I am now approaching 4 years into recovery from my partner’s infidelity. An 8½ year relationship with a coworker, who was half my age, which consisted of secret little tête-a-têtes, emails, texts, private messages on social media and pages of yearning poetry.
This unenviable anniversary means I am well and truly into “Trigger season”, where everything is a reminder of what went on 4 years ago (and, so it would appear, the preceding 8+ years). I have already survived the anniversary of when they last met in person. I am sure OH is oblivious to all these dates, that are seared onto my brain. If only I could forget as easily!
Yesterday was the anniversary of the texts I saw I saw on DDay1. Texts about how good it was to meet and the “hidden delights” of venues near her place of work. *gag*
Yesterday I had arranged to visit my daughter and grandson, to distract me from this date. She said she had a clinic appointment for my grandson and would I mind going along with her for moral support. Of course I didn’t mind. What I didn’t realise, until too late, was that the route to the appointment took us directly past the OW’s house! I have to admit there were places I would rather have been, yesterday especially, but I not only survived it, I felt able to look at it squarely and metaphorically spit at it. Go me!
Since shortly after DDay, OH and I have vowed to talk about our respective days each evening in the spirit of openness and honesty. Only, almost exactly to the day, one year after DDay, OH hid from me the fact that he had a business meeting on the street where she lived. I found out a week later and it completely devastated me. It was like another DDay and set me back months of recovery. So, last night, I admit I did (just for a moment) consider not telling OH where I had been yesterday. But that would have broken my promise to him and to myself, so I told him. He didn’t say a word. Never even responded. It was as if the words never left my mouth. He certainly didn’t comment on how hard that must have been for me or attempt to comfort me in any way.
I am not sure what to make of that.