statistic

Long before all of this began, You once told me very matter-of-factly that all men will eventually be unfaithful to their wives. I remember disagreeing with you.

I grew up in a family of broken families. It was a household of women resigned to the fact that their men will eventually stray. I remember thinking what a tragic, pessimistic outlook it was. I also remember thinking that I would do better.

Look at me now. Off of my high horse, I have been reduced to just another statistic that mocks the sanctity of marriage.

I have examined, over and over again, the events that have led to this. We had both painted such glorious pictures of our homes that no one could have seen the cracks in the veneer. On my part, I had always felt comfortable with you. You were the platonic friend. You were the confidant. But most of all, you were the safe bet. I rationalised that even if I were willing, you would not be.

I was dead wrong.

You asked me yesterday if I would be willing to repair the damage at home. In truth, I had stopped trying to mend cracks at home long before you came around. That was my own undoing. I owe it to my family to try, and over the last few days I have been trying. But I feel empty inside and I do not know how to NOT be.