She rolled her eyes.
“This is exhausting.”
I started feeling exhausted too.
Not because I knew she was cheating.
I didn’t.
Because our marriage had begun requiring me to continuously prove I was not suspicious while everything around me became more suspicious.
Then Meredith started comparing us.
Not directly at first.
“Callum just booked a weekend in Montreal with no plan.”
“Callum left his consulting firm because he hated the culture.”
“Callum says people waste their lives waiting until they feel ready.”
I finally said:
“You talk about him a lot.”
She smiled.
“Jealous?”
“I don’t know.”
“Be honest.”
“Maybe a little.”
I expected reassurance.
Instead, Meredith looked pleased.
“Good.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what does that mean?”
She came closer and kissed me.
“It means maybe you’ll remember I’m still desirable.”
That sentence bothered me for days.
I asked whether she felt undesirable in our marriage.
She said:
“Sometimes.”
That hurt.
But it was something real we could discuss.
So I tried.
I planned dinners.
Suggested a weekend away.
Started coming home earlier.
Meredith accepted some of it.
Then accused me of performing because I was threatened by Callum.
Maybe part of me was.
But I also genuinely wanted to repair whatever we had neglected.
We went to Cape May for a weekend in September.
For the first night, things felt almost normal.
Dinner.
Wine.
A long walk.
We talked about our first apartment.
About trips we wanted to take.
About whether we had waited too long to decide about children.
At midnight, Meredith’s phone vibrated on the hotel nightstand.
She looked at it.
Her entire expression changed.
“Who?”
I asked.
“Work.”
“On Saturday?”
“Yes.”
She turned the screen facedown.
I knew.
I didn’t have proof.
But something inside me knew.
The next morning, I said:
“Was that Callum?”
She stared at me.
“Seriously?”
“Was it?”
“You just ruined the entire weekend.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
She stood.
“I cannot live like this.”
I remember the fear I felt.
Not anger.
Fear.
I thought she meant she was leaving.
So I apologized.
That became the pattern.
Every time I approached the truth, Meredith threatened the marriage indirectly.
Every time, I chose the marriage over the question.
Then, six weeks before the night she left with Callum, she finally admitted they had crossed an emotional line.
We were sitting at our dining table.
Meredith had barely touched dinner.
“I need to tell you something.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“I think Callum and I have unresolved feelings.”
The room became painfully quiet.
“How unresolved?”
She stared at her plate.
“I don’t know.”
“Have you kissed him?”
“No.”
She answered quickly.
Too quickly.
“Have you slept with him?”
“No.”
“Do you want to?”
Her eyes rose.
That was enough.