The Aftermath

Author's Note: As I am attempting to write from a female perspective, I figured it would be wise to ask for a second opinion to ensure that I got the "voice" right. I thank luedon for accepting my call for help.

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My name is Ashley Cranston, and I have a confession to make. I cheated on my husband. I had sex with another man. I know what you're thinking, and you're right. I am an awful person. I'm a rotten cheating bitch. A whore. A slut. Whatever vile words you have to describe me, I deserve them all. I have no excuse for what I did, and I would give anything to turn back time and undo it. If only I could relieve the guilt I carry or the pain I've caused by marching through the streets naked with a red letter "A" permanently tattooed on my chest, I would gladly do so. Unfortunately, there are no easy fixes. What's done is done, and now I have to live with the consequences for the rest of my life.

I suppose your next question is: why did I do it? I've been asking myself that same question since it happened, and I've come up with few satisfactory answers. I've read that most men have affairs because of opportunity, while women have affairs because they feel there is something missing from their lives. I was happy with my life, however, and had few complaints. My husband, Brian, and I had been happily married for more than nine years when this happened. Our happy and healthy daughter, Haley, had just begun first grade. Our marriage was rock-solid, we had a healthy sex life, our careers were flourishing, and we were heading in a good direction financially. In other words, I didn't cheat on my husband because I was unsatisfied with any aspect of my life or because I sought revenge for something that he did to me.

I've read that when men cheat, they often have "one-night stands" with complete strangers, while women who cheat generally do so with someone they know well - usually a friend, neighbor, or co-worker. Again, however, my experience was atypical. Although he was technically a co-worker, I cheated with someone who was practically a stranger to me. Before meeting him in person a few days prior to the incident, he meant nothing more to me than a friendly voice on the phone.

My husband and I met while working for the same company. We had both recently graduated from college and were putting in long hours at the office in an effort to work our way up the corporate ladder. We dated for several years before we married. Although we had both wanted to have children eventually, we thought it was important to establish our careers before diving into parenthood. Then our little girl came along, somewhat unexpectedly. Although she was a pleasant surprise, she tossed a monkey wrench into my career plans.

Brian and I made the joint decision that I would stay home and care for Haley until she was old enough to attend school. When that time came, I returned to the workforce. I was not only anxious to re-launch my career, but I was excited to be out of the house for the first time in many years. My new employers sent me on a business trip to California, 2,700 miles away from home, for a week-long training session. That is when I was introduced to a man named Russell Cochrane.

Russell had been with the company for many years, and was in the process of transitioning to a new position with another company. He was asked to stay behind for an extra week so that he could train me. At first, I was a bit intimidated by him, given his knowledge and experience. But he was very patient and reassuring, and his casual demeanor quickly put me at ease.

We worked together closely every hour of every day that week as Russell taught me the tricks of his trade. Not only was it easy working with him, but I genuinely enjoyed his company. He was very charming and funny in a self-deprecating way, and he lavished me with subtle compliments throughout the week. I admit I was flattered. He was ten, perhaps fifteen, years older than I was, and his attention made me feel like a younger, hotter, woman than I perceived myself at that time. Although he wasn't necessarily the type of man I normally found handsome, I found myself attracted to him in an inexplicable way.

By the time my training ended, I was so mentally-exhausted I didn't even bother to change my clothes before heading straight to the hotel bar. I didn't notice him when he entered the bar, as I was preoccupied with my cellphone. Until that moment, I wasn't even aware that he was staying at the same hotel. I was startled when he suddenly appeared at my table, asking if he could join me. Before I could respond, he pulled up a chair, placed his drink on the table, and seamlessly engaged me in a casual conversation.

We chatted for quite a long time. I couldn't even tell you what we discussed. I was simply grateful that the topic of our conversations moved away from the office. I was glad to have his company. He had some interesting tales to tell. I found him captivating, and he seemed to really listen to what I had to say.

