Summary

The author of a personal story about recovering from his wife's affair discovers further deception regarding a supposed work dinner that never happened and a subsequent message from her affair partner, leading to a new level of betrayal and a request for honesty.

Abstract

In the seventh part of his narrative, the author recounts the progression of his relationship after uncovering his wife's affair. Initially, he felt compelled to write about his experiences, but after a period of relative quiet, new revelations surface three-and-a-half weeks post-discovery. He confronts his wife about the veracity of the work dinner, leading to her eventual admission that it was a fabrication. This revelation is followed by the discovery of a message from the affair partner on LinkedIn, which his wife had concealed, violating the trust and conditions the author had set for their reconciliation. The author expresses his pain and frustration over the continuous lies but also a sense of relief at finally receiving the truth, emphasizing his need for honesty above all else.

Opinions

The author harbors a strong desire for honesty from his wife, viewing it as more important than the pain that comes with the truth.
He is skeptical of his wife's stories and insists on verification, indicating a lack of trust has developed since the affair was revealed.
The author's discovery of the LinkedIn message suggests he has a persistent suspicion and is vigilant for signs of continued communication with the affair partner.
He expresses a sense of betrayal and hurt upon learning about the planned nature of the affair and the subsequent message, feeling that his wife has not fully committed to rebuilding their marriage.
The author's judgment of the affair partner as a "dumbass" reflects his contempt and perhaps a way to cope with the situation.
He is critical of his wife's justification for withholding information, recognizing it as a pattern of behavior that undermines their relationship's recovery.

Back to Square One

This is part seven of my story of recovering from my wife’s affair and rebuilding our marriage. If you haven’t already, please start at the beginning with part one.

I thought things were going so well.

I wrote everything prior to this within about two weeks of finding out about the affair.

I felt like I had written what I needed to at the time, so I stopped, at least for the time being. It’s now three-and-a-half weeks since finding out, and things have changed.

On Thursday, January 6, three weeks after my discovery of the affair, I confronted my wife again about my persistent suspicion that the dinner with coworkers was only a cover story and never actually took place. She said she had no communications to prove it, so I asked her to send an email to one of the coworkers who was there. Just something like “Hey, what was the date we met up for dinner?” She acted annoyed that I couldn’t just believe her and let it go, even got a little mad at me, but then she composed the email in front of me. Her mannerisms as she got ready to send it just didn’t sit right with me. She seemed nervous and skittish, pausing frequently during the process like she was trying to figure out a way out of it, or maybe whether she should just admit the truth. Finally, she hit send and told me I’d know she was telling the truth when the reply came back.

That day and the next, there was no reply. But, I thought, it wasn’t the type of question that demanded an immediate response, so giving my wife’s coworker a couple of days to get back to her seemed reasonable.

But for some reason, on Sunday morning I woke up with a new certainty — one of these early morning revelations that have hit me out of nowhere throughout this whole ordeal. I was suddenly certain that there was no work dinner, and that we would not receive a reply (or perhaps my wife had already deleted the coworker’s “What are you talking about?” response). When my wife got up that morning, I confronted her again.

I asked her not to interrupt or even react in any way until I was finished. I began telling her why I was now so certain there was no dinner. I laid it all out again, how it seemed like a cover story from the beginning, how it had just never solidified in my mind as something that actually happened, how she had no way to prove it, even in this age of emails and direct messages.

A few minutes into what I was saying, she did interrupt me, but only to quietly admit, “There was no work dinner.”

I let the admission sink in. I mostly felt relief. Through all of this, I have craved honesty more than anything, even when it hurt.

And this did hurt, too. It removed the semi-spontaneity from the original story that they had planned to just meet for drinks then things developed somewhat unexpectedly from there. This was now a full-on dinner date — with hotel rooms conveniently booked nearby — between my wife and a married man. It was now a fully-planned, very intentional affair.

As she had walked out the door that afternoon in late November for her “work dinner,” I had offhandedly and jokingly said, “Don’t have an affair.” Saying that was a relic of my being a little weirded out by her original request to get a hotel room. I wasn’t actually suspicious at all; it was just a joke. But it hurts deeply now to know that she heard me say that, knew that having an affair was what she fully intended to do, then walked out the door anyway.

We talked about this for a while. I was upset and angry that I had been continually lied to, but grateful to finally have the truth.

At some point during this conversation, her LinkedIn account came up. I asked if she had disconnected from him on that platform. She said she didn’t think they were connected to begin with, and offered to let me check her account on her laptop. She fired it up and let me sit down in front of it.

I’m not sure why she volunteered to let me look, as it only took a few clicks to see that 1) he was still a connection on LinkedIn, and 2) he had sent her a message on December 20, four days after I had found out about the affair. It was an innocent-sounding message, asking if work was slowing down for the “Hollidays.” Unnecessarily capitalized “H,” extraneous “l.” I’ve tried hard over my life to become less judgmental of people, especially those who may be less intellectually gifted, but with this guy, why should I even try to hold back? He’s a dumbass.

This hit much harder than the dinner revelation. I had told my wife over and over: “If you hear even one peep from him, you have to tell me immediately, or else it’s over. I don’t know how I’d ever be able to trust you again.” Each time, she had vociferously agreed that she would.

Now, she told me that was the only time she had heard from him, that she had ignored it, and that she thought she had deleted the message. She said she had not told me about it because she didn’t want to hurt me again. That was becoming a common excuse as each lie was revealed. I had begged her for the truth, over and over again, so hiding it from me to “protect” me didn’t make sense, and I would soon find out it wasn’t her real reason.

Part eight.