I’m happy in my marriage.
What the fuck have I done?
“I know,” she breathes. Steps closer.
I hold a hand up to stop her, to keep her away from me. “Know what?”
“That you’re not happy in your marriage.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
My entire being is horrified at what just happened.
I kissed another woman. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Since I met Mia, there has been no one else. Not even in fantasy. Even when I masturbate, it’s to her.
“I know you want a child.”
I freeze.
Her words slice through me like a sharp, merciless blade.
I told Diana recently—something that isn’t a secret in the family—that Mia can’t have children. Endometriosis stole that from her. She wants to adopt, and God, I wish I could give her that without hesitation. But my parents are dead set against it, and the truth is, so am I.
I know exactly how they’ll treat an adopted grandchild—like they’re less than—and I can’t bear the thought of bringing a child into that. So, I said no. And every time I think about it, I feel like I’ve failed Mia twice over.
“And?”
“I can give you a baby, Aiden. She can’t.”
I shake my head as if that’s going to help clear this mess I made.
“She’s my wife, Diana. I love her.”
She scoffs at that. Her blue eyes blaze with irritation. “Do you? You spend more time with me than with her, even on weekends. You have more dinners with me. You have more breakfasts with me than you do with her.”
“That’s work, Diana.” But I’m lying. It was not always the case. I know it. She does, too.
“You missed your wedding anniversary to be with me in Paris.”
“We had a client meeting,” I protest.
“You took me out to dinner on your wedding anniversary. A romantic dinner at the Eiffel Tower,” she reminds me.
“That was…that was just because you said you wanted to eat at the Eiffel Tower.”
Why did I do that? Why did I miss my wedding anniversary and take this woman, who isn’t my wife, anywhere?
I clench my jaw. “It appears I have given you some signals that I didn’t intend. I love my wife. I don’t care that she can’t have children. I’m not interested in you…sexually. What you just pulled, Diana?” I let out a huff of breath. “Don’t ever do something like that again.”
Three weeks have gone by since Thanksgiving, and that kiss weighs like a ton of bricks inside of me.
At work, I’ve cut my interactions with Diana down to the bare minimum. No more casual chats, no more small talk. If I speak to her, it’s strictly business—and whenever possible, I make sure there’s a chaperone in the room. Sometimes two.
She’s not taking it well.
“I know you’re feeling guilty, but if a marriage is not working, it’s not,” she tells me after my first week of keeping her at an arm’s length. “I know from experience. You’re a good man. You don’t want to hurt Mia. But staying with her when it’s not right will end up hurting you both in the long run.”
I kissed another woman. I’m definitely not a good man.
