The day I found out my husband had cheated on me was a very ordinary one. I had dropped the kids off at school, put in a load of laundry, and sat down at our kitchen table to tackle some long-overdue receipt filing. As I sorted through the crumpled stack, my mind wandered to what I'd order for dinner at the local restaurant my husband and I were heading to that night. The gnocchi, I thought. The gnocchi was always good. I was looking forward to a real conversation with Damien;* with three boys, it could feel like days went by without talking about anything other than soccer schedules, grades, and who let the dog onto the couch this time. My train of thought was interrupted by the receipt in my hand: a room service bill from the Dallas hotel my husband had stayed at a month earlier while on a business trip, and it listed $150 for one meal. He was overcharged, I thought, and just didn't notice. But then I looked at the items on the check: two of everything—and a bottle of champagne. An icy grip crept up the back of my neck. Damien had texted me that night from Dallas to say he was turning in early and that he was looking forward to getting home. It didn't add up. All day, I worried. I was sure there was some kind of explanation, but the gaping pit in my stomach said otherwise. As the evening approached, I went through the motions of getting ready for dinner. But I was dreading it. I had no idea how to broach the topic of the room service check. It took all my willpower to smile a welcome to Damien, kiss the kids good night, say good-bye to the babysitter, and leave for the restaurant without saying a word about anything. But as soon as the waiter handed me a glass of wine, I had to ask Damien what was going on. (Sign up for Prevention's free newsletters to get relationship advice, health tips, clean recipes, and more delivered straight to your inbox.) I just blurted it out, and the second I saw his face drop, I knew. He hesitated. He couldn't look me in the eye. "Honey, I… I am so sorry," he managed to get out. The rage hit me right in the chest, but I felt strangely calm, like I was just watching the conversation and wasn't in it. He told me he'd gotten to talking with a woman during a networking event that day, and he knew that the flirting was wrong but he didn't think it would go further. It did. I went numb as he told me he'd had a few drinks and got caught up in the moment, that he kept telling himself he wasn't going to sleep with her, but he just let it get out of hand. He almost winced as he said he'd forgotten what it was like to have someone pay attention to him like that. It had never happened before, and he never wanted it to happen again. Tears filled his eyes when he told me that he loved me and that he never wanted to hurt me or the family. He had, he claimed, not seen or spoken to her since and felt terrible about what happened.
