I’m not proud of it, but I married my husband for his money. It wasn’t even that we were gonna be rich, it was just that he was able to take me out of the life I had and give me something more prestigious and secure. I wanted the money but in many methods, I all the time knew that it was gonna come with a price. I was never expecting to love him, but I didn’t expect it to go the way it did.
From the moment we got married, everything seemed to be perfect. He was doting, sweet and incredibly caring. I found myself enjoying his business and talking to him for hours on end. The sex was fine, not bad, but not fantastic either, but I reasoned that it was still something and at the time it seemed worth it.
But after a few weeks of being married, things started to change. As a businessman, he was often gone and when he would come back, he was more distant than ever. He would maintain that he was working always, leaving us with no time at all to enjoy our newfound wealth and status.
I’ll never forget the day I found out what was going on. It was a Friday and he was supposed to come home early, but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t come back until the next day. When he finally arrived, he was cagey, avoiding my eyes and simply said he had to work. I knew something was off, so I went through his phone when he was sleeping. There it was, the smoking gun. He was having – I hesitated to even think the word.
The next few days I spent trying to convince myself that it couldn’t be true. That it had to be a mistake and that I should talk to my husband about it. But when I finally did, he didn’t even try to deny it, instead saying he couldn’t help himself and couldn’t stop. He talked about how I didn’t have enough sex with him, how lonely and frustrated he felt. It was humiliating to hear.
It would be a few more weeks before we had sex again, and the more we did it, the more I realized that I was the one who was unfulfilled. All of my husband’s infidelities had made me feel less desirable and less loved. My sense of isolation and shame began to grow to the point that I felt like I was drowning in it.
That was when I started having a few more drinks than usual. Wine, whiskey, it didn’t matter. I just wanted to escape my thoughts, my own insecurities, and my own desire. One night, I got so drunk that I came home and was barely able to stand. I remember my husband carrying me to the bedroom and undressing me, tucking me in and leaving.
It was an accident, it really was. I didn’t mean to, but when I woke up in the middle of the night, my body was burning with desire. I knew that this was wrong, but I couldn’t help myself. It was a compulsion, like a fire within me that needed to be quenched.
I stumbled into his office, where he was working on his computer long after I had passed out, and demanded that he come to bed with me. I was so forceful, so insistent that for the first time, he didn’t withstand. He left the work laid out on the desk, moved to the bed, and for the next few hours, we made love with an intensity that we never had before.
When it was over, my body completely exhausted from the passion, I collapsed in his arms, crying myself to sleep. I knew that what we’d done was wrong, but it felt so right, and my husband’s tender embrace in the darkness was all I needed to feel loved and fulfilled.
It was after that night that our relationship started to change. My husband was more attentive, more loving, and more caring. The understanding that we had taken care of each other’s immediate needs, that we had given each other something we’d been withholding, seemed to be the beginning of a new level of intimacy.
A few weeks later, and we were back to our same old routine. My husband would go back to his work, and I would be back to my solitary life. But in those brief moments of intimacy, of passion, we had found something that was missing, something that had long been quelled by the monotony of our daily routines.
And sometimes, when I feel alone, when I feel like I need to be taken care of, I slip into his office and demand he come to bed once again. It’s an arrangement that we’re both complicit in, something that brings us both satisfaction and connection that was lacking for so long.
I know that this is all wrong, and that in some methods, I’m no better than my husband. In truth, I think that our arrangement is something that is both understandable and necessary, especially for those of us that have been betrayed by our unfulfilled or unfaithful partners. Despite the inherent danger of what we’re doing, I can’t help but think that it’s worth it. That sometimes, when life gets too hard and the world feels too lonely, it’s the love that we distribute that gives us the power to surrender to something greater than ourselves.