24April
Im sitting in the corner of the little café on Kings Road, a halffinished cappuccino cooling in front of me. Laura, my longtime friend, is across the table, hunched over her mug. Her eyes are glazed, her fingers limp on the table, as if all the colour has been leached from the world.
What did he do? I ask, choking on the bitter coffee.
Olivia leans forward, her voice barely a whisper. He cheated with a colleague. I found the messages.
I exhale hard, shaking my head. Blimey, theyre all the same, arent they? Every bloke, every time. Remember when Tom left me three years ago? I thought Id never get past that hurt. It felt like the end of everything.
Olivia lifts her gaze, a flicker of hope breaking through the gloom. Someone will understand, you know? she asks. How did you cope?
I shrug, feeling the absurdity of my own story. I didnt. He was on his knees, begging for forgiveness, pleading not to take our son, Leo, away. He called it a mistake, said hed never do it again. I thought about it for three days and then I forgave him. What else was there to do?
She stirs her coffee slowly, even though she never adds sugar, just to keep her hands busy. I dont know what to do, Laura, she admits, voice trembling. Im lost.
I laugh, almost too lightly, as if we were debating a new dress rather than a shattered marriage. Listen, try to squeeze something out of him, I say. A pricey gift, a holiday to the coast, cash for a coatlet him pay for his sins in full. Then you can decide whether to stay. Its still a family, not just a fling.
Olivias shoulders tense. Money? Gifts? Can any of that truly replace betrayal?
How could you ever trust him again after an affair? she asks, eyes fixed on mine. Is that even possible?
I wave it off. Ive long since put it behind me. Forget it, and youll seetime heals everything. Dont make a mountain out of a molehill, and stop beating yourself up every day.
We talk about trivial things for a while longer, finish our coffees, and part at the café door. I linger, walking home slowly, knowing Victor is waitingmy husband, the man who betrayed me with his seniordepartment colleague, tearing apart a sevenyear marriage in one careless act.
Will I ever forgive him? Im not sure.
At home, Victor circles me like a loyal dog, brewing tea, asking if Im hungry, draping a blanket over the sofa when I sit down. He apologises repeatedlyten, twenty, a hundred times a daybrings flowers so often the flat looks like a greenhouse.
Inside me, however, something has gone cold. I look at him and see only the man who broke my trust.
Olivia, Ive brought your favourite roses, he says this evening, extending another bouquet.
I take the flowers mechanically and place them in the vase, feeling no joy or gratitude. Im just doing what Im supposed to.
The weekend I visit Mum at her cottage in the Cotswolds, hoping for a sympathetic ear. Sitting at the old oak kitchen table, I finally speak.
Mum, I cant forgive him. Im trying, honestly, but I cant. Every time I look at Victor I think about leaving.
Mum snaps around, voice sharp. What are you talking about, love? All men cheat, thats just the way it is. Youre being too picky. As a married woman youre expected to endure, otherwise youll end up alone and useless!
I try to protest. But Mum, this is my life, my feelings. Do I have to swallow my pride? How can I live with the man who betrayed me?
She scoffs. Pride? Youre thirtytwo, dear. Whos going to look at you now? Victor is a good bloke, hardworking, doesnt drink. He slipped up oncewho hasnt? Just forgive and move on.
I leave the cottage heavyhearted, the same refrain echoing everywhere: forgive, forget, endure.
Back home Victor is making dinner, chopping veg for a salad, stirring something on the hob. I used to find his kitchen antics endearing; now they make me want to vomit. Every movement of his irritates me; I watch his back and feel the urge to shout.
A week later my motherinlaw, Mrs. Parker, drops by. Victors gone, deliberately, to give the women some private time.
Mrs. Parker settles into the armchair, forcing a smile. Olivia, dear, my son made a terrible mistake, but hes asked for forgiveness, hasnt he? Hes remorseful, isnt he?
I sit rigid, hands clenched. Mrs. Parker, it hurts a lot. I cant just snap my fingers and forgive. Its not that simple.
She leans forward, eyes hard. You cant? You must forgive my son. Do you think youre the only one whos been cheated on? Thousands of women put up with it and carry on. Are you special?
I dont want to endure this, I whisper.
She raises her voice. What do you want, then? To be alone? At your age suitors arent exactly lining up. And you still need to have a child. If you have a baby, Victor will stay home more, wont look elsewhere.
Her words leave me in a whirl. Everyone around me insists I should forgive, but no one acknowledges the depth of my pain, the feeling that something inside has finally broken.
Two more weeks pass, a tugofwar between keeping the family and realizing I no longer trust Victor.
One evening Victor suggests we go out for a drink, like the old days. I agree, hoping maybe a night out will clarify things.
We sit at a table in a quiet bistro, I slip to the restroom to splash cold water on my face. The chill steadies my thoughts. I decide Ill give him one more chance.
Back at the table, Victor is chatting with the waitress, his hand resting on her wrist, smiling broadlya grin I havent seen in years. He leans in, whispering something to her.
In that instant I understand: I will never be able to forgive. I will never be able to forget, to pretend his infidelity never happened. The thought of him flirting, of me constantly suspecting, is unbearable.
I stand, ask for the bill, and say calmly, Please bring the check.
Victor looks confused. Olivia, we havent even started eating.
I need to go home, I reply, eyes fixed beyond him.
At the flat I head straight to the bedroom, grab my suitcase.
Im leaving, Victor.
What? Olivia, what are you saying? he stammers at the doorway.
Ive thought it through. This marriage isnt for me. You should find a wife who wont be haunted by cheating. For me, its too great a betrayal. Ill never forget it.
He reaches for my hand; I slip away.
Wait, please, talk to me! he pleads.
Theres nothing left to say. Its over.
I pack, call a taxi. He begs, promises anything, but Im done listening. The argument loses its meaning.
Soon after I file for divorce.
Calls keep coming. Mum cries into the phone, calling me foolish and naive. Laura accuses me of destroying the marriage. Mrs. Parker shouts that Ive ruined a solid family.
I didnt destroy anything, I answer calmly. Victor did when he cheated, and now Im looking after myself.
Three years later
Im making a coffee in the kitchen of a modest flat in Bristol. The door opens and Max walks in, embracing me from behind.
Morning, love, he says, planting a kiss on my cheek.
We met a year ago, both scarred by betrayal, both knowing that pain. Im certain now that Max will never betray me. Never.
