Why I Cheered When My Husband Cheated

Chapter 6

He kept repeating the same two words over and over, "Don't go", but each time he touched me, my chest tightened. I struggled with everything I had, and my mom tried to pry his hands off me too.

Maria couldn't take it anymore. She gently held onto Hank, her voice soft and coaxing.

"Let go, Hank. Yara's hurt, she needs rest. Let her stay with her family for a few days, alright? We'll talk about everything later."

Hank froze, glanced at me, then slowly let go.

I had hoped we could separate peacefully, without drama, but life rarely plays out the way we hope.

With those two slaps, Hank shattered not only our marriage but the decades-long bond between our families. My father was done. He made it clear I wasn't to see Hank again. He hired an attorney and sent a legal notice straight to the Harrisons' doorstep.

Three days later, Hank showed up, sitting outside our gate, refusing to eat or drink, trying to force me to come out and talk to him.

"Yara…"

He stood the moment he saw me, as if he could close the distance between us and undo everything. But I instinctively stepped back. His presence alone made my heart race in the worst way, my body reacting before my mind could catch up.

He stopped short, pain flashing in his eyes.

"Yara, does it really have to be like this? It's been five years. I've never cheated on you, not in body, not in mind. How did we end up here?"

I looked him straight in the eyes, my voice calm but cold.

"Kissing another woman isn't betrayal?"

He flinched. I took a breath.

"Hank, I didn't even call the police. That was the last bit of mercy I had left for you."

"You know it's been five years. I always considered the friendship between our families. I tried to keep things civil. But you? The moment you raised your hand to me, did you think about those five years? Did you think about our families?"

He swayed like my words had knocked the air from his lungs, staring at me in disbelief.

"So everything, those five years, meant nothing to you? It was just about our families? Not love?"

The second he said the word love, something inside me twisted with bitter irony. I almost laughed.

"Hank, let's be real. Do you even love me?"

His lips parted, as if to answer, but I cut him off.

"Don't say it."

"If you loved me, you wouldn't constantly tear me down, never caring how I felt. You wouldn't ignore every plea I made for change. You always thought you were right, always so sure of yourself, so every time we fought, nothing got solved."

I looked him in the eye, steady and unflinching.

"You're right. I don't love you. That little crush I had in the beginning, it never had a chance to grow. It was snuffed out too soon. And if I don't love you anymore, is that so wrong?"

I had wanted to end this with some dignity, to walk away clean. But he kept pushing, tearing away every last thread of civility between us.

As my words sank in, Hank collapsed onto the ground, completely out of it.

I didn't say another word. I turned and walked back inside, past my parents' concerned gazes, and into my room.

The second I fell into my mom's arms, the exhaustion hit me like a wave.

The truth is, Hank and I never really knew each other. We rushed into marriage without asking the hard questions, without letting love take its time.

Love isn't a spark, it's a marathon. It needs patience, understanding, effort. Without that, even the brightest flame can flicker out in the slightest breeze.

Maybe we did love each other once, in some raw, reckless way. But we never took care of that love. Instead, we let the tiny, nagging issues of everyday life build into storms, and eventually, those storms tore us apart.