I’d always condemned infidelity, then I fell in love with a married man

“He loves me and I love him,” I told a friend. “His kids are grown up It’s time for him to have a life, too.”

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She, as so many would, condemned my actions, making me realise how easy it is to judge others from one’s own perspective. And just how complicated life can be.

“I’d never have an affair with the partner of someone I knew,” I said, feeling the need to defend myself.

She pointed out that the injured party is injured, no matter what. And I had to agree, triggering a bout of self-loathing that lasted until the evening, when it dissolved in the tender embrace of the man I now loved.

As the weeks and months went by, I often had occasion to reflect on my good fortune in having found not one but two great loves in my life. Gradually, the world became a better place, full of smiles and laughter and warmth. Why would I give this up?

It was as if I had been awoken from a deep sleep. My lover laughed when I said this. “Like the princess you are,” he said, hugging me. We were careful. Neither of us wanted any trouble. We drove for miles to go for walks and lunches where neither of us would be recognised. I cherished those times when we could walk hand in hand, sit at a table and laugh together – just like a proper couple.
Lockdown added another layer of subterfuge to the proceedings.

Our concerns for each other and our families prevented any physical contact. But when each period lifted, we found ourselves spending every spare second together. It was intense. And then, perhaps because we were getting to know each other properly, I realised that I loved this man enough to let him go. I’d had enough of being the other woman. We both deserved better.

I ended our love affair late last year. I am still not entirely sure what the catalyst was. Perhaps, in the end, it was simply due to a deeply embedded sense of moral outrage. A feeling that I was a bad human being. In the extremely unlikely event that our affair had been discovered, I would probably have been condemned as a predatory harlot who cares nothing for the sisterhood.

Or maybe I was just tired of the secrecy. Of not being able to introduce him to my family and friends. Whatever the reason, the result is the same – two people now deprived of the kind of love that rarely makes an appearance. A love that makes you feel as if you’ve come home.

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The breakup was predictably messy and hurtful. We both said things we didn’t mean. Neither of us has been in touch, but we both know that each is thinking about the other. Because you can’t just switch love off. Especially love of the kind of intensity this man and I shared.

For most of the time we were together, I was happy with our casual arrangement. But as time went on and it was clear that we were both tumbling head over heels in love, we had touched upon the possibility of one day having more.

A real life together. A home. Whether or not that would have ever happened, who knows?

If I’m honest, now that this wonderful, warm man is no longer in my life – telling me I’m gorgeous,making me feel safe and loved – I regret my decision to end things between us, even though societal values tell me it was the right one. It’s as if, for a while, life was complete again – and the loveless gap that appeared when my husband died has reappeared, only this time it’s more of a yawning chasm.

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I haven’t yet had the strength to delete my ex-lover’s contact details and some days I have to fight with myself not to simply dial his number and try to resurrect what we had. That hasn’t happened – but, hand on heart, I can’t swear that neither of us will cave in.

Because I confess I have a fantasy that involves a fairy-tale ending. Yes, marriage and all. And a big part of me hopes desperately that the fantasy may yet become a reality. I still don’t know exactly what I wanted from a relationship that most of us would simply call an affair, but I do know what I have lost: the love and companionship of someone who made me laugh and made me feel adored and beautiful – and happy.

Stella Magazine, The Sunday Telegraph (UK)

This article appears in Sunday Life magazine within the Sun-Herald and the Sunday Age on sale August 15. To read more from Sunday Life, visit The Sydney Morning Herald and The Age.

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