Being Honest . . .

Lindsay never would have known I cheated* had I not told her.

She asked me twice back-to-back, and I told her the truth the second time — quite unlike her when I knew, intuitively, that she’d started cheating.

She flaunted her cheating, but refused for two weeks to be honest with me about it when I asked. So I had to find the proof (which I really, really didn’t want to do; I would have preferred honesty), and I did. My favorite line, I think, from the morning I called her and confronted her is when I said, “Do you not know what I do for a living? I do research. I find information, analyze it and come to conclusions all day long. That’s what I do. Did you not think I would figure this out? I already knew! I just needed the proof, and now I have it.”

I could have added that, working in public policy, you always have to look for the worst possible outcomes because those are what you want to (hopefully) prevent. Thus, the information I had — even without the proof — probably would have led to the same conclusion, correct or not. Unfortunately, too often in life the negative turns out to be the truth.

Of course, none of this matters and this sounds exactly how a spurned husband/boyfriend/now-housemate (that being me) is supposed to sound. So be it.

*There was no sex in my “cheating.”

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