We met each other during college, the most beautiful years of youth, when the world was vast and everything seemed possible.

He was the president of the volunteer club, always busy with meetings and events, but he never forgot to invite me for dinner or a walk around campus. During those times, I felt lucky to have his attention. I always thought that if one day I married him, my life would have nothing more to wish for.

We were together for four years in college, and three years after graduating, we got married. Our married life was peaceful but also full of challenges. I was the middle child in a wealthy family: an older sister who was brilliant and a younger brother who was pampered. I was not the one who received much attention, always feeling left out in my own home. My parents were busy with their work and personal lives, rarely spending time with me.

Perhaps because of that, I learned to be independent from a young age. I knew how to take care of myself, be cautious in my actions, and sometimes had to give in because my family didn’t pay much attention to me. This might be why he fell in love with me. He came from a poor family with no resources, but he had big dreams and ambitions. He knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. And I, with my family and their support, was the perfect choice—love and convenience combined. He loved me, but I wasn’t sure whether I loved him for who he was or for what he could offer me.

When we got married, almost all the wedding expenses were covered by my family.

His family barely participated out of obligation. The house we lived in was a gift from my parents, and although the deed was in both of our names, he only paid a small portion. The car I used for commuting was also a gift from my father.

I never demanded anything from him, even though my family provided us with all those things. I loved him, and I believed that marriage was about sharing, about supporting each other for life. I thought my role was to be his wife, to stand behind him, to be the stable foundation of the family, even though sometimes I had to endure lonely nights, dinners by myself, and his absence due to work. I didn’t complain, I never blamed him. I loved him silently and firmly.

After we got married, he focused more and more on his career. He quickly advanced and is now a manager at a large company. Meanwhile, I chose a lighter job to have more time to take care of the family. I never blamed him for being busy, nor did I get angry because he didn’t talk much, nor did I complain about the lonely dinners or the nights when he came home drunk. I accepted all of that because I thought it was the role of a wife.

But everything changed one rainy night. I was alone in the huge house, afraid of the thunder outside. I wanted to text my best friend to share my fear:
“My husband is on a business trip. Tonight I’m home alone, and the rain is too heavy outside. I’m scared.”

But I made a mistake and sent the message to my husband.

At first, I expected him to reply with words of encouragement, maybe a phone call to reassure me. But instead, he sent me a photo… of him with another woman in bed, with no explanation.

I stood frozen when I saw his reply. I had texted, “I’m alone tonight and I’m really scared,” but I had mistakenly sent it to my husband… and that’s how I discovered his secret.

I didn’t know how to react. I stood there, staring at the phone screen, my heart sinking. The next day, he came home, calm and collected, as if nothing had happened. I didn’t say much; I just showed him the photo. He looked at it for a while, sighed, and said lightly:
“It’s not what you think… this was something out of my control.”

I asked him again, my voice trembling:
“Out of your control? You, in bed with another woman, and someone sent the photo from your phone? Was that an accident?”

He stayed silent for a moment, then explained half-heartedly that it had happened at a party after signing with a business partner. He had been drunk, set up, and photographed. He reassured me:
“I don’t know who took the photo or who used my phone to send it to you. After I sent it, they deleted it, so it didn’t appear in my history, and I didn’t know. But I swear I didn’t do anything wrong to you. I only have you.”

I remained silent, my heart empty. I no longer knew whether he was unfaithful to me or not. If it was a setup, why did he fall for it so easily? And if he was truly a victim, why didn’t he show anger, fear, or outrage?

What should I do now? Let it go as if nothing happened… or continue searching until I uncover the whole truth?