After fifteen years of marriage, with two children and a steady, predictable life, things between my husband and me had slipped into a routine so fixed it almost felt mechanical: work, home, church, repeat. There was no excitement, no spontaneity—just days ticking by, one after the other. And worse, he was glued to his phone more than he was to us. It was as if we were just roommates sharing a space, co-existing.

I started expressing my frustrations, “Is your phone really more important than us?”

“If you’re so bothered, why don’t you pick up yours too?” he shot back.

That day, I’d had enough. Fine, if he wanted to sink into his screen, so would I. So, I dove into my own phone, sifting through messages that had gathered dust in my DMs. There were quite a few, but one message stood out: it was from Bob, a mature, well-traveled family man. He seemed kind and engaging, so I replied. To my surprise, he responded almost instantly. Our conversations were lighthearted and fun, filled with laughter that I hadn't felt in a long time. Soon, while my husband and I both sat on our phones, he was silent, but I was the one laughing.

Things went smoothly with Bob until one night, his message took a surprising turn. "Can you send me pictures?" he asked.

“There are plenty on my profile,” I replied, assuming he meant something innocent.

“No, you know what I mean. Lewd ones, I mean.”

A chill went through me. Was this where things went in the dating world now? I thought of my daughter and felt a pang of protectiveness. “If that’s what you’re after,” I said, “then let’s end this here.” He apologized, and I forgave him, maybe too readily.

Then, weeks later, my husband's messages appeared on our laptop. He’d linked his WhatsApp to the computer and forgotten to log out. The messages were with another woman, full of things he’d never even said to me. He saw that I’d seen it, but neither of us said a word. I felt embarrassed for him, and maybe he did for himself. But from that moment on, I was done trying with him. I poured all my energy into my friendship with Bob.

Eventually, Bob and I decided to meet in person. He was charming, funny, and surprisingly handsome for his age. Over lunch, I confided in him about the things I’d seen in my husband’s messages, hoping for sympathy.

He chuckled, “It’s normal. After a while, things get boring. Just let him unwind; he’s all yours, after all.”

I smiled, but his words lingered. Was that how marriage went? Did he believe it was okay to drift like this? I knew things had grown stale, but the idea that his flirtations were just a form of "unwinding" seemed too easy an excuse. And if he was allowed to unwind like that, then wasn’t I? Didn’t I deserve that escape, too?

When I got home that night, he was waiting for me. I could see he noticed how I looked, the effort I’d made for my meeting with Bob. He smiled, trying to reach me in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

“I warmed up some food for you,” he said softly.

“I’m not hungry,” I replied, barely glancing his way as I walked past.

Suddenly, he began trying to reconnect, making small gestures he hadn’t bothered with in years. But for me, it was too late. His messages with that woman had left a mark. If we were to live like roommates, I was okay with that now. He could continue “unwinding” as he pleased, and I’d find my own way to feel alive again, I felt it was too late to make amends.

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I’d put up with his neglect and his flirting with another woman for too long, and if he could "unwind," so could I. His sudden attempts at reconnection were amusing, but they wouldn’t stop me. We settled into this odd routine, where he’d hover around, trying to catch a glimpse of my screen, maybe to hear my laughter again. He even asked me one night, “Are you leaving me?”

It was ironic because I hadn’t thought about leaving; it seemed like more hassle than it was worth. Besides, the thought of starting over, getting to know someone new—that wasn’t what I wanted. I just wanted to feel alive again. But I didn’t answer him, just turned over and went to sleep, ignoring his pleas to talk. He wanted us to be close again, but by then, I was busily enjoying my own escape.

One day, Bob invited me to a hotel. He wanted us to take things further. I dressed up, fully prepared for anything, feeling reckless. But as I drove, something hit me. I remembered his words: “Sometimes things get boring, and you need to unwind.” The reality of his intentions sank in—his own marriage must’ve grown dull, and he was looking to me to fill the gap, to help him "unwind."

I stopped in my tracks. Was I just a way for him to escape his own life, as if I were some temporary thrill? The thought turned my stomach. I texted Bob to say I wasn’t coming and blocked him right after.

When I got back home, my husband looked up, surprised. “You’re back early,” he said.

“I didn’t feel like going anymore,” I replied, brushing past him. Before I knew it, he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. I was startled as he whispered, “Are you leaving me? Please don’t leave me. I’ll never do that again. I swear, just one more chance.”

“Would you be happy if I started sleeping with another man?” I asked, my voice cold. He stiffened behind me.

“No,” he replied quietly.

“Carl, don’t ever think I don’t have options. If I choose to respect you, it’s not because I lack them,” I warned, pulling free of his arms.

He begged, swearing he’d never cross that line again. I chuckled as I walked away. Leaving him? I had no plans of leaving him. I could hear the relief in his sigh, though he didn’t know the joke was on him. No, we’re in this together, for better or worse, until the very end. After all, who said I was going anywhere? We die here.