I had broken something precious, something built over fifteen years of love, shared laughter, and challenges faced side by side. And I didn’t know if it could ever be repaired.
Then, one morning, something changed.
She greeted me with a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but was gentle all the same. That evening, she cooked my favorite meal — roasted chicken with herbs and mashed potatoes, just like she used to when we were newly married.
Over the next few weeks, she began leaving small notes on my desk:
“Drive safely today.”
“Dinner’s at seven.”
“I love you.”
At first, I didn’t know what to make of it. Her calmness frightened me more than anger ever could. Was this forgiveness? Or was it a goodbye disguised as kindness?
Every week, she went out for “appointments with her gynecologist.” She said it casually, without explanation, and I didn’t dare ask questions. How could I? I had lost the right to doubt her.
But as the visits continued, I began to wonder. Was she sick? Was something wrong? My mind played cruel tricks on me — was she hiding pain from me the way I had hidden my betrayal from her?
The guilt twisted deeper. Every time she walked out the door, I felt like I was losing her piece by piece.
The Moment of Truth
One evening, unable to bear the weight of my thoughts, I finally asked.
We were sitting in the living room, the lamp casting a warm light over the quiet space between us. “You’ve been seeing your doctor every week,” I said carefully. “Is everything all right?”
She looked at me for a long time, her eyes steady and unreadable. Then, slowly, she smiled — a real smile this time, filled with something gentle and powerful.
