“I Know All About Your Affairs,” Said His Wife—And Victor Turned Cold. A British Story of Betrayal, …

I suppose this is one of those days that will haunt me for years to comethe day my wife, Alice, finally said the words I always thought Id never hear.

I know about your affairs, she said. Calm as a news presenter. Nothing dramatic or accusatory in her voice, just a steady statement, like mentioning the milks run out.

A chill ran through me, though I managed to sit motionless at the kitchen table. I didnt flinch, didnt go pale, but inside I felt myself crumple into a tight little ball, like the wrapper from a sweet you toss away.

Alice stood with her back to me at the cooker, stirring something, apron tied at the waist, the domestic scent of onions frying in the air. It was all so homely, so familiar. Except her tone. Id known Alice nearly three decadestwenty-eight years marriedbut that voice was new, plain and final.

At first I tried to convince myself Id misheard, that shed simply found a good deal at the greengrocer or was talking about the chap on the second floor selling his car. But no. She repeated it, even more clearly.

All of the affairs.

My world tilted. Not a figure of speechthe ground honestly seemed to vanish from beneath my feet.

Ali I half-whispered, and had to cough before I could continue. Alice, what are you talking about?

She finally glanced my way, her expression so unfamiliarcalm, almost indifferent, like she was looking at a faded photo from years ago.

Lets start with Julia from your accounts department. 2018, wasnt it?

God, Julia. Memories flickered; was it the office Christmas do? Something brief, nothing meaningful. Id promised myself that night: never again. But then she carried on.

And Sophie. From the gym. You remember Sophie? About two years back.

My mouth opened and closed again. How in the world did she know about Sophie?

Alice switched off the hob, untied her apron, folded it neatly and sat down opposite. Her poise was frightening.

Would you rather know how I found out, or why I never said a word?

I stayed silentnot by choice, I simply couldnt speak.

She continued, The first time was about ten years ago, you started working late. Fridays especially, youd return home cheerful, with a spring in your step, smelling vaguely of perfume.

She gave a bitter smile, the sort with no joy behind it. I convinced myself I was imagining things, maybe one of your office girls had new perfume. But then I found the receipt from that Italian place, tucked into your jacket pocket. Dinner for twowine, puddingthe sort of place wed said wed try, but never had.

I wanted to interrupt, to apologise or offer some sort of lie, but the words stuck in my throat.

Do you know what I did? she went on. Had a little cry in the bathroom, washed my face, made tea. Smiled at you when you got home. Didnt say a word to our daughtershe was only fifteen then, had her GCSEs and her first boyfriend. Why burden her with any of this?

She smoothed her hand over the table, as if dusting away invisible memories.

I told myself it would pass, just a stupid midlife thing, men always do, right? As long as the family stayed together.

Ali I tried again.

No. Let me finish, she saidfirm, unwavering. I did as I was told.

Then came affair two, then three, and I stopped counting after that. Your phones never been locked, you know. Did you think I didnt look? I read your messages, those silly Miss you, bunny texts, saw the photographs of you hugging them, all smiles. I watched you live a separate life right in front of me.

For the first time, her voice trembled. But she gathered herself, breathing in deeply.

I kept asking myselfwhy am I living like this? Sharing my life with someone who clearly doesnt care?

I do care! I burst out. Alice, I

No, you dont, she said flatly. You love convenience. A tidy home, your dinner ready, shirts ironed, a wife who doesnt question you.

She stood up, went to the window, gazed into the black London night.

Do you know when I decided? she asked, not facing me. A month ago, when our daughter visited. We were making tea in the kitchen, and she said: Mum, you seem different. Distant. Not yourself anymore. And I realised she was right. I havent been myself for yearsIve just been your wife.

I stared at her straight back, tense, determinedand it finally hit me: I was losing her. Not maybe, not somedayright then, irrevocably.

I dont want a divorce, I murmured, broken.

But I do, she replied, almost kindly. The paperworks already with the solicitor. Weve got our first hearing in a month.

Why now? I snapped. Why suddenly?

She turned, her gaze fixed, tired, but soft, as if she pitied me.

Because I realised you havent actually betrayed me at all. You only betray people you actually care about. For you, I was just… there. Forgotten, unnoticed. Like air.

It was the truth.

I slumped on the sofa, feeling a decade older in a single moment. Alice stood in the hallway, poised between our twenty-eight years together, our daughter, this flat stuffed with memoriesand a chasm, vast and unbridgeable.

You know Ill be lost without you, I said quietly, desperate.

Youll manage, she replied, almost gently. People always do.

No! I stood up, stepped towards her, wild with panic. Alice, Ill change! I promise! No more

She raised her hand, stopping me. Its not about them. It never was.

Then what is it?

She hesitated, picking over words shed probably held inside for half her life.

Do you know what it felt like? Youd come home from yet another night, after yet another Julia or Sophie, and Id lie next to you in bed and feel utterly invisible. You never hid anythingthe phone, the shirts with lipstick on the collar, you acted like I was blind. You must have thought I was a fool, or wouldnt care.

I swayed, as if struck.

I never meant

You never meant? She moved closer, her eyes shining, not with tears but with a burning resentment. You simply never thought about me at all. Did it cross your mind, when you kissed another woman, whether your wife would be hurt or not? Or did you tell yourself it didnt matter?

Silent, I stared at my hands. She was right. For so long, I never really thought about her at all. Alice was just… always there.

Youd come home from your little escapades and nothing had changed, in your mind. Wife in her place, family intact. All neat, all fine.

She turned away. But I wasnt there. Not really. Not for years.

I took a step forward, reached out, tried to grab her handto touch her shoulder, to hold on.

She pulled free. Dont, she said, drained. Its too late.

I clasped her hands tight anyway. Please, Alice! Give me one more chance. I can change. I want to be better.

She looked down at our entwined fingers, at my frightened, desperate face, and it became clearshe wasnt afraid for herself anymore. I was the one terrified of being alone.

You know, she said quietly, slipping her hands away, I used to be scared of being alone too. Of losing this family, of being left behind. But do you know what Ive realised?

She grabbed her bag and her keys.

I already am alone. Have been, for years. Alonewith you right there beside me.

She walked out.

Three weeks have crawled by since. I sit in our now echoing flatAlice moved in with our daughter that very nightscrolling through my phone. Julia from accounts. Sophie from the gym. Two or three more names that meant something once.

I tried calling Sophieshe hung up. Texted Juliashe read it, no reply. The others didnt even bother to open my messages.

Funny how, when I was a married man, they were all so interested. Now Im free, no-one wants to know.

The silence in this flat is crushing. For the first time in fifty-two years, Im truly lonely.

Eventually I found Alices name in my contacts. My hands shook as I typed a dozen messages, deleted each one. In the end, I sent, simply: Can we meet?

An hour later, she replied: What for?

What could I type? Sorry? No point. Come back? Hopeless. Ive changed? A lie.

I told the truth: I want to start over. Can we try?

Three dots flashed on the screen. Then vanished, then flashed again.

Eventually, her reply: Saturday, at ours. Two oclock. Well talk.

At that moment, I breathed properly for the first time in weeks.

I dont know what comes next. Maybe shell forgive me, maybe not. Perhaps I even deserve another chancebut it will be on her terms now, not mine.

I looked down at the wedding ring, still on my finger. And for the first time in years, I realised I truly wanted to be a better man. If shell let me.

Did Alice do the right thing, keeping quiet about my affairs for so long? Or should she have confronted me from the start and put an end to everything right away? I can’t help but wonder.