Her Journal

The Trajectory of My Future

“Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” — Tolstoy

There are very few instances in life where a single moment can completely change the perception of your past and the trajectory of your future. I was about to experience one of those moments.

It was 6 a.m. I lay next to her while she slept, scrolling through her supposedly “protected” digital journal:

21st Aug — “Then I told him I will be inside him for five seconds and removed my pants and fucked him from the top and he kept counting and getting scared uzman will come but I was too in the mood…..”

I was in disbelief. My wife—my partner—was sleeping with him, her so-called best friend, under the same roof I had worked so hard to provide for, all while I slept just a few steps away in the next room.

A sick, convoluted story.

There were many uncertainties I had about her, but her loyalty was never one of them. Even when doubts crept in about whether I could trust her around him, I reassured myself—over confidently, in hindsight—that she would always make the right choice. I was so certain, in fact, that at times, as I undressed her, I’d think to myself: This fool may confess his love for her a hundred times, but he’ll never know what it’s like to have her.

How did I end up being the fool?

2017 – At First Sight

In late 2017, I was a university student in Australia, working as a cleaner to fund my engineering degree, cover my living expenses, and support my parents. More importantly, I was 23, still in that rebellious, idealistic phase—determined to carve out a life on my own terms, free from societal conventions.

She, on the other hand, was born in Sri Lanka but raised in Kenya, living a life many in Kenya would call “very rich” —or upper-middle-class by Australian standards. Her vacations involved jetting off to countries around the world with her family and even wealthier extended relatives. By 2017, she was three-quarters of the way into medical school, feeling the mounting pressure from her parents to find a suitable partner.

Our parents introduced us while we were both on holiday in Sri Lanka, and our first meeting—our first date—was at a hotel restaurant on warm summer night. Although I didn’t fully appreciate it at the start, over the next few days, I began to see her elegance, beauty, and intelligence—qualities that rarely mix and one’s that drew attention wherever we went.

The two weeks we spent together were unforgettable, but a few moments remain etched in my mind:

1. She told me she’d never been in a relationship and was weary of her parents parading prospective partners to her. Laughing, she confessed that after hearing about me from relatives, she had jokingly asked her parents, “Why can’t you introduce me to someone like him?”
2. When I asked what she expected from a relationship, she answered, “Your time and attention — and no second wives.” I teased her, saying, “Can’t a man love two women?” only to later realise that polygamy was common in Kenya.
3. I had approached our first date with every intention of saying no to long term commitments. I felt too young and too unprepared for a responsibility of this magnitude. But something shifted over those days. Despite our differences—financial, cultural, and personal—we found ourselves feeling at home in each other’s company.

By the time we parted ways, we had chosen to be exclusive, both hopeful for a future together. She returned to Kenya, I returned to Australia, and we began crafting plans to reunite as soon as possible. The next few years were crucial because, in hindsight, this was the birth of tragedy.

2018 – Birth of Tragedy

Mistake 1: I was terrible at communicating with her over the phone. She expected someone who would call every day, share stories, and make her feel close despite the distance. Instead, she got someone who texted sporadically and called her even less.

Why? Maybe it was my rebellious phase, maybe the exhaustion of juggling work and university, or perhaps it was the distance—or all of the above. What mattered was that when we did talk, we fought. A lot. And she cried. Often. About what? I don’t know.

Her parents only made things worse, pressuring her relentlessly to push us into living together, despite knowing we had to be apart to finish our degrees. I never understood why they did this, but it took its toll on her and us.

Mistake 2: In mid-2018, worn down by the long distance, she decided to make the long flight to Australia and stay with me for four weeks. When she told me, I convinced her to cut it down to three. Looking back, I can’t remember exactly why I did this, but it was likely due to a mix of reasons: doubts fuelled by our constant fighting, fear of commitment, worry she’d disrupt my routine, and a simple, practical issue—I was poor and couldn’t afford to host her for a month.

When she finally arrived in the winter of 2018, her heart was full of high expectations for love and romance; reality fell short.

There were some wonderful moments: seeing her at the airport and being struck by how beautiful she was, cuddling every night listening to music, and losing our virginity at the same time. As wonderful as they were, those moments were far and few.

