The man I had an affair with was the marriage counselor my husband paid a fortune to bring us together-13
The Husband’s Final Grovel
I rented a small apartment. A snail shell. Safe. Cold. Approaching the building one evening, a figure hunched on the planter wall. David. Stubble-shadowed jaw. Eyes bloodshot. He sprang up, lunged towards me. "Sophie!" Voice raw, broken. "Please! Home! Start fresh! Please? Pretend none happened! I was wrong! I swear! Trust me!" His grip on my arm was vise-like. "Let go." My voice was unnervingly calm. "I won’t!" He wept, a petulant child. "I need you! Sophie! I love you! Isn’t that enough? I’d do anything! I even…" He halted. Eyes frantic. "Even what?" My gaze sharpened.
"Hire some 'specialist' for this marital charade? Let your wife bare her soul to a fraud? Use my pain for your twisted control?!" Each question landed like a hammer blow. His grip slackened. "I… I just…" He stammered, defeated, eyes pleading, uncomprehending. He couldn't grasp: some wounds scar eternally. His "loyalty test" had executed our marriage. "Go home, David," I stated, weary, clear. "We're done." Ignoring his crumbling face, I sidestepped his rigid form. The building door thudded shut. Barring him. Barring the past.
Solitary Steps in First Snow
Winter arrived. First snow drifted silently. Minute flakes danced under amber streetlights. Like scattered crystal. I hugged my coat, walking alone towards the apartment. Fresh snow crunched underfoot. A single line of footprints stretched behind me. Deep. Shallow.
Solitary, vanishing into the dark ahead. Wind whipped snow down my collar. Shivering, I buried my face in my scarf. Old wool. Slightly scratchy. Yet grounding. Cold. Real. No luxury bags. No engineered "counseling". No counterfeit warmth or bone-deep betrayal. Just me. And my own solitary trail. Pain persisted. Fine fissures in bone. But at least. The path ahead was mine. Each step, taken on my own snow.
NEXT >>
I rented a small apartment. A snail shell. Safe. Cold. Approaching the building one evening, a figure hunched on the planter wall. David. Stubble-shadowed jaw. Eyes bloodshot. He sprang up, lunged towards me. "Sophie!" Voice raw, broken. "Please! Home! Start fresh! Please? Pretend none happened! I was wrong! I swear! Trust me!" His grip on my arm was vise-like. "Let go." My voice was unnervingly calm. "I won’t!" He wept, a petulant child. "I need you! Sophie! I love you! Isn’t that enough? I’d do anything! I even…" He halted. Eyes frantic. "Even what?" My gaze sharpened.
"Hire some 'specialist' for this marital charade? Let your wife bare her soul to a fraud? Use my pain for your twisted control?!" Each question landed like a hammer blow. His grip slackened. "I… I just…" He stammered, defeated, eyes pleading, uncomprehending. He couldn't grasp: some wounds scar eternally. His "loyalty test" had executed our marriage. "Go home, David," I stated, weary, clear. "We're done." Ignoring his crumbling face, I sidestepped his rigid form. The building door thudded shut. Barring him. Barring the past.
Solitary Steps in First Snow
Winter arrived. First snow drifted silently. Minute flakes danced under amber streetlights. Like scattered crystal. I hugged my coat, walking alone towards the apartment. Fresh snow crunched underfoot. A single line of footprints stretched behind me. Deep. Shallow.
Solitary, vanishing into the dark ahead. Wind whipped snow down my collar. Shivering, I buried my face in my scarf. Old wool. Slightly scratchy. Yet grounding. Cold. Real. No luxury bags. No engineered "counseling". No counterfeit warmth or bone-deep betrayal. Just me. And my own solitary trail. Pain persisted. Fine fissures in bone. But at least. The path ahead was mine. Each step, taken on my own snow.
NEXT >>
POST A COMMENT