But I’m not completely innocent either…

I’ve been so distracted and busy carrying on with some guy on the Internet, I didn’t even notice my husband was having an affair.

At least, I had the decency to end it. I can’t help but laugh at the irony of it. Here I was, feeling so guilty, so torn up about my relationship with Eli — just words, really. A few laughs, and lingering gazes… and words. That’s all. And all this time, John was sticking his dick in some other woman.

I grab a box of Kleenex from my desk, pull a tissue, and blow into it loudly. I’m a blubbering mess, but Elsie hasn’t left my side. My throat hurts and my eyes sting.

How would John react if I confronted him? Would he deny it, and tell me I’m crazy? Would he concoct some completely feasible excuse? He is a good storyteller, after all. Or would he own up to the truth? He owes me that. After all the years we’ve shared, it’s the least he owes me.

I make myself a cup a tea while I ponder our situation further. Why should this affair destroy our marriage? Four lives are at stake here. This isn’t just about me.

And maybe this thing is just a meaningless fling… just sex.

Perhaps it’s just my way to make sense of all this, to take the easy way out because it’s all too much for me to deal with. I’ve always had a hard time confronting problems head-on. I tend to skirt around them, tuck them in a little box and ignore them. It’s the reason I wasn’t on speaking terms with my mother when she died.

But there’s no ignoring this one. It’s too big.

I decide to confront John. If he denies the affair, it’s over. If he tells me the truth, I’ll give our marriage a second chance.

It’s that simple.

I’ve just been going through the motions these past few days. A million questions rattle around in my head. I haven’t been able to eat, to sleep. I think about Eli. I want to reach out to him, but I know that’s not the answer, that would just be adding more fuel to this hot mess.

Life has been wheeling along as usual; errands, school runs, kids’ activities, dinner on the table, bedtime tuck-ins. Every single night is spent in my loft, ‘working’. Crying, more like. John has been holed up in his office too, as he’s been these past few months. I wonder if he’s talking to her, if he’s chatting with her. I don’t want to know.

I’ve been avoiding the confrontation, but I know I can’t go on like this. I’ll die if I do. There is so much anger in me, I feel like I might explode. I thought I’d wait a day or two before I confronted him, to calm down. But I’m not calming down. My anger is as wild and alive as ever. I know I need to do this now.

He’s sitting on the old worn plaid loveseat, the one he just can’t get rid of — it’s an eyesore but he fears he won’t be able to write ever again if he gets rid of it — he’s superstitious that way. He’s tapping away on his laptop when I quietly slip into his office. The kids are already in bed, and it’s pretty late. He seems surprised to see me — I don’t ordinarily venture into his office this late at night. I’m typically fast asleep by this time. I inch closer, and I sneak a peek. He’s writing — no naughty chatting or pornography — he’s just working.

“Can you take a break?” I ask. “We need to talk.”