I’m 43 years old.
I’ve been married to my wife for 17 years.
And until recently, I would have described myself as a normal man. Routine. Responsibilities. Work stress. Bills. Fatigue. But loyal. Always loyal.
A year ago, my wife got seriously ill.
The kind of illness that doesn’t just affect the body — it rearranges your entire life. Suddenly everything revolved around doctors’ appointments, medications, side effects, schedules, and long, quiet moments where neither of us knew what to say.
I never imagined that temptation would enter my life now.
Not when she needs me the most.
How It Started (And How I Lied to Myself)
Six months ago, a new colleague started at work.
I didn’t look for her. I didn’t flirt. I didn’t chase anything.
She approached me first — asking questions, starting conversations, joining me for coffee during breaks. I talked to her out of politeness. I’ve always believed that basic decency matters.
But over time, I noticed she wanted more.
She started texting me after work. Compliments. Messages about how rare it is to see a man take care of his wife the way I do. Comments about how unfair life can be.
Those sentences you know you shouldn’t be receiving — but you don’t block them, because you tell yourself:
Nothing will happen.
The problem is… something already was.
The Space She Filled
At home, everything was about illness.
My wife was more fragile. More sensitive. More exhausted. I loved her deeply and took care of her with everything I had — but slowly, quietly, I started closing in on myself.
I missed breathing.
I missed being asked how I was doing.
I missed conversations that weren’t about symptoms or pills.
And that woman at work slipped perfectly into that empty space.
She listened. She asked questions. She told me she didn’t know how I managed to carry so much.
And without realizing it, I started leaning emotionally in her direction.
The Moment That Changed Everything
Two weeks ago, during a break, she placed her hand on mine and said:
“If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you carry all of this alone.”
My chest tightened.
I pulled my hand away — but not firmly.
I didn’t say “stop.”
I didn’t set boundaries.
And from that day on, I’ve felt like a man standing at the edge of a very dangerous cliff.
The Car Ride
Last Friday, she offered to drive me home because it was raining and my car was in the shop.
I accepted.
At a red light, she told me she didn’t want to complicate my life. That she wasn’t asking for anything. But if I ever made even the smallest step toward her — she would be there.
No judgment.
No pressure.
No demands.
She said all she wanted was to “make me feel alive.”
I didn’t respond.
I stared straight ahead.
But the truth is — I thought about it.
Far more than I should have.
And that’s what’s tearing me apart inside.
The Moment That Broke Me
At home, my wife noticed something was off.
She asked if everything was okay. I told her I was just tired from work.
She hugged me slowly — with that body that now looks so fragile — and I almost broke down.
Not because she suspected anything.
But because I felt like the worst person in the world for even thinking about betraying her at this moment.
I Haven’t Crossed the Line
Not yet.
But I think about it.
I feel the temptation.
And I’m terrified that one day, without fully realizing it, I’ll step over the line.
I don’t know what this is — loneliness, emotional exhaustion, ego, emptiness. I don’t know.
I only know that I look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself.
And I don’t know how to stop.
Why I’m Telling This
I’m telling this because I’m desperate.
Because I don’t want to become that man.
And because there’s no one else I can say this to.