I like to think that my decision to sleep with Russell was completely spontaneous, as if it were guided by some invisible hand of fate over which I had no control. Perhaps I had too much wine at the bar, and could no longer think rationally. Or perhaps I simply used drunkenness as an excuse to do what I did.

The truth is that at some point that evening, I made the conscious decision to shut down the part of my brain that had dominated my every thought throughout my life and simply "live within the moment." I had always been completely faithful to Brian from the moment we first met. My behavior that night was so completely out of character that I have spent many nights trying to understand how and why it happened.

I lost track of the time. After several more rounds of drinks, the bartender announced that the bar was closing. Russell offered to walk me back to my room. I should have said no, but I wanted to be in his company just a little while longer and figured there was no harm in it. Although we had been flirting throughout the night, I convinced myself that I could - and would - put an end to it at any moment. When we reached my door, however, I realized that we had reached a point of no return. I could see it in his eyes. He knew I felt the same way.

He pulled me toward him and kissed me. I wish I could say I pushed him away, but I didn't. My heart was racing and my head was spinning. I admit that it was thrilling. It was naughty. I was fully-aware that it was wrong. I had spent my entire lifetime trying my best to live a good and noble life, and yet I felt myself being drawn into a dark pit of temptation. I felt utterly helpless and out of control. I swiped my key card and opened the door to my room.

***

When I returned home, Brian greeted me with a warm hug and kiss, and Haley quickly followed, asking if I'd brought her any souvenirs. We all shared a nice dinner together that evening, reconnecting and providing updates on our week. Brian and I then read a story to Haley together at her bedside. That night, Brian and I made love. Life returned to normal for everyone except me. I could not bear the weight of the guilt that hung like a lead ballast tied around my heart. After we made love that night, I quietly sobbed in the bathroom for nearly an hour. Luckily, Brian fell asleep immediately and didn't notice.

I carried that weight with me day after day. I desperately wanted to talk to someone about it, and nearly called my sister. Ultimately, I decided that I would deal with it myself. For all intents and purposes, I had gotten away with the "perfect crime." No one knew what had happened except me and Russell - and Russell had moved on to another company and would never see me again. Brian could never find out about what I did unless I told him.

For days and days, I weighed my options. Brian and I always had a strong relationship built on complete and total trust and honesty. I had never kept even the most benign secret from him, and as far as I knew, neither had he. It broke my heart knowing that he didn't have a clue what took place in California. I felt that he had a right to know. I would want to know if I were in his shoes.

Or would I?

"Ignorance is bliss," as they say. I knew my husband well, and this news would devastate him. He trusted me so deeply that he had never once questioned my faithfulness in all the years we had been together. If he learned the truth, it would shatter his worldview. He would question everything about me and our marriage. He would likely never trust me again. Every time I stepped outside our front door, he would wonder who I was with and what I was doing. Our marriage would never be the same again.

As the days since "the incident" turned into weeks, I grew more and more paranoid. I was scared to death that I would slip up somehow. What I had done was bad enough, but not telling him about it seemed like an even greater act of deception and betrayal. Brian would occasionally catch me while I was deep in thought and ask me what was wrong. He could always tell when something was bothering me, and yet I couldn't tell him this time. I had always been a terrible liar, so I would simply tell him it was nothing. I could tell, however, that he knew better.

There was another issue stoking my paranoia: Russell and I hadn't used protection. I didn't worry about pregnancy, since I had my tubes tied after Haley was born. But what if Russell had given me a sexually-transmitted disease, and then I passed it onto Brian? I began doing research about various STD's, studying symptoms and incubation periods. I considered getting tested, but which tests would I take? And what if Brian found out about it? Russell was an older man who was recently divorced after a long marriage. What were the odds that he was carrying an STD? After more than a month had passed, I came to the conclusion that I had avoided that potential issue as well. More so than ever, I began to feel that my infidelity would never be discovered.

