Beyond the Betrayal: How Grace Saved Our Marriage
(This is Article #4 in the series, Things a Husband Can Do to Save His Marriage. But wives, you’re welcomed here too. Also, this is a reflective list. It’s simply what worked for me. I hope you find some of the insights helpful.)
(If you’re interested in knowing where I’ve been for the past several weeks, check this long footnote.1)
It was probably my 4th viewing of ESPN’s SportsCenter that day. Maybe more, they all start to run together, you know? But you never know when they might have some new, breaking sports news I didn’t want to miss.
Anyways, I liked having it on in the background as my eyelids grew heavy. Just a little nap…
I was dozing off into little-nap-world when I heard the familiar, soft thud of a car door from outside.
She’s home.
Is it safe to say the arrival of a wife at home is the most effective wake-up call there is? It was for me, and I didn’t even know what was in store on that warm summer day in 2008.
Suddenly alert and with a renewed understanding of life’s priorities, I jumped from the couch and into the nearby kitchen, started the water and threw a dish-towel over my shoulder. I started washing the dishes in a nonchalant manner like I’d been doing it all along.
Industrious me.
As I rinse/washed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher, my wife, Joy, came in through the front door.
“Hey!” I shouted to her.
“Hey.” Came her muted response.
I walked out of the kitchen and into the front entryway, making a show of drying my hands on a dish towel. You know, because I’d been doing the dishes…
Joy had been on a business trip. Her trips had become frequent enough to where they were somewhat routine. She’d return, I’d ask how it went, and she’d share something about it. Just what she shared depended upon just how stressful it had been.
But this time was different.
“Hey!” I said. “How was the trip?”
She shrugged gently, passive but not entirely dismissive of the question. There was no eye contact. A small, quiet, “Fine.” was all she said. Her reply was short. Also, pregnant and foreboding, a vocal response that was a placeholder for the truth.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, naive to what was coming.
She walked past me, rolling her bag along until she reached the bottom of the stairs. She began to lug it up, one step at at time.
Clunk. She paused on the step to look at me for the briefest of moments, silent. Her quick look asked a question I didn’t know how to hear. My lack of action though, confirmed what she already knew.
She took another step, and tugged the suitcase up with her. Clunk. Was there any type of burden I’d carry for her?
Clunk.
“Hey…” Clueless, I reached up and lightly grabbed her forearm just tight enough to suggest she turn and face me, but light enough so she could refuse. “What’s wrong?”
Joy continued up the stairs, but paused on the middle landing. She sat and looked at the floor. I let the silence do its work for a bit before trying a different question.
“Are you OK?”
More silence. Perhaps a hint of a tear in her eye? I couldn’t be sure. Without a shift in her gaze, hands folded between her knees, she uttered three words that broke the silence, the tension, the stalemate, and my naive system of belief that things were going to be ok.
“I kissed him.”
I didn’t react. I didn’t get mad. I didn’t yell. I didn’t drop to my knees and cry. I was confused, experiencing a potent mixture of fear and inadequacy. I just stood there for a moment, not sure what to do. I was pretty sure I’d heard her correctly. I offered my own placeholder response as I gathered my thoughts.
“...What?”
“I kissed him.” She still wasn’t looking at me.
“Oh.” I gave a slight nod and understood why she wasn’t looking at me. It was shame, and perhaps resignation, that this is where we’d arrived.
I looked away from her, also experiencing shame. No anger. Not even sadness, if that makes any sense. Just shame, and a growing feeling of fear in the pit of my stomach. Fear that my naivete would blossom into my own resignation.
As I processed things, I wondered if–hoped–it only went as far as kissing. I mean, I imagine if there was more, the words would have been hard for her to say.
“You kissed him?” I asked with clarifying intent. She nodded. “Where?” I asked, trying to gauge the significance of the kiss, wanting to believe it was a short peck in a public area, like an accidental moment of excitement. Or maybe it was more intentional than that, but in a park, somewhere public that would place limits on what could happen outside of a kiss.
