My name is Theodore and I had been married to my wife Brittany for six years. We were both in our mid-30s and until recently, I would have described our marriage as stable. We had a comfortable house in Denver, good jobs, and a routine that worked for both of us. We weren't the kind of couple who needed to spend every minute together, but we made time for each other, and generally enjoyed our life. At least, that's how things used to be.
About three months before everything fell apart, Brittany started changing. At first, the differences were small enough that I didn't think much of them. She began going out with her girlfriends more often, sometimes twice a week. Before that, she might have met them once or twice a month. I never had a problem with her having a social life, so I didn't question it.
But then the evenings started getting longer. She would leave around 7 and sometimes wouldn't return until after midnight. Whenever I asked how her night had gone, she gave me the same general answer. They had dinner, visited a bar, or stopped somewhere for another drink. She rarely mentioned anything specific, and if I asked who had been there, she sometimes acted as though I was interrogating her.
I also noticed that she had become unusually protective of her phone. She used to leave it on the kitchen counter or charge it beside the bed. Now she carried it everywhere. If she received a notification while we were watching television, she would pick it up immediately and turn the screen away from me. One evening, I casually asked why she was suddenly so attached to her phone.
She looked at me and frowned. "What does that mean?" "It means you take it everywhere, that’s all." "Maybe because it’s my phone, Theodore." I shrugged. "I didn’t say you couldn’t use it." "Then why are you asking?" I didn't push the conversation. I had no interest in arguing over something so ordinary, but her reaction stayed in my mind. There were other changes, too.
Brittany had started spending more time getting ready before going out. She bought several new outfits, changed her hairstyle, and seemed more concerned about her appearance than she had been in years. When we went out together, she rarely put in the same effort. Our intimacy had also declined. She was often tired, distracted, or simply not interested.
I tried talking to her about it once, but she said I was making a big deal out of normal changes in a long-term marriage. I accepted that explanation at the time. Relationships went through different periods, and I wasn't expecting everything to remain exactly as it had been when we first met. Still, I knew something was different. The problem was that whenever I tried to discuss it, Brittany turned the conversation around.
Instead of answering my questions, she accused me of being insecure or suspicious. Eventually, I stopped bringing it up because every conversation ended the same way. Then came Friday evening. We had agreed earlier in the week to spend the night together. I had made reservations at a restaurant downtown, and Brittany had even said she was looking forward to it.
But around 5 that afternoon, while I was getting ready to leave work, she called and told me she was going out with her girlfriends instead. I reminded her about our plans. She sighed. "Theodore, I completely forgot. They’re all meeting tonight, and I haven’t seen them properly in weeks." "We made those plans on Monday." "I know, but I can see you tomorrow." I wasn't particularly interested in being moved to the following day whenever something better came along.
Is this another one of those nights where you'll be back after midnight? I asked. Her tone changed immediately. "Seriously, are you going to start this again?" "I’m asking a simple question, and I’m telling you I’m going out with my friends. I don’t need permission." "I never said you did.
I just thought we had plans." She accused me of making her feel guilty for wanting to spend time with other people. Then she said something that made it clear the conversation wasn't going anywhere. "You’re becoming controlling, Theodore. I can’t even go out without having to explain myself." I didn’t see any point in continuing the argument. "Fine.
Go enjoy your evening." She seemed surprised that I wasn't arguing further. When I got home shortly after 6:00, Brittany was upstairs getting dressed. She had chosen a new outfit and was spending more time on her appearance than usual. She came downstairs shortly before 7, grabbed her purse, and barely acknowledged me before walking out. I watched her car disappear down the street, then picked up my keys.
I wasn't going to spend another Friday night sitting at home, waiting for my wife to return. I decided to go downtown, find somewhere to have dinner, and enjoy the evening myself. I had no idea that a few hours later I would see Brittany doing something that would end our six-year marriage. I drove downtown without having a particular destination in mind. I found a parking space near a restaurant I had visited a few times before and decided to get something to eat.
It was still early and I wasn't in a hurry to return home. I ordered dinner, sat near the window, and spent some time looking through the menu for a place to go afterward. I wasn't particularly upset about Brittany cancelling our plans anymore. What bothered me was how easily she had dismissed something we had agreed to do together. It had become a pattern, and I was starting to lose patience with it.
After finishing my meal, I decided to walk around for a while. There were several bars and restaurants along the nearby streets, and the area was busy with people enjoying their Friday night. I eventually stopped outside a lounge with a small outdoor seating area. I considered going inside, but something across the street caught my attention. At first, I didn’t recognize the woman sitting at one of the tables.
She was wearing a dark green dress, and her hair was styled differently from the way she usually wore it. She was laughing at something the man sitting opposite her had said. Then she turned slightly, and I recognized her face. It was Brittany. I stopped walking.
For a few seconds, I simply stood there trying to understand what I was looking at. She had told me she was meeting her girlfriends. There were no women at that table, just her and a man who looked to be around her age. I didn't know him. I moved closer to the entrance of a nearby shop and watched them from a distance.
I wasn't trying to spy on her, but I couldn't bring myself to walk away without understanding what was happening. The man leaned forward and said something that made Brittany smile. She reached across the table and touched his hand. It wasn't the kind of casual gesture I would expect between two ordinary friends. He seemed completely comfortable with her and she appeared equally comfortable with him.
Then he reached over and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. Brittany smiled again. I felt my stomach tighten, but I still tried to find an innocent explanation. Maybe he was a colleague. Maybe he was someone she knew from before we met.
Maybe there was something about their relationship I didn't know. Then the man stood up, walked around the table, and leaned down to kiss her. Brittany didn't pull away. She stood slightly and kissed him back, placing one hand against his chest. It wasn't a brief greeting or an awkward misunderstanding.