Then I realized that all of my web searches into various STD's were captured in my browser history on our shared laptop. In a panic, I frantically erased as much as I could from my search history. Not that Brian would ever check, but I wanted to be absolutely certain that I had left behind zero evidence. My paranoia became my daily companion as I considered one scenario after another in which my misdeed might be discovered by my husband before I could have a chance to tell him the truth.

I couldn't take the pressure of the constant stress on my emotions any longer. I had begun to lose weight, as I had trouble eating. I tossed and turned in bed each night. I had difficulty thinking straight, and began making costly mistakes at work. Although I was treating Brian like a king in an effort to overcompensate for what I'd done, I still felt as though I were cheating on him with each passing day I didn't confess. I reached a breaking point. Whatever the cost would be, I had to tell him. It was the right thing to do.

We sent Haley away to a week-long summer camp. If ever there were a perfect opportunity to confess, that was it. I imagined that Brian would be incredibly angry. He would likely shout and curse. Although I was sure he wouldn't hit me or become ultra-violent, I imagined that he might throw something against a wall or break something. I didn't want our daughter to be exposed to any of that.

Needless to say, I was as nervous as I have ever felt when the two of us sat at the kitchen table on that fateful afternoon. I had rehearsed what I would say to him in my head for so long, and yet when the time came to deliver this crushing news, my throat was so constricted, and my voice shook so violently, I'm surprised he was able to understand a word I said.

As expected, he shouted and called me every name imaginable. He slammed his fist on the table so hard I thought it would crack, and he paced across the kitchen floor like a caged animal. Before I could say another word, he stormed out of the house. I waited all night for him to return, and fell asleep on the couch. I tried calling and texting his cellphone, but he refused to respond. I don't know where he stayed that night, but he didn't return until the following afternoon.

When he stepped through the front door, I hardly recognized him. He looked as though he had slept in his clothes, and the expression on his face reminded me of a photo I once saw of soldiers returning from battle. That is the moment I began to question whether I had made the right decision by confessing my sin.

He didn't say a word. He simply walked past me and sat at the kitchen table. With great hesitancy, I eventually joined him. He stared at me for quite a while. I had trouble looking him at him. The pain behind his eyes went straight to my heart. In that moment, I thought I had made the wrong decision by confessing. He would be so happy at that moment if I hadn't told him what I had done. Perhaps it was selfish of me to relieve my guilt at his expense.

"Why?" he asked. His voice was unusually raspy.

I shook my head. Tears streaked down my cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Brian."

"Why?" he repeated.

"I...I don't know," I replied. My throat clenched, making it difficult to speak. "I wish I had a better answer. But I don't know."

"Are you unhappy about something?" he asked through gritted teeth. "Am I not good enough for you?"

"You're the best—"

"Have I not given you enough? All those years you stayed home with Haley while I busted my ass. The food on our table, the roof over our heads, the clothes on your back. What did I not provide you with?"

I wept uncontrollably. I tried to dry my tears with a tissue, but they just kept coming. I had no answers for him.

He continued with his interrogation. "Is he handsome? Good in bed? Big dick? Did he give it to you nice and hard?"

I shook my head. "Please, Brian."

"Please, what? How many times did you cum? Did you suck his dick? Tell me everything."

"Please...stop," I pleaded.

"No," he said. "I want to know. Every fucking detail. I want to know what you two said to each other. I want to know exactly what you did to each other. You claim that you've always been honest with me? Prove it. Honestly tell me everything that happened."

I couldn't take any more of his interrogation. This time, it was I who ran for the door. I could barely see the road as I sped away from our house. I didn't even have a destination in mind. I just knew I had to get away. I had expected the confrontation to be a horrendous experience, but I wasn't prepared for how painful it actually was. Why did he need to know details about what happened? Wasn't it bad enough to know that it happened? If the situation were reversed, I wouldn't want to know anything about it!

I thought about driving to my sister's house. We had always shared everything about our lives, and I really could have used her advice at that moment. I didn't want to get her involved, though, until Brian and I had a chance to fully hash it out. I eventually realized that running away was only delaying the inevitable. I would have to face him at some point. I pulled into an empty parking lot and simply sat there for a long time, collecting my thoughts. When I felt I had calmed myself enough to return, I made my way back home.