“In my hotel room.” She paused.
Her answer placed a paintbrush in my mind’s eye. In an instant I was building the scene: A man who wasn’t me, dressed in business attire with his neck-tie loosened, the first button of his collar undone after a successful day as a well-paid businessman. His shirt sleeves rolled up two times at each forearm. My wife holding the door for him to come inside before closing it behind him, leaving my imagination in the hallway.
“We were on my bed.” She added this bit of information without prompting.
The visual image grew, this time inside the room.
The same man is now reclining on a bed, collar unbuttoned still, sleeves rolled up, but the tie is missing. My wife is reclining next to him on the bed. She was lightly touching his face, his hand was on her shoulder.
It occurred to me they’d already crossed several lines. The trip to the room, the invitation in from the hallway, the door closing. Somehow ending up on the bed. I mean, what was to keep it from progressing further than a kiss?
I tilted my head and raised my eyebrows. “Did you…”
“No.” She interrupted, and looked at me for the first time. “I didn’t sleep with him. We didn’t have sex.”
I believed her. There wasn’t a moment where I thought she was lying to me. In the midst of all the emotions or thoughts I was experiencing, “surprise” wasn’t among them. Throughout the difficult times we’d been experiencing, she’d told me she was having feelings for other men.
I was relieved. But also confused, because I didn’t know if I should experience relief to know my wife only kissed another man. No matter, because it was short lived. As I considered what happened I came to an understanding that somehow, the fact that she only kissed him meant it wasn’t about physical desire. This wasn’t just a kiss. She had been seeking something more. She was seeking intimacy, and she was seeking it with someone other than me. It was far more than just a kiss. It was more than an impulsive moment between two people, the kind of impulsive moment I’d hoped it had been. No, this was more than an impulse.
My mind swirled and tried to process the situation. Part of my confusion was in that I thought we were doing better as a couple. Things had been strained, no doubt. But we were working on it. We'd just returned from a weekend cruise we took together less than a week before - our attempt to find calmer waters, I suppose. We had a nice time. We'd made love. More than once. It was a really nice cruise! I thought to myself, searching for some sort of reassurance. As if a few peaceful days at sea could repair a hull that had been taking on water for some time.
I started to ask about it. “But, the cruise. I thought we…” I trailed off..
“It was too late, Jeff. I did have a good time with you. But it was a cruise, an escape from reality. When we got home, everything was still here.” As she spoke, she shook her head, eyes widened as if to ask, What did you think? That we wouldn’t enjoy a cruise?
“I’m sorry. I really am.” She said.
I could only nod.
“I told you I was having feelings for other people. It just… I guess the feelings grew. He made me feel like I was important. He works hard. He takes good care of his family. He probably carries his wife’s luggage up the stairs when she returns from a trip.”
The zinger hit its target. But I deflected. Her point produced a sense of defensiveness that enabled me to find my anger.
“He has a family?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yes. A wife and kids. But he’s miserable too.”
I put up my hand. I didn’t want to hear about this other guy’s problems. Looking directly into her eyes, I asked again. I had to be sure.
My heart was palpitating. I could actually feel it beat, pumping excess amounts of blood to wherever a heart pumps blood during a fight or flight reaction, but when neither of those two actions are possible. My overactive imagination had me searching for hope. “You really didn’t sleep with him?”
“No. He wouldn’t. He said he couldn’t. He told me he wasn’t convinced I was committed, and that he couldn’t be a part of doing something I’d regret.”
I processed what I heard. …he said he wouldn’t. So, the idea was in the air, and maybe…not his idea.
I tried to think of the last time she’d asked me, or even hinted to me that she desired to be sexually intimate with me. It wasn’t that we weren’t having sex. We were. It was just that she wasn’t into it. It wasn’t intimacy. She didn’t want me. She wanted someone else.
As if she could read my thoughts, she said, “It’s not about sex anyways. You know that’s not me. I’m not even really physically attracted to him. I find you far more attractive than him.
