It was hardly a bolt of lighting the first time I saw Anna. She was heavily pregnant and grappling with a toddler at the local swimming pool. I remember thinking, entirely non-sexually, “wow, that woman is beautiful”.
Over the next few years we began moving in the same circles, we lived nearby, had kids the same age, and I sometimes played golf with her IT consultant husband Adam and other dads. Anna and I would chat at judo or rugby or cricket club. I started looking forward to these small exchanges.
Once you’re married with children, your social life shrinks to school quiz nights, Christmas parties, birthday dinners. Anna’s presence, with her throaty laugh and shining eyes, always livened it up. We shared the same love of 1990s dance music and slightly offbeat sense of humour. When we joined the same tennis club (and, yes, it helped that neither of our partners played) we found ourselves drawn together. And yes, by then I fancied her like hell, as did most blokes she was – to put it crudely – the local “milf”.
Yet I never imagined anything would happen.
What’s more, I’d always been incredibly judgmental about men who cheated. When I made my marriage vows in 2008, in front of 120 loved ones in our parish church, I was 34 and certain I would remain forever faithful.
Sarah, like me, worked in the City, and we had three boys in quick succession. Our youngest was born with a disability which brought untold stress and worry, but we’d always pulled together. Our sex life wasn’t earth-shattering after kids, but whose was?
Whenever friends raised eyebrows over our attractive nanny I scoffed. I’d long stopped being the “lad” I’d been in my 20s. I took my responsibilities as a husband and father of three seriously.
But, after a decade of being content with my lot, along came Anna, a married yoga and SEN teacher, and jolted me awake, breathing colour into everything.
It sounds predictable and suburban I know, but one summer’s evening after some heated flirting at a tennis club gathering, we shared our first kiss.
And it blew my mind.
After years of desiring her, why then I suddenly kissed her – under a streetlamp in full view of passersby – I’m not sure. But I did, she reciprocated, and it changed everything.
I went to bed still tingling, waking the next morning to her text “thanks for walking me home, sorry I was a bit worse for wear”. I scrutinised that message a hundred times: was it a mistake? Was I lecherous? Would she tell Adam? I replied with a laughing emoji. Then a tortuous week of silence.
When we next met at tennis, there was a horrible awkwardness. I suggested a quick drink at a pub where we wouldn’t know anyone. We gulped down cheap wine and agreed it shouldn’t have happened. But as we hugged goodbye she smelt perfect, I honestly never wanted to let her go. We kissed again and the next few weeks my thoughts were all-consumed by Anna.
I was glued to my phone, constantly checking if she was “online” and then – heart thump – the words “typing” meant she was messaging. We communicated in neutral tennis terms, “alright mate, should we book a book a court?” and “archived” each other for safety.
It was all so dizzying, and six weeks of this sexually-charged build up and stolen minutes before we eventually made a plan, booking a Travelodge for an afternoon. We told ourselves we would “get it out of our system” and move on. We knew it was wrong, it must stop. Naively, I thought it might work.
With cloak and dagger measures we created alibis (here’s a 40th afternoon tea, mine a rugby match) and travelled separately, sneaking in a bottle of Moёt which we nervously downed, giggling about the absurdity of being parents in our 40s behaving like clichéd soap characters. Admittedly, the sex wasn’t the longest. But my God, it exceeded even my expectations. Afterwards, with her glorious hair on my pillow, it was surreal – I’d actually slept with the woman of my dreams.
Far from being able to the whole thing behind us, it intensified: I’d fallen madly, profoundly in love and it became a full blown affair. We started using Kik, an anonymous messaging service, and the texts became both romantic and explicit. We would “bump into” each other in Waitrose and the park with our kids, the tiniest finger touch was electrifying. I was entirely bewitched.
Over the next seven months, we only had sex nine times (three in the car, like teenagers). But I’d never felt this besotted about any woman before, not even in the early days with Sarah. Would I ever actually have ever walked out on my wife and three kids? I don’t know. My parents are traditional and Christian. I’m not sure I really could have, if it came to the crunch. Nor was Anna pledging to leave her young family. I can only describe it as being intoxicated. We were military in our discretion making sure no one at tennis suspected chemistry, yet practical considerations outside of that, about our future, just weren’t there. Or perhaps I dismissed them, I was so high on it all.
I wish I could say I was wracked with guilt for betraying my wife, but at that time I wasn’t thinking normally. I had dark daydreams that something would happen to our partners and we would be free to be together. I am aware how sick that sounds. I’m not a monster but love, or perhaps lust, sent me insane.
It was bursting out of me so over pints with my closest university friend – my best man – I announced I wanted to leave Sarah.
“You absolute p---k,” was his blunt response. He reeled off what I already deep down knew, that I couldn’t leave lovely, loyal Sarah with three young kids, one of whom had special needs. I would lose the house I’d slogged for, and the respect of my parents and everyone else. I would have to move town. “You’ve got too much to lose,” he said. “Get a grip and end it you t--t.”
He’d burst my bubble, but he was, of course, right.
Cowardly, I wrote Anna a heartfelt message saying I loved her, but this was all too much and I couldn’t carry on. Then deleted every heartbreaking message. We met once more in a car park and Anna cried, I was cold.
I couldn’t face climbing into bed with Sarah that night. I took a bottle of whisky to the spare room and bawled my heart out.