Most of her stay felt uneventful—I was consumed by work, and when I returned home, exhaustion left little space for the meaningful connection she had longed for. Even our trips, which should have been a chance to escape the monotony and deepen our bond, often turned into emotional minefields because I didn’t give her the care or attention she deserved as a partner. Rather than feeling valued, appreciated, and desired, I left her feeling neglected and unwanted.

When her stay ended, I dropped her off at the airport, and as I returned to an empty house, I was in the verge of tears. It was then I realised how much I missed her, how much I loved her. I messaged her this realisation, and she replied, “I’ve always loved you.”

But 2018 wasn’t over without Mistake 3: I was struggling to pay for my final year of university, and my parents involved, almost demanded, her wealthy parents to help. Her father generously offered to cover my semester’s fees, and I accepted. I shouldn’t have because that decision became a recurring story in our marriage.

It’s important to note that the reasons I mentioned aren’t excuses for why I acted the way I did; they were symptoms. The real issue, the disease, was that she simply wasn’t a priority for me. This is something I’ve only come to understand now, looking back. She should have been my priority, but she wasn’t. And that brings me to my first lesson:

Lesson: Don’t commit to a serious relationship in young adulthood if you’re still finding your place in life—balancing work, university, personal dreams, or anything else that demands your time and energy.

2019 – Change in Priorities

After her painful visit to Australia, she returned to her life at university. By 2019, I had finally graduated, removing a massive burden off my overcrowded plate. With fewer responsibilities weighing me down, I found myself able to invest more energy into our conversations. Our phone calls improved significantly compared to the previous year—perhaps not to the level she longed for, but enough to feel like progress. It’s worth noting that my communication skills hadn’t fundamentally changed; instead, I simply had more energy and time, so I was able to prioritise her, and that shift alone made all the difference.

In mid-2019, tragedy struck her family. Her beloved uncle in Sri Lanka was killed during the Easter Sunday terror attacks when a man detonated a bomb at the hotel breakfast lounge. While her parents immediately flew to Sri Lanka to be with their family, she stayed behind in Kenya, grappling with her grief and feeling deeply alone. Unable to bear seeing her in such pain, I made the long journey to Kenya, spending two weeks by her side to provide comfort and support. This gesture was met with immense gratitude, and we felt closer than ever.

Now that I had time and a bit of money saved, we decided to plan a holiday in Japan toward the end of the year. Our itinerary was ambitious: five weeks traveling together, followed by an additional week for me to backpack solo in the Japanese mountains, before reuniting with her in Kenya for a few more weeks. It felt like an opportunity to rewrite the narrative, to reclaim what had been strained and lost.

This was our first time traveling as a couple, so we had a lot to learn about each other’s rhythms on the road. As we navigated our differences, we experienced moments that made the challenges worthwhile: watching a sunset paint the sky in hues of orange from the summit of Mt. Kita; cycling through the warm streets of Kyoto on a summer night, visiting temples and relics, feeling spiritually connected to the history of the land; and, travelling for 7 days straight on the Shinkansen bullet trains to distant towns and magnificent cities, seeing the country unfold at high speed.

While I would have much preferred to only backpack in the mountains and avoid the cities completely, I learnt a lesson during out trip:

Lesson: When traveling together, especially with different styles, approach the journey with openness and flexibility. This mindset allows you to experience life in new and unexpected ways. The alternative—“I’ll do this, and you can do that”—usually leaves both people feeling worse off.

In the final week of our trip in Japan, she discovered she was pregnant. We both knew we weren’t ready for a child—emotionally, financially, or practically—so we made the painful decision to terminate the pregnancy once she was back in Kenya. I insisted on flying back with her instead of staying for the extra week in Japan, but she urged me to stay, assuring me there was little I could do during that week in Kenya.

While I stayed in Japan, she went through the ordeal alone. She took the pills, enduring an excruciatingly painful few days, and I wasn’t there to support her. What makes it even more devastating is knowing she urged me to stay, not because she didn’t need me, but because she wanted me to pursue my dreams. My choice to accept her suggestion and stay in Japan is something I will regret deeply for years to come, and one that I will carry for the rest of my life. I suspect this experience is etched in her memory as a moment when I wasn’t there when she needed me most.