It looked as though Brian hadn't moved since I left, as he was still seated at the kitchen table. I approached him tentatively. I almost touched him on the shoulder, but thought better of it and sat down across the table from him.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked.

I searched his expression, looking for some explanation as to why he needed to know these things. "It...that's not important. I don't want to answer that, Brian."

"Why not?"

"Why do you need to know that?"

"Who have you told about this?" he asked, changing the subject.

"No one," I responded.

"Not even your sister?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I haven't told anyone."

"Good," he said. "Keep it that way. You've embarrassed me enough already."

Embarrassed him? I should have been the one to be ashamed. "I'm sorry," I said again. "I never meant to hurt you. It just...happened."

"What, you were just so horny you couldn't control yourself?" he sneered. "Since when do you get so horny? We have sex maybe once a week. You couldn't go a week without sex?"

"It...wasn't like that. I...I don't have any explanation that would satisfy you."

"How about just telling me the truth, then?" he asked. "Was it good? Did he make you cum?"

"I don't understand why you want to know that!" I shrieked. "What difference does it make?"

He had put me in an impossible position. Was the sex good? Hell, yeah, it was. Did I cum? Multiple times. Did he have a big dick? Big enough. Was I supposed to tell the truth? Or was I supposed to lie? If I lied, he would see straight through me, and my entire purpose for "coming clean" would be rendered irrelevant. If I told the truth, it would destroy him.

"Because if you enjoyed it, you'll probably do it again and again," he explained. "If you can get better sex somewhere else, what would stop you?"

What he said made zero sense to me. So, if I didn't enjoy myself, then I wouldn't cheat on him again? My decision to sleep with Russell had nothing to do with the quality of the sex I imagined we'd have. I couldn't understand why Brian was so adamant about comparing himself with Russell. Sex with Russell was neither "better" nor "worse" than sex with Brian. It was completely different. There was no comparison to be made.

"Brian," I stated as calmly as possible, "I really think we should see a therapist together."

"Ha!" he laughed. "No fucking way. I know I'll end up taking the blame for this somehow. I'm not satisfying you in bed, so you had to find some strange dick to fuck, right?"

"It's not like that at all!" I protested. "You know that I have always enjoyed making love with you!"

"Then why did you do it?" His eyes were glassy and bloodshot.

"I honestly don't know. If I did, I would tell you, I swear. I was weak. I was intimidated by my new job, and unsure whether I was ready to go back to work. I was feeling very vulnerable and stressful."

"And I suppose I'm to blame for that," he said. "I don't do enough around here to alleviate your stress. I don't support you enough."

I heaved a heavy sigh. "It's not about you, Brian. It's—"

"Don't say it," he said, pointing at my face. "Don't you fucking say 'It's not you; it's me.' If you won't be truthful with me, then how can I ever trust you again? If you don't know why you did it, what on earth would prevent you from doing it again?"

"Because I realize what I did was so wrong, and I see how much it has hurt you, and I never want to hurt you like this ever again!"

He shook his head and stared at a family photo hanging on the wall. He didn't say a word for a long while, and neither did I. We simply sat in silence and contemplated what was to come.

***

That conversation in the kitchen repeated itself many times throughout the week, with only slight variations. He continued to press me for details about that night, and I continued to deny his demands. It seemed that we had reached an impasse. As the day approached when we would need to pick up Haley from summer camp, it felt as though we were working under a deadline. I needed him to resolve this issue, either way, once and for all. He needed to either forgive me or leave me.

I grew frustrated with him. I knew I shouldn't have had any right to be angry with him, given what I had done, and yet I was. I expected him to be angry at me, but instead he seemed to internalize that one-night-stand as a personal affront to his character instead of a weakness of mine. He said he had never felt more inadequate, which I found foolish. I had never known my husband to express such insecurity. He had always seemed so confident. It was a major part of what had attracted him to me in the first place.