I was so floored I even briefly thought of telling Sarah everything. But instead I went through the motions of family life and work. Like a moping teenager I sent Anna one final email with all the songs that made me think of her, then I quit tennis and started walking the dog for miles a day. I avoided anywhere Anna might be, driving past the Travelodge genuinely gave my physical heart pains. I stayed up drinking at night, avoiding sex with Sarah.
It felt like the colour had gone from my life. I realise this is how everyone feels after a break-up, but I’d never had it before. I’m not a “deep” person, just an average bloke, I wasn’t equipped for all the intense emotions. Pretending everything was fine was so hard.
It took a long, painful time before life reverted to how it was before the affair. That was four years ago now, and it helped when Anna’s family moved. Some late nights I still look at her social media. It still hurts.
Sarah, thank God, never found out. I was so depressed for a while we ended up having relationship counselling. In secret I had private therapy too, I needed to talk about Anna. The stomach-churning guilt about my behaviour came much later, only once I’d got out of my own head a bit. When one of the boys called me the “best daddy”, or when we all gathered to clap as our youngest graduated from the local primary, I would watch Sarah, the proud devoted mum and wonder how on earth I could have ever thought about letting her down. I’ve cursed myself for the times I’ve held her wishing it was someone else. That’s something I have to live with.
Despite all heady excitement, I would never have another affair. It felt like the biggest tragedy of my life and it nearly broke me.
As told to Susanna Galton
End of the affair: why men cheat and how to deal with the aftermath
It’s estimated that one in five people in the UK have committed adultery, but the effects can be devastating and unpredictable warns Relate sex and relationship therapist Natasha Silverman.
“The most common reason couples come to me for therapy is following an affair. This may not be out in the open even, but one person will admit in an individual session. Sometimes the fling has fizzled out and sometimes it’s still ongoing. Normally I can tell within minutes of meeting couples whether they’re likely to patch things. Relate isn’t in the business of trying to make couples for the sake of it. If one person no longer wants to be in the marriage it would be wrong to try and convince them otherwise. Often our work is about helping them separate well.”
Why affairs are so common
There are many reasons why someone cheats, but rarely is a marriage entirely happy when affairs begin. Often a third party fills a person’s needs in a different way, and it’s more about how that third person makes the adulterer feel about themselves that is the intoxicating thing. Perhaps they’ve been able to tap into feelings of playfulness or being less inhibited that they haven’t experienced since their youth, such as shared love of sport or going to gigs again. People change over time and so do their needs and desires, this is human nature.
When an affair happens it’s not usually because one person - the adulterer - is unhappy. Generally, there are two unhappy people in the marriage.
Marriages can recover after infidelity
If two people both are determined to get their marriage back on track it’s entirely possible.
But it will involve tough conversations and work to rewrite their relationship in a way that’s fulfilling for both parties. The motivation for both straying and staying needs to be honestly confronted.
There are also people who use affairs compulsively in a way to soothe their negative emotions. A couple can come in and the wife, for example, believes there’s been one other woman. It becomes apparent there’s actually been a stream of affairs or sex workers and their partner has been chronically unfaithful. This is generally more difficult.
Don’t assume cheating is about sex
People can feel deeply lonely in marriage. It’s easy, particularly with men, to blame it all on sex, but often that’s not the case. They may end up pursuing sex outside of their marriage because they’re not equipped with the vocabulary to say “I’m not feeling connected to you right now”, or “I miss you”. They can crave intimacy, and want to feel seen and heard. Many women can talk honestly with friends, in a way men don’t, which can drive an affair.
The injured party naturally assumes it’s happened because they are less sexy, or lacking in some way. It generally isn’t anything to do with it.
Dealing with the guilt
Irrespective of whether the affair was discovered, guilt is a normal, healthy response to hurting somebody – and means you’re not a psychopath! The problem is when guilt tips into shame. Shame can be a huge issue for many men and it’s dangerous, yet we are all human and flawed and make mistakes. If you’re struggling with shame – if you hate yourself and it’s affecting eating, sleeping or work – or you’re drinking too much or using other addictive mechanisms, get support. Know you are not a bad human. If you possibly can, confide in one trusted person and have a bag ready packed so if you feel overwhelmed you escape for a night to talk. If you don’t have an appropriate friend, see a therapist.
Allow yourself to grieve
It’s not socially acceptable to dwell in misery when an affair ends, but it’s useful to recognise that you were in a relationship for a reason, it was fulfilling some kind of need, you’d built a connection, and now it’s gone. Feeling sadness, pain and some depression is all completely valid, even if it’s done in private.
Telling the injured party about the affair
Only you can decide whether to be honest or if you can live with the truth and don’t wish to hurt them. Or perhaps they found out.
The best way to deal with it is to tell them about it in one session rather than drip feeding hurtful things over time. Stick to the facts. Who it happened with, and how long it went on for. Allow them one session to ask things they want to know. Never go into details about sexual positions or songs you listened to or places you visited as it will give them something to hurt about for years. If they are really nagging for details say it’s not to withhold information but to protect them. Say if they really want to know to ask again in half an hour. They might realise they don’t. A therapist can really help.
Relate is a charity that offers relationship counselling for anyone affected by an affairs and infidelity. You can attend alone or with a partner. Find out more on their website.
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