When I arrived home after a business trip, I was tired, but I couldn’t wait to get into my own bed. But I did find something that didn’t belong. Underwear for women. With lace. Delicate. She was not mine at all.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry at all. I just stood there, staring at them laying on my pillow as if they had every right to be there. I picked them up, and instead of asking questions or blaming anyone, I did something that even I didn’t expect: I washed them. Then I put them on.
I was waiting for my husband to come in via the front door.
I said, “Look, baby,” and showed him what they looked like.
He stopped moving. He looked blank as he grasped the keys. I couldn’t see that stupid smile he always gave me when I surprised him. There was nothing but silence. I got closer, kissed him on the cheek, and asked, “Do you like them?”
I talked in a light, almost funny way, but inside I was shaking. I didn’t know what I was doing; I just needed to know what he would do.
He smiled again, but it was weak and unsure. “Yeah… they look great on you.”
He simply said it before heading to the bathroom. He was in there for a long twenty minutes. I stood at the sink and looked at myself, wondering whether I had finally lost my mind.
For seven years, we were together. We had been together for four years. Things used to be close, but now they’re not. There were no more texts. The love died. Working late at night became commonplace. I blamed life, stress, and time limits. I didn’t want to face anything but the truth.
But what about those underpants? It wasn’t an accident. He didn’t even try to hide them. They weren’t tucked away in the laundry or under the bed. They were waiting for me. They were right next to me. It seemed like a hard thing to do.
I didn’t get angry or yell after that. I just started to look. He changed the passwords. He took his phone into the bathroom. He kept doing his workouts. He also bought some fresh cologne. I didn’t say anything. I just smiled, made dinner, and took on the job.
And I began to quietly gather the truth. Notes. Times. Proofs. I wrote down everything, not to get back at someone, but to make sure everything was correct.
He said he was going to Milo’s house a few weeks later to help set up a TV. That morning, Milo had just put up images from his trip to Santorini. I waited until he went, then I put on my coat and followed him in three cars.
He drove to an apartment complex that wasn’t very special. Someone let him in from down the street. Ten minutes later, lights came on in a window upstairs. I didn’t need to go up. I already knew.
The next morning, he kissed me goodbye and claimed he had a meeting early. I smiled and wished him luck. I sat on the couch and cried as soon as the door closed. It wasn’t that they didn’t know, but that they wanted to be wrong.
That afternoon, I called Mira. She used to be a friend of mine in college, and now she’s a lawyer. She didn’t say “I’m sorry” or “I told you so.” She asked, “What do you want to do?”
I said I didn’t know. But I truly did. I just wasn’t ready to say it out loud.
That week, I scheduled a reservation at the restaurant where we visited for our first anniversary. I told him I wanted to talk to him again. His eyes lit up, like a man who had messed up and was given a second chance.
I wore the red dress he liked. I styled my hair the same way it was when we first met. He said I looked great. I smiled.
As dessert was coming, I reached into my bag and offered him a folded picture. The picture is clear, however it has a lot of noise. That flat, him. You are holding hands with someone you don’t know.
His face turned completely white. “What’s this?”
I drank my water. “I think you know.”
He stammered. She told me her name was Clara. She made it clear that it wasn’t a big deal. He admitted he was wrong. He didn’t mean for things to become this bad.
I held his hand. “Do you know what hurts the most? Lying doesn’t hurt as much as other things. But you were really careless. You put her underwear in our bed and then looked me in the eye and lied for weeks.
He apologized. He asked. But I was already awake. I set the key to the house on the table.
“You made a choice.” I’m finally able to deal with it.
And I went. Stay calm. Stay steady. No cost.
For the following few weeks, everything was a blur. I stayed with Mira. I didn’t take him to court or try to ruin his life. All I wanted was peace.
I ran into Dante one afternoon while I was out collecting groceries. I hadn’t seen him in years. Dante was a friend from high school. A smile that was warm. We put almond milk and cinnamon toast in a cart.
We got coffee that weekend. Then it’s time for lunch. He didn’t ask a lot of questions. I just heard. Laughed. It gave me back my sense of self.
Love didn’t interest me. I was just starting to breathe.
At the same time, stories started to spread. Clara, yes, Clara, was going to have a kid. I got a call from my ex saying he missed me. He admitted that he was wrong. I said goodbye and continued on with my life.
Clara wasn’t even pregnant with his child, it turns out. Two months later, she wrote me a text to say she was sorry. She said she didn’t know he was married. She said goodbye to him. That he had also told her a falsehood.
I didn’t respond right away. After that, I did.
“It wasn’t your fault.” I pray you have peace and a life free of lies.
Sometimes, the other woman isn’t the evil person. Sometimes, she’s just another woman who has been hurt by a man who can’t be honest.
That night with the underwear? It was dumb. Little. Maybe a little nuts. But it was also the time when I stopped hunting for answers and started coming up with them on my own.
I now have my own little place to live. Just my. I decorate anyway I like. No secrets in the drawers. The bedding don’t smell weird.
Dante and I are taking our time. I love his kid. We’re going to the park. We make pancakes on Sundays. There is no drama. Take a deep breath. Laughter. Silence.
One night, Mira and I were drinking wine on my balcony when she asked, “Do you wish you had talked to him right away?”
I thought about it and smiled. “Not at all. He would have just lied if I had. That night helped me understand things better. And take charge.
Sometimes, not saying anything is louder than yelling. There are times when walking away is the wisest thing to do.
And what about getting better? You start to recover when you stop accepting less than what you deserve.
