A fictionalized account of bereavement and betrayal.
We had been together for five years when my girlfriend miscarried. The loss changed our days in ways neither of us knew how to discuss. At work, she began taking lunchtime walks with a colleague nearly twenty years older than her.
I noticed her becoming distant. When I finally asked, she said she had feelings for him and that they had kissed. Later, I saw intimate messages, including exchanges sent while we were away together. They called each other “twin flames.” I was still trying to understand how our relationship had acquired a second story without my knowing.
We agreed to try again. For a while, I believed that meant the affair had ended and the relevant truth had been told.
Six months later, the distance returned. I suggested separating. A week afterward, she told me that their involvement had included sex on several occasions. The disclosure changed my understanding of the months in which I thought we had been rebuilding.
I packed my things and left. During the following two weeks, she asked me to return. I was not ready to consider that request while still discovering what had happened.
The colleague was married. Beyond that, I cannot reliably explain his motives or diagnose the way he behaved. Nor can I reduce my girlfriend’s choices to our grief. The loss deserved care; the deception required an answer of its own.
What hurt most was having agreed to a fresh start without the information needed to decide what I was accepting. I could mourn the relationship and the future we had imagined without treating another reconciliation as something I owed her.