Lesson: Prioritise your partner, even if they tell you otherwise. It sounds like obvious, common-sense advice, but in the day-to-day trenches of adult life, it’s all too easy to overlook.

2020 – My Big Sacrifice

By late 2020, we were deep into the COVID era, and if we wanted to be together, one of us had to make a sacrifice.

Due to the COVID crisis, Australia’s engineering industry was struggling, and I hadn’t secured full-time employment. This also meant my visa would expire in a year. She, on the other hand, couldn’t move to Australia because of lock-down restrictions and still had a year left in her degree. So I was left with a choice: keep trying to find work in Australia, or leave everything I’d built to move to Africa, prioritise our relationship, and start something entirely new.

It wasn’t an easy decision. Moving meant leaving behind the life I’d spent eight years building and giving up any hope of permanent residency, as my visa would be void once I left. It also meant parting from my younger brother, only two years my junior, who I loved deeply and who had just recovered from cancer surgery the year before. It was further complicated by the criticisms of my parents, who worried I’d appear “weak” or “dependent” if I wasn’t the primary provider. But, in the end, it had to be done for the sake of our relationship, for her, so I made the leap and moved to Kenya.

In Kenya, we settled into an apartment paid for by her father, and thus began domestic bliss. We adapted to each other’s rhythms effortlessly, and before long, she became my closest companion, my best friend. Amid the headaches and uncertainties of young coupled, not a day passed without us holding each other, finding comfort in the new life we were building together.

Now that we were living together, her parents urged us to have a small, intimate wedding in Kenya. I turned down the idea, citing financial reasons—I was determined not to repeat the mistakes of 2018—as well as the inability to include my own family due to lock-down restrictions. While her parents eventually accepted my decision, her mother called her often with a biting implication that I was hesitant to marry her because she wasn’t worth it. Even though she knew these accusations were unfounded and understood my reasoning, the hurtful words sometimes brought her to tears, leaving her feeling deeply shaken and emotionally scarred.

2021 – Becoming a Supportive Husband

By 2021, the wedding drama was behind us, and we had finally settled into a rhythm of our own life. After six gruelling months of searching, she secured an internship at a private hospital, a step that marked the beginning of her professional journey. When she told me the news, I decorated the house and baked her a cake as a little surprise for when she got home.

Meanwhile, I was offered a position at her father’s company. Yet, if I’m honest, the role felt more like an act of charity than a recognition of any skills. Since the work wasn’t making any meaningful impact on the company, I couldn’t shake the feeling that, in reality, I was essentially unemployed.

I realised if I can’t support her financially, I can support her by other means. So I took on the role of a house-husband: cleaning, doing the grocery shopping, and preparing meals for her to take to work. On days I didn’t pack her lunch, I’d drive to her hospital, and we’d eat together in the car park.

This routine became my role, one I accepted, though it fed insecurities that grew louder by the day: “How long will I stay unemployed? Am I wasting my potential? Am I destined to be a ‘loser’ like some of the patriarchs in my family? Am I not good enough?” This chronic stress began taking a toll on me, affecting me mentally and physically.

Then, during this period of self-doubt, I found troubling messages on her phone from her best friend from university. He had confessed his love for her on text. She neither accepted nor rejected his advances in the messages, leaving me feeling uneasy, but with no one to confide in because I feared damaging her reputation. Eventually, I shared my concerns with her younger sister who I had become quite close to at the time, who reassured me: “Don’t stress; she loves you so much. Just talk to her.”

When I confronted her, she brushed it off, saying he was annoying and irritating, and she had a face of disgust at the thought of being with him. She also knew how distressed I was, and without hesitation, she pulled me into her arms, holding me with the fierce, protective embrace of a mother comforting her child. In that moment, I realised I had complete confidence in her, and that I should stop projecting my insecurities on our relationship.