Indeed, she had told me she was having feelings for other “people.” I’d understood, I thought. But I didn’t know how serious she was. Back when she first told me, she said she was “starting to have feelings…” I let myself believe that since she told me about what was happening, that those feelings wouldn’t grow. If she and I tweaked a part of our marriage here, changed something there, that her affection for me would return. There was comfort in my naivete. Clearly, I hadn’t made enough changes. Her feelings for other people had not only grown, but they’d also narrowed.
I thought about the other guy and was surprised to find myself conflicted about him. On the one hand, homeboy put his lips on my wife. I wanted to see if my fist could find his teeth behind them. My wife was compelled to want him. Where she was growing away from me, she was finding intimacy with this guy. I was jealous of her attention, and envious of his ability to provide her with something meaningful. On the other hand, there was something else just as important, I thought.
I considered why their interaction ended when it did.
Though the two of them were engaging in a relationship both of them knew was a betrayal of marital trust, he’d found a way to exhibit self-control. In fact, it was more than just self-control. I simultaneously hated a guy I didn’t know, and was also grateful he had self-control. In a situation where sex was a possibility, self-control in times of passion was something I’d struggled with in the past.
Maybe if I’d had self-control…
I looked at Joy again. She looked devastated.
I knew she was a good person. She was conscientious, a person of integrity. I knew she’d beat herself up about this enough that I didn’t need to add to her shame. She was a wreck. So was I.
After months, probably years of a marriage drifting off course, this is where we’d washed ashore, our boat run aground and dashed on the rocks. We were in unfamiliar and unpleasant territory. As we looked at the wreckage, and then at each other, there was only one way to understand it.
Our journey together was at its end.
Or, so we assumed. As it turned out, we’d find a way to stay together, discovering it was possible to change the trajectory of where our journey was taking us.
Neither of us remember anger during that time. We were just sad, and I finally found the resignation she had about our marriage.
I don’t know if there’s a spectrum of “acts of infidelity,” but a kiss would rank significantly lower than sex. I knew that then, and admit it now. Still, it was hard. I was hurt. For me, the difficulty wasn’t in what the action was, it was in what the action signified.
Likely I should have been more upset than I was, but I’d found grace for her in a place I might not have expected.
I remembered that I'd hurt her before. In the earliest parts of our relationship, long before we were married, I'd sexually assaulted her. That day, as I watched her struggle with shame over the kiss, I recognized something familiar - the gap between who we believe ourselves to be and what we're capable of doing. Just as I had never imagined I could assault someone as I had, Joy never imagined she could betray our marriage. Yet here we both were, having crossed lines we never thought we would.
As 18 and 19 year olds in the mid-90s, we hadn't been able to name what happened between us as assault. We'd brushed it aside. But a decade later, I understood. And while Joy and I hadn't yet discussed it directly, watching her grapple with her own transgression brought my past actions into sharper focus. I began to see how trauma echoes through years, unseen until it's acknowledged - both the trauma I'd caused her and the slow fracturing of trust that led to this moment.
The effect of her kiss paled in comparison to what I'd done to her. But more than that, my own journey of confronting my actions had taught me something crucial: understanding comes not from judgment, but from examining the path that leads to our worst moments.
Even before talking with her and going to counseling, I think I began to realize that understanding our own capacity for causing harm makes it easier to pardon others' transgressions. That’s where I found myself.
Sexual assault is bad; it’s among the worst of things. I never would have imagined it was something I was capable of. It was outside my value system. Yet, it happened. I began to ask (and later examine) why it happened. I wanted to know what led to that point. I wasn’t trying to excuse it. But reasons can help explain an action, and inform on how to avoid bad or unwanted behavior in the future.
Having a secret, intimate, extra-marital relationship was outside Joy’s own value system. I knew this for sure. She was never defensive about what happened. She’d told me things were moving in that direction, and when it finally occurred. She apologized.
But I recognized an action like that wasn’t something Joy wanted to have happen. So, I began to examine what led her there. When I did, I saw that there were things she needed from me that I hadn’t provided for her. Just as I had to face my own actions years before, I now had to face how our marriage had arrived at this point.
