I was cheating on my husband of 18 years with someone I never should have let into that part of my life—his own friend. It started innocently enough, or at least that’s what I told myself at the time. He was around often, as friends tend to be, and we got along well. Over time, our conversations grew deeper, more personal. I confided in him about things I wouldn’t even bring up to my husband—frustrations, insecurities, moments where I felt unseen. He listened in a way that felt different, special, and before I knew it, we had crossed a line I can’t take back.

The affair went on for two years. Two years of hiding, lying, and convincing myself that somehow, I could compartmentalize it all. I told myself that my marriage wasn’t falling apart because of it, that I was still there for my husband, still maintaining our life together. But deep down, I knew better. Every secret meeting, every stolen moment, chipped away at the trust and love that had been the foundation of our 18 years together.

Then, my husband found out. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he confronted me—the disbelief, the hurt, the anger. It was as though I had shattered something inside him that would never fully heal. His voice shook as he asked me for the truth, and for the first time in years, I couldn’t lie. I told him everything. I owed him at least that, though I knew it wasn’t enough to undo the damage I had caused.

Now, I live with the weight of my choices. Every day, I see the pain in his eyes, even when he tries to hide it. I can feel the distance between us, the wall that’s gone up where there used to be trust and intimacy. I know I’ve broken something precious, something we may never fully repair, but I’m desperate to try. I love him. Despite everything, I love him, and I can’t imagine my life without him.

The question that haunts me now is: how do I make this right? How can I help him forgive me when I can barely forgive myself? I’ve apologized, over and over, but words feel so hollow compared to the hurt I’ve caused. I’ve promised to cut all ties with his friend, to be transparent about everything going forward, but I know promises won’t erase the betrayal.

I want to show him that I’m willing to fight for us, that I’m not taking what we have—or what’s left of it—for granted. I’ve started going to therapy to figure out why I let this happen, why I jeopardized the one relationship that mattered most to me. I’ve asked him to join me, to work through this together, but I understand his hesitation. Why should he trust me now? Why should he believe in us when I gave him every reason not to?

The road ahead feels impossible, but I know I have to try. I have to show him, not just tell him, that I’m willing to do the work to rebuild what I’ve broken. I have to be patient, even when it feels unbearable, because his forgiveness isn’t something I can demand or rush. It’s something I have to earn, and even then, I know it may never fully come.

I wish I could go back, undo the choices that led us here. But I can’t. All I can do now is face the consequences of my actions and hope that, somehow, we can find a way forward. Whether he forgives me or not, I owe it to him—and to myself—to be better, to learn from this, and to never let something like this happen again.