By mid-2021, we had grown inseparable, cherishing each other’s company with the unfiltered joy of two childhood best friends. She was progressing well as an intern at her hospital, and we moved to one of the most luxurious apartments in Kenya, again paid for by her father.

By this time, it became clear that finding work as an engineer in Kenya was unlikely. If that door was closed, maybe I could pivot, focusing on wilderness backpacking and photography. For my birthday, she even sponsored a six-day trek in the mountains of Kenya. The trip, though gruelling, reignited a fire in my spirit, and I saved up for a few more expeditions. It wasn’t exactly a career path, but it provided much needed respite and a sense of purpose.

2022 – Finding Peace

In the first quarter of 2022, an unexpected invitation from the Australian government arrived: I was offered a two-year opportunity to return to work, given the severe labour shortages post-COVID. After discussing it with her, we both agreed that this was a chance I couldn’t pass up—not only could I finally get another shot at an engineering career, but with time, I’d be able to bring her to Australia. Kenya’s economy was also taking a hard turn for the worse, so this decision felt like the most promising path forward.

Saying goodbye to her at the airport wasn’t nearly as painful as it had been in the past. This time, the distance felt temporary because we both knew we’ll be meeting each other soon.

I returned to Australia in the middle of the year and eventually landed a job in the engineering industry. My career picked up with surprising speed, and I was making leaps and bounds in the industry. Meanwhile, back in Kenya, she was living her best life: she had a secured permanent job as a doctor in the private hospital she interned in, she was earning a good salary, and still had the luxury of her high-end apartment. Most days she’d have her closest friends at her home, occasionally throwing parties, and travelling within Kenya and abroad.

Our long-distance communication was surprisingly smooth—not necessarily because we had grown better at it, but because we knew the distance was short lived. There was no pressure to carry the weight of “making it work” in every conversation; we’d be together soon enough.

Toward the end of 2022, we finally reunited in Sri Lanka for a holiday. Although technically married without the formalities, I had planned a proposal by the beach to give her the moment she’d always dreamed of: sunset by the sea, shimmering lights on the sand, and a sumptuous three-course meal. Of course, a few hiccups found their way in: the setup took longer than expected, clouds blocked the sunset, and a breeze stirred up just as we started to eat. As often said, it’s not what happens, but how you handle it that counts.

After the proposal, we spent a few days in my childhood home. On a warm summer evening, all of us gathered on the rooftop. My brother was teasing her, my younger half-adopted brothers mimicking his jokes, my mother laughing while massaging her hair, and my father listening from downstairs. The mountains stretched out in the distance, catching the last light of the day. For a fleeting moment, I thought to myself, this is happiness. It was in that quiet moment, filled with simple joy, that I understood what Tolstoy meant when he wrote:

“A quiet, secluded life in our country backwater, with the possibility of doing good to people whom it is easy to do good to because they are not used to it; then work work which one thinks is useful, then rest, nature, books, music, love for the person who is close to you—that’s my idea of happiness. I never dreamed of anything better. And now, on top of all this, I get a friend like you, a family perhaps, and everything that a man can desire.”

2023 – Her Big Sacrifice

By mid-2023, she said her final goodbye to her life in Kenya and moved to Australia to live with me.

This was the first time we were living together without any external financial support. All the savings I’d built up went into the couple’s visa and setting up our rented apartment. Managing cash flow quickly became stressful since I was covering both our daily expenses and the upfront costs of settling in. Even with my nearly six-figure salary, we were just getting by.

At one point, I asked to borrow some of her savings until I could catch up with my debts, and she gave it, albeit reluctantly. When I brought it up, she denied her feelings of reluctance but the fact that she was keeping track of what’s owed was proof of it. There is no rule that says good marriages share finances, but I grew up in a family culture where we never kept count if what’s owed; my brother and I had both contributed toward each other’s university fees without question.

She had a few hoops to jump before she was allowed to practice as a doctor, so I became the bread winner, and she became the homemaker. The roles in our marriage reversed, and she didn’t take this role well. It wasn’t because she was envious of my career or that she loved her work. Rather, she had no deep passions or hobbies to fill her time, and so the activities she naturally leaned towards was practicing medicine and socialising, both of which were limited by her unemployment and Australia’s comparatively reserved social culture.

