I Was An Accidental Other Woman — Now We’re Happily Married
I never thought something like this would happen to me, but I can’t be sorry about it.
I don’t have the world’s best track record with men; I’ll be the first to admit that. I’d like to tell you after years of experience, I’ve gotten better at recognizing red flags. Mostly, that’s true. Gone are the days I ignore the signs of abuse on the horizon, thankfully. I’ve worked hard to do the internal work on my own trauma.
Apparently, that wasn’t the case with infidelity.
No one enjoys being cheated on, I imagine. Unless you’re in a cuckold relationship, it’s doubtful you wake up in the morning thinking, “I hope my partner sneaks around today and has sex with someone else.”
By the same standard, I don’t believe most people actively desire to be the person sneaking around with married or otherwise engaged people. I’m sure there are exceptions to that, seeing the number of folks actively engaging in infidelity. But for me, it’s never been my thing.
Partners cheated on me enough in the past, I never wanted to be the other woman, the dirty little secret.
When Damian and I first met, I’d been separated from my husband for six months. I was looking for a long-term relationship, but not in any big hurry for it to happen. Damian responded to an advertisement I placed on Craigslist, ticking all the boxes.
We took a little time to meet in person, and I was okay with that. We spent that time getting to know one another better rather than jumping right into bed. Conversations went on into the night and early morning, discussing anything and everything. I even did the one thing I hated, I spoke to him on the phone, and it didn’t feel forced or stunted. We just talked, and the conversations flowed like we’d known one another forever.
It all seemed so perfect.
Our first weekend together was simply magical. And it wasn’t just because the sex was fantastic. I was concerned once we got together in person, the conversations wouldn’t flow as well, that we’d somehow run out of things to talk about or be awkward around one another. But that never happened. It still hasn’t. I don’t think we slept much over those two glorious days. We were both sad when he had to leave on Sunday to prepare for the next week of work out of town.
Things went along swimmingly for four or five months before the first red flag came into play. We were hanging out one weekend like usual when a text came across his phone. He’d handed it to me to watch a YouTube video, and the notification floated across the top of the screen while I was holding it.
K: I love you.
My heart sank. I’d never heard the name K before, and I definitely had no idea why she was texting her affection to my boyfriend. Only a minute remained on the video, so I let it continue to play while my mind churned.
Once the song ended, I handed him the phone and told him he had a message.
Then, I waited.
I have to hand it to him. He handled it pretty well. The look on his face was practiced calm. He never faltered or looked shocked or scared. As I stared him down like I wanted to eat him, and not in a good way, he responded to the text (I presume) and put the phone down.
“Who is K? And why does she love you?”
“She’s a friend I’ve known forever. Her boyfriend’s name is D, too. She just messaged the wrong D. It’s no biggie.”
I’m not stupid. No, I didn’t believe a word of that explanation. But without further proof, there really wasn’t much I could do beyond accusing him of something I wasn’t sure of or just walking away. I didn’t want to walk away, so I waited.
A few months passed, and no further flags were dropped. I hadn’t forgotten Ms. K or her professions of love, but I wasn’t actively trying to think of it either. Things were going so well for us, and I didn’t want to rock the boat.
Until I did.
It was the third weekend of November, and although, on the surface, I felt things were good, something continued to niggle at the back of my mind. Damian was home for the weekend, but I just had to know if my awful feeling was right. So I began searching.
What I found could not have surprised me more.
I knew her first name and had a good idea of where she lived. Obviously, I knew his name and where he lived. I put two and two together in the Facebook search bar and found wedding photos from the previous weekend.
My boyfriend of almost 7 months had gotten married, and not to me.
I was sitting on the toilet when the pictures appeared on my phone. He was lying in our bed in the next room. I yelled from the bathroom.
“Hey, did you get married last weekend?”
“Fuck…yeah.”
“Interesting. That is information I probably should have been given ahead of time.”
“I can explain.”
I don’t think I cried then. I know I did later. Part of me just wanted him to get the fuck out of my house and out of my life. I don’t know if I had ever felt so betrayed, which is saying a lot considering the level of bullshit I’ve tolerated in my life. But the other part of me wanted him to stay. Stay, and explain what the fuck he was thinking. And where, if anywhere, we went from here.
Because of everything I’d been, I’d never been the other woman in what I thought was a monogamous relationship. And I didn’t know if I wanted to be now.
There’s a lot I could tell you about why, the logistics of the entire ordeal, but it’s not germane to the story. I stayed. He filed for divorce 366 days after they were married. They weren’t a couple in the traditional sense of things to begin with. It’s one of the strangest situations I’ve ever encountered, but not my story to tell.
But I was still the other woman for a year and a half, part of which I had no idea. And I remained so, even after finding out. Had you asked me before this happened, if I would, I would have told you absolutely not.
We never truly know what we’d do until we’re in a situation.
For me, it boils down to this — I wanted it to work and was willing to do what it took to make that happen under one condition: that he put in the work on himself to make that happen, too. Obviously, that had to happen. I wasn’t the one who was in two relationships, he was, but I had to decide whether I thought it was worth the effort.
We’ve had our ups and downs since I won’t lie. Trust has been a huge issue for us, but it’s gotten better. It’s been eight years now since we met. We’ve been married for almost six. I can’t say I wouldn’t change anything because, at the heart of it all, I’ll always know our relationship began with a lie. That I was a dirty little secret.
However, thinking back now, even though it still hurts to consider that, it’s in the past, and it’s just a blip on the radar.
Given the chance, I wouldn’t go back and choose not to meet him. I wouldn’t want to. Regardless of how it began, we’ve made our way, slowly but surely, and are making a life I’m proud to be a part of. Since then, so much has happened, and what we’re dealing with now, with his wrongful conviction and subsequent incarceration, is so much bigger than that. Our relationship now is stronger than it’s ever been. We had a rocky start, but it did cause us to put in a lot of work internally and become a strong unit.
So although I don’t recommend this kind of beginning, nor do I condone cheating in any way. For us, it forced a lot of work that made us stronger for things that came later, and we’re better people for it today.
Damian story:
