There was something about Derrick’s voice, something about his eyes, his lips, and his very presence—just the memory of him was soothing. Often, I would text him just so that I could feel close to him. Many of those times he did not reply, or when he did, it was to say that he was busy at work or with his wife, but I did it anyway because it felt good. I felt content just knowing that I was contacting him and letting him know that I was thinking of him. It was simply enough to tell him how I felt.
When three days passed with no call or text from my husband, I told Derrick that I would be going back to my parents’ house. He insisted that I not involve them and assured me that Robert would call me. “He just needs time,” he would say. Derrick told me that no one was living in the old house that he had originally bought for me. “It’s been empty for months. The maids go to clean, but that’s all. Stay as long as you need. If two weeks pass with no contact, then go home. Trust me.”
Derrick was right. Five days after I moved into my old house, Robert called and apologized. He said that he was incredibly sorry for overreacting. He apologized sincerely and said that knowing that I had been with a married man reminded him of his ex-wife. “I kept pushing, trying to find an answer as to why, when I really wanted to ask my ex. I treated you unfairly. What you did years ago should not matter. I was wrong. Come home. I miss my faithful wife. You have never done me wrong and I treated you as if you had. I am very sorry.”
We spoke for hours as he apologized, but he was too late. I was no longer the faithful wife he referred to. He was two days too late. I had already crossed the line and was now having an affair. In fact, as we spoke, I was in Derrick’s arms.
“It’s time,” I said as I turned to Derrick. “I’m sorry.”
“We both knew this day would come,” he said. He actually looked as sad as I felt. “I had hoped that it would be later, not sooner.” I smiled and hugged him.
Before I went back to my husband, I made love to Derrick again—it was the third time that day. I kissed him and loved him like I had in the past, free of inhibition. My husband treated me like I was a whore, so I figured I might as well start acting like one.