This often reminded of a quote from Candide:

“When they were not arguing, the boredom was so fierce that one day the old woman ventured to say: —I should like to know which is worse, being raped a hundred times by negro pirates, having a buttock cut off….being dissected and rowing in the galleys—experiencing, in a word, all the miseries through which we have passed—or else just sitting here and doing nothing? —It’s a hard question, said Candide.

When I think back, I can empathise with her frustration in idleness, but this is where our periods of unemployment differed. You would recall that in 2022, I handled the household chores while she worked, viewing this as means of support even if I couldn’t contribute financially. This, to me, was partnership: a shared effort. Yet, this was a wisdom she never learnt.

My 2023 routine became: train early morning, go to work, return home, clean, prep food for us both, and spend the evening with her. Weekends were for catching up on chores (like both our laundries) or taking trips together. Though she did cook, and cooked well, the frequency was low—around 25% of meals by my estimate, though she might give a higher figure if you asked her. I didn’t mind doing most of the work initially; I knew she was going through her own adjustment. But in hindsight, not setting boundaries was an ill-advised decision because it led to burnout.

Lesson: I’d often heard that love was all that mattered, but while this sounds good in theory, it didn’t hold up in practice—love alone isn’t enough to sustain the realities of a shared life. Love and partnership are both essential for marriage, and while they may share some traits, they are distinct qualities. It’s important to ensure your relationship has both before choosing to marry. She loved me, but partnership was something she struggled with, and that was one factor that contributed to a failing marriage.

Towards the end of 2023, both our parents began insisting it was time for us to get married. Unfortunately, I had spent most of my savings on our visa, resettling into a new apartment, and covering our living expenses. I explained to her parents that I’d prefer to postpone the ceremony by six months to save enough to share the costs. They rejected the suggestion, insisting they would rather cover the expenses themselves if it meant having the wedding sooner.

She, too, was hesitant about the idea of getting married. The emotional wounds left by her mother’s harsh comments during the 2020 wedding debacle still lingered. Her reluctance only fuelled her father’s frustration, and he angrily declared that she didn’t have a choice in the matter.

On December 27, 2023, at the Grand Kandyan Hotel in Sri Lanka, we got married.

2024 – Sins

“All sins are attempts to fill voids,” Simone Weil. 

Once we returned to Australia from our wedding trip, I reassured her that as soon as she started working, we would save up for a grand honeymoon adventure. I promised it would include some of her dream destinations, like Greece and Turkey—a chance for us to pursue our dreams of travel and celebrate our new chapter together.

However, by mid-2024, she was still unemployed, and the weight of it was beginning to affect her mental health. I did my best to lift her spirits, planning date trips on weekends including hikes on the mountains, listening to an orchestra at a candle lit concerts, tours of the city, picnics by the sea, and leisurely strolls through verdant parks.

When time was short, we’d drive to a nearby hill overlooking a vast, tranquil lake—a place we lovingly called Our Lake. Seated on a weathered bench beneath the embrace of an ancient oak tree, my arm wrapped around her shoulder, her head resting softly against mine, we would gently gaze at the shimmering waters stretching endlessly toward the horizon. Whether under the warmth of summer evenings or the crisp bite of winter skies, those fleeting moments were spent in laughter, tears, and quiet contemplation—sharing big thoughts and dreaming even bigger dreams.

Despite my best efforts to lift her spirits, she seemed distant, bringing little energy or enthusiasm to our trips. I had hoped our little adventures would be invitations to create meaningful memories, instead it felt like fleeting distractions from a deeper, unanswered question: was the issue her unemployment or our relationship?

This year, our relationship had weathered its fair share of disagreements, negativity, and frustration. They weren’t explosive or dramatic, but rather small, subtle issues that slowly eroded our connection, gnawing away in the background without our full awareness. I couldn’t figure out what caused this, but the symptoms were clear: the loss of the energy and commitment that once defined us—a spark that we could now barely feel.

