My husband used to leave every Saturday at 7 a.m. to coach his deceased friend's 8-year-old son, but when the boy slipped me a note, I collapsed.

"You have not honored David."

"What! How could you do that? You had no right! It was private!" He slammed his palm against the kitchen table. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

Her eyes filled with tears.

Seeing how his emotions overflowed the moment he discovered that Sarah knew, compared to the defensive coldness he had shown me just seconds before, was the final blow.

He didn't care about hurting me. All he cared about was losing her.

"I'm leaving you," I said.

"I didn't do anything wrong!"

I walked past him and went upstairs.

He didn't call me. He didn't follow me. He stayed in the kitchen, surrounded by the ruins of his secret.

I packed a suitcase.

When I came downstairs, Mark was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

"You ruined everything," he said. "And why? I told you, I was never going to act on my feelings. I was just being a friend."

I packed my suitcase.

I stopped and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Really? Because I think the only reason you stayed 'faithful' was because Sarah didn't share your feelings. You weren't a good man, Mark. You were just waiting for a change that was never going to happen."

He flinched as if I had slapped him.

I walked past him, opened the door and went out into the rain.

I didn't turn around. I had a lot of things to sort out, but for the first time in six months, I could finally breathe.