Thirty-eight.
Overweight.
Desk job.
Fast food between store visits.
A waistline that had expanded quietly over the years.
Jennifer saw what the comment did.
“That wasn’t fair.”
“Was it true?”
She sighed.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth.”
“That’s what got us here.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“Lying got us here.”
The room went quiet.
I asked the question I had been avoiding.
“How long since you actually wanted me?”
Jennifer looked away.
“That’s not fair.”
“How long?”
“Matt.”
“When was the last time we had sex because you wanted to, not because you felt obligated?”
She crossed her arms.
“This isn’t helping.”
“That means you know the answer.”
Her silence did the rest.
I thought about our last few times together.
How passive she had been.
How quickly it ended.
How I had convinced myself we were simply tired parents with busy schedules.
Then another image came.
Kevin.
The enthusiasm I had seen in the seconds before they noticed me.
I hated myself for asking.
“Is he better?”
Jennifer stared.
“Don’t.”
“Answer.”
“No.”
“Then why him?”
She looked exhausted.
“This isn’t a competition.”
Everything in my life felt like competition.
Ryan.
Work.
Kevin.
The younger men at Jennifer’s office.
The version of myself I had been ten years earlier.
“Do you love me?” I asked.
Jennifer hesitated.
That hesitation hurt more than if she had said no immediately.
“I care about you.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
She took a breath.
“I love you.”
“But?”
“Not like before.”
There it was.
Not like before.
I repeated it quietly.
Jennifer reached toward me.
I stepped back.
“What does that mean?”
“We became roommates.”
“No.”
“You know it’s true.”
“We became tired.”
“We stopped being us.”
“And your solution was Kevin.”
Her face tightened.
“That was wrong.”
“Yet you kept doing it.”
She did not deny that.
I went upstairs.
Jennifer followed.
“Don’t run.”
I turned.
“What else is there to say?”
“We have kids.”
“I know.”
“We have a life.”
“I know.”
“We can’t just explode everything because of one mistake.”
I stared at her.
“One mistake?”
She looked away.
That told me it had not been one.
The next morning, I woke in the guest room.
My head hurt.
My mouth was dry.
For a few wonderful seconds, I forgot.
Then Jennifer’s words returned.
Not attracted.
Not like before.
Weight.
Routine.
Kevin.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror.
The man looking back at me seemed older than he had the day before.
My stomach pushed against the front of my T-shirt.
My jawline was softer than it used to be.
I had not considered myself unattractive.
Now I could not stop seeing every flaw Jennifer had probably catalogued for years.
We passed in the hallway.
She was going to wake Ethan.
I was going downstairs.
Neither of us knew what to say.
At work, I tried burying myself in numbers.
That usually worked.
Numbers were honest.
Sales were up or down.
Labor was over budget or under.
You could identify a bad process and fix it.
Marriage had no spreadsheet.
My phone buzzed.
Jennifer.
Last night got ugly. We need to talk without insulting each other.
I stared at the message.
Then replied.
Agreed. Tonight.
She answered immediately.
Okay.
That afternoon, I visited one of our highest-performing stores.
The manager, Bryce, was in his early thirties and looked like he had never eaten a carbohydrate without permission. Lean waist. Broad shoulders. Energy for days.
I caught myself comparing us.
Jennifer’s words echoed.
Overweight.
Boring.
I hated her for putting that voice in my head.
I hated myself more for believing it.
“How do you stay in shape?” I asked Bryce while we walked the sales floor.
He laughed.
“Random.”
“Seriously.”
“Gym.”
He pulled a card from his wallet.
“Titan Fitness. Tell them I sent you.”
I shoved the card into my pocket.
Did not expect to use it.
That evening, Jennifer and I sat across from each other at the kitchen table.
No shouting at first.
No sarcasm.
I asked one question.
“Why?”
Jennifer cried quietly.
“Because I stopped feeling attracted to you.”
I nodded.
It still hurt.
But honesty had a different pain than guessing.
“We lost the spark,” she continued.
“And Kevin gave it back.”
“For a while.”
I looked at her.
“How long?”
“About six months.”
Six months.
My mind immediately started reconstructing calendars.
Work dinners.
Gym nights.
Late meetings.
Weekend errands.
“Why didn’t you talk to me?”
“I tried.”
“You told me I should lose weight.”
“That was part of it.”
“How was I supposed to understand that meant our marriage was dying?”
Her frustration returned.
“Because nothing changed, Matt.”
“So you decided cheating was easier?”
“No.”
“But you did it.”
She lowered her head.
“Yes.”
I sat back.
Then she said the sentence that finished the conversation.
“I think we should separate.”
I stared at her.
Even though I had spent the entire day imagining divorce, hearing her suggest it made something inside me flare.
“You get to cheat, and then you get to decide when we’re done?”
“That isn’t what this is.”
“That’s exactly what this is.”
“We’re both miserable.”
“You were miserable.”
She looked at me.
“Were you happy?”
I opened my mouth.
Stopped.
Because the honest answer was no.
I had not been happy.
I had been comfortable.
There was a difference.
Jennifer wiped her face.
“We need to think about Ethan and Grace.”
“Don’t use them to make this cleaner.”
“I’m not.”
“We keep them out of Kevin.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you can date whoever you want after we separate.”
I hated saying it.
“But the kids don’t meet him.”
“Fine.”
“Not at the house while they’re home.”
“Fine.”
“Not school events.”
She sighed.
“Fine, Matt.”
I stood.
“One more thing.”
She looked up.
“Who exactly is Kevin to you?”
She hesitated.
“He works with me.”
“I know.”
“We started talking more after work.”
“At the gym?”
Her expression told me yes.
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
“Don’t.”
“The fit guy at the gym.”
“Matt.”
“The guy who gave you everything the fat boring husband couldn’t.”
Her face changed.
“I said I was sorry for that.”
“You can’t unsay it.”
“I know.”
I walked out.
This time Jennifer did not follow.
I slept at Ryan’s apartment again.
When he opened the door, he looked at my bag.
“Long stay?”
“Maybe.”
He disappeared into the bedroom.
Returned with a blanket.
“Couch.”
“Thanks.”
“No punching.”
“Fair.”
I slept badly.
Every time I closed my eyes, my brain created scenes I had never witnessed.
Jennifer laughing with Kevin.
Jennifer comparing him to me.
Jennifer talking about my weight.
Jennifer complaining about our marriage while he listened patiently.
The imagined conversations hurt almost as much as what I had actually seen.
Ryan woke early for work.
He ate yogurt standing beside the kitchen counter.
“You working today?”
“Maybe.”
He looked at me.
“Matt.”
“What?”
“Don’t let this turn you into some pathetic guy who talks about his ex-wife for the next fifteen years.”
I glared.
“Helpful.”
“I’m serious.”
“You don’t understand.”