Her days at home, spent in idleness and frustration, had drained her of vitality. It was clear she needed to break free from this inertia. I encouraged her to plan a date, even something as simple as a movie night, just to give her a sense of purpose and engagement. But she didn’t seem interested. Hoping to rekindle her energy, I suggested she take a vacation.

One evening, while we were discussing the idea of her taking a short holiday, she brought up a reunion her high school friends—whom I had grown to know and like after meeting them at our wedding—were organising in Kenya. She asked if she should go, and without hesitation, I encouraged her to take the opportunity to reconnect and unwind.

After returning from her three-week trip, she shared the news of an offer to work at a hospital in Perth, a four-hour flight from our home in Victoria. I had anticipated excitement in her reaction; instead her expression revealed a deep sense of relief as she held the employment letter. With a few weeks remaining before her start date, she decided to spend the interim visiting her family in Japan.

During her trip, I had a revelation: life felt noticeably easier in her absence. There were fewer chores to manage, less mental exhaustion, and an unspoken weight seemed to lift from my shoulders. Over the past year, we’d had countless discussions about sharing the workload, yet each one seemed to end in frustration and unresolved disagreements.

But this feeling went deeper than just the division of chores. I had a painful realisation: I was in a one-sided relationship. I had tried my best to keep her happy by pouring my heart and energy into gestures of love, hoping she would reciprocate it, or at the very least, notice and acknowledge my efforts. Yet, it often felt like there was a wall between us, and she could neither see nor appreciate my love.

More than anything, I wanted her to show real interest in our life together, to engage with me, rather than remain a passive observer on the sidelines. The truth was, I just wanted her to care, and instead, I came to see that she was indifferent. The realisation stung as it was sharp contrast to the love that we used to share.

When she returned, I told her that I shouldn’t have to feel this way in a relationship, and given that she was going to Perth, perhaps we needed a break. Initially, she didn’t take it well, and our discussions turned into passive-aggressive arguments over the next few weeks. Eventually, though, she agreed and said, “Perhaps we do need a break, or maybe we need to go our separate way, but you’ll always be my best friend.”

Right after this confession, she underwent a complete shift in energy and enthusiasm. Suddenly, she was cooking more often, filling our home with the warmth of her meals. She seemed more engaged and excited on our weekend trips; her presence more alive. To my surprise, she even planned a solo backpacking trip in Japan for me, and even took on the long, tedious visa process on my behalf.

This unexpected effort caught me off guard. It was the energy and dedication that had been missing from our relationship for some time, and while it was welcome, it also left me wondering why it had taken so long for it to surface.

And that’s when it all began.

Earlier in the year, he—her best friend—had been sponsored by a hospital in Queensland and had also moved to Australia to work as a doctor. During a break in his schedule, she asked if he could stay at our house. Trusting her, I agreed. However, in the brief time between his arrival and departure, I noticed a shift in her behaviour—subtle, yet so out of character for someone I thought I knew deeply.

The first red flag was her request to buy condoms before we had sex—a strange request considering her disdain for them and the fact that she had an IUD. When I tried to initiate intimacy, she avoided it, changing the subject and subtly shutting me down. While he stayed with us, her demeanour changed entirely. She exuded a higher level of energy and enthusiasm. She even cleaned the house out of her own volition, something I had rarely seen while she was living with me.

After he left, a troubling argument erupted between us during a phone call while I was driving home from work. It began with a disagreement over dinner expenses—she proudly highlighted how he had spent $200 on her dinner, and I reminded her that I had paid for both her and his camping trip, as well as their dinner when I had taken them out. The conversation then spiralled into a confrontation about him staying at our house. I told her that no man would allow someone like him, who had confessed his feelings, to stay under the same roof, but I had done it for her happiness.

She defended him fiercely, with an intensity that unnerved me. I reminded her that I was her husband and partner and that she should be on my team. But she responded, “Well, if you’re going to insult my friend, who hasn’t done anything to you, of course, I’ll fight back.” A strange anger brewed inside me—an anger so raw I felt the urge to release it by punching the wall, a feeling I had never felt before.