Understanding my own capacity for causing harm taught me something crucial: that growth comes not from shame, but from grace. And grace, I was learning, begins with the willingness to look beyond the immediate hurt to see the deeper wounds that need healing.
Joy, my wife, was a person who’d been wounded by my actions. She was wounded first when we were teenagers, and also when I failed to be the kind of marriage partner she needed me to be. I recognized this, and I found the grace to respond to what Joy had done with care and concern, because my own failures in these areas were some of the things that prodded her in the direction she’d gone.
This wasn't the end of our journey. It was the beginning of a different one.
Some days later, I’d have a tearful, confessional conversation with Joy and beg her to go to counseling with me. We discussed a lot, including the assault. She’d been exhibiting grace for years, that much was clear.
In the coming weeks we’d find a counselor. The process of healing began.
To close, I want to recognize that what happened with Joy and me may pale in comparison to betrayal which has happened in your marriage. I don’t want to think about what might have happened if the intimacy Joy found in this other man had grown to the level of sexual intimacy. But, I believe grace can help heal those situations too, and I want to recommend another person’s story about finding ways through circumstances that progressed further than ours did.
Not long ago I read a book called, How to Stay Married: The Most Insane Love Story Ever Told. The memoir authored by Harrison Scott Key provides an example of how grace, understanding, and vulnerability can guide us through traumatic betrayals of marital trust. He writes with a unique combination of humor and depth. If you’re looking to find more hope than I could provide with what I offer you in this piece, How to Stay Married garners my highest recommendation.
See you next time. If you'd like to learn more about our journey of healing and the specific steps we took to rebuild our marriage, consider subscribing.
This is series of personal reflections about some things I did to help save my marriage. Here’s where we’re going:
Things A Husband Can Do to Save His Marriage
Let grace abound.
Decide if the person you are married to is the person you want to be married to.
Put your spouse’s needs before yours, including granting a divorce if it means she will be healthier.
Apologize for the things you know you did wrong.
Listen to the grievances your spouse has and decide if they are things you can change.
Reassess your goals in life.
Be honest about your addictions.
Learn to give her an orgasm.
Give her an orgasm every day.
I had this article ready to publish in mid-January. But in this particular series, I’ve asked my wife to look at and fact-check everything I’m publishing. It was particularly important for this article, for obvious reasons. When she did, there were some problems.
First, I’d portrayed myself in too positive of a light. She told me that if I’d been the kind of person I’d portrayed myself to be at that time in our relationship, we probably wouldn’t have had the problems we did. I’d written myself as far too caring. As I listened to her, I discovered she was right. I’d forgotten. This sent me into a sort of writer’s block I hadn’t experienced before. When writing, I will be creative for the purposes of story-telling and flow. The creative details build the truth of the story rather than give the facts of the details. (Sometimes we just can’t remember the actual details of a moment in our history.) Still, my writing is primarily based on memory. So, when my memory was incorrect, I had a hard time conceiving of—let alone writing—something that was more accurate.
Second, the ways I described what my imagination saw about the encounter, well, were created by my imagination. My mind really did conjure up those images. But those images weren’t the reality of what happened. They were difficult for Joy to read because they didn’t feel truthful to what happened. What I imagined happened did not match up with Joy’s lived reality. Still, I shared those imaginations here in an effort to help you understand this deeply affected me.
So, I changed some things in this piece. I sent the original, inaccurate piece to my paid subscribers with a clear explanation about what they were reading. That’s the first time I’ve done that, and I was glad to finally have something “extra” to provide to the people who have supported me financially.
I’ve also been working on some other writing projects, and training for the Boston Marathon. My motivation waned. I really want to apologize for this, even though I’ve heard people say not to apologize when you need to take a break.
I want to say thank you to the people who reached out to make sure I was OK. One of you even reported having a dream in which you asked if I was ever going to publish again. Message received!
I’m glad to be back!
Thank you once again for sharing, Jeff!