I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.
We were together forty-two years.
Forty-two years of marriage, in which there was no shortage of difficult moments, but we always overcame them. I believed that we were like an old tree – the roots had grown into each other so tightly that nothing could ever separate them.
Until that evening.
He sat in his armchair, looking at me with tension.
— I have something to tell you — he began.
I looked at him carefully. Something had been wrong these past few months. He had become different, more absent, thoughtful. I thought it was old age, tiredness.
But it was more than that.
— What's going on? — I asked, though my heart was already beating faster.
He took a deep breath.
— I fell in love with someone else.
The world stopped.
I looked at him and couldn't comprehend what he had just said.
— What are you saying? After all these years?
— I'm sorry— he replied quietly. — It just happened.
— Who is she?
He was silent for a moment.
And then a name was said.
— Barbara.
Barbara.
Not some young woman, not some passing love interest.
Barbara, my friend.
Barbara, with whom I shared secrets since childhood.
Barbara, who was a bridesmaid at our wedding.
Barbara, who came to our house for tea, laughed with us, comforted us when life hurt.
She was not a strange woman.
She was part of my life.
— It's impossible… — I whispered, and my hands started to shake.
— It's true — he replied.
— For how long?
He didn't answer right away.
— For a year.
Year.
They lied to me all year.
I don't remember how that conversation ended.
I just remember sitting in my bedroom, staring at the wall. Pictures on the shelves – our shared vacations, our youth, our family.
And then the phone call.
Barbara.
I didn't pick up.
I had no strength left.
When he moved out two days later, I didn't watch as he took his things.
I didn't ask, I didn't plead, I didn't ask „why?”.
Because I knew I had lost more than just my husband.
I had lost love, friendship, and forty-two years of my life, which turned out to be one big lie.
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