Later that night, I calmed down. I apologised for my outburst and held her hand, attempting to move past the tension. Yet, a nagging feeling lingered, a sense that something deeper was at play—an unspoken truth I couldn’t shake.

A few days later, at 6 a.m., as she lay asleep beside me, an unfamiliar force stirred within me. My hand reached out almost involuntarily, fingers grasping her phone, and I found myself hacking into her digital journal, driven by an impulse I couldn’t explain or deny.

Reflection #1 — 80/20

A very real question that you may have: if the relationship was so tragic, why did they stay together for so long?

What I’ve shared here is only 20% of our relationship—the part that reflects our struggles. The remaining 80% I’ve excluded are moments that bonded us deeply: hours spent sleeping on her chest as she stroked my hair, dancing together while making pizza, or holding each other in silence after a difficult day. Friends often told us we were the cutest couple they’d met; even our families advised us to dial back the “coddling.”

Of course, these few words can’t capture what the essence of being in love with her actually feels because it transcends language. It’s like trying to depict a grand landscape in a picture: you might capture the view, but the sense of grandeur is lost, and that there is something, the spirit and essence of the landscape perhaps, that is lost in translation between the actual experience and the image itself. Great artists may come close to expressing such experiences, but even they rarely convey the full, lived moment.

And as hard as it is to describe being in love, it’s even harder to define love itself. If you asked me what it is, I’d turn to J.F. Muller’s thoughts on the good life (taken out of context but relevant here): “…good for their own sake, which can’t be strictly proved, but which don’t need to be proved once they are known.”

I’ve always believed in optimising life for the 80%; yet it’s often the 20% that defines everything.

By way of example, if you love backpacking in the mountains, and you go on trips once or twice a month, but like the average person, you also work at the city, it’s sensible to locate closer to work and to prioritise your goals around work, and when you get the chance, make the long drive to the mountains to spend some time there. Yet, the 20% of your time spent in the mountains spiritually transforms and fulfills you more than 80% of your time at work.

Now, as the reader, I ask you to pause. Reflect on what you know so far, the story I’ve shared, and the judgments you may have formed about each of us and our relationship. Perhaps you’re thinking he hurt her emotionally, so cheating was inevitable. Or maybe you see a guy who made mistakes but learned from them and improved. Or perhaps, you may conclude that she should have ended the relationship before she slept with the other guy.

Whatever your opinion, hold onto it. We’ll come back to it.

The Perception of My Past

While visiting her family in Japan, she started journalling—a sign of how troubled our relationship had become by mid-2024. When I later hacked into her journal, reading it felt like peering directly into her mind. Though she only documented a month of her life, the entries were vivid and descriptive, offering enough context to piece together how she saw our relationship and her private reflections on it.

One entry dated August 22, 2024—what I came to call the “body count list”—laid out her sexual history with him, and this one entry exposed the lies of our relationship.

You may remember in 2021, during those difficult months in Kenya when my insecurities about unemployment were growing, I confronted her about his messages of love, and she reassured me, saying not to worry. Recall she even paid for a couple of trips, including a birthday trip to Mount Kenya. Looking back now, it seems this might have been when it all began. As to whether she screwed him while I was away on that trip, I cannot confirm, but I know for a fact she did cheat while I was on a trip in 2021.

After the first incident, that year she had sex with him at an Ibis Hotel, at an Airbnb, Ole Sereni hotel, Park inn hotel, at the couch in the apartment we were living in, at his cousin’s wedding, and few times at two separate parking lots. One of the car parks was at her workplace, the very same lot I used to drive to feed her lunch when I was the house-husband during this time.

You also may recollect that in 2022, I moved back to Australia and was working on getting her visa so she can live with me. At this time, she was living her best life in Kenya, working as a doctor in one of the most recognised hospitals and living in the most luxurious apartment. This was her biggest year of sex with him—28 encounters in total including, but not limited to: sex when they went on holidays with their work colleagues; sex in the house we used to live in while her sister visited her from the UK, and later, when her grandma visited her for a few months; the first time she got drunk with him during a trip to a seaside resort with her sister; one time after he took her and her grandma to an all-you-can-eat dinner; sex after she attended another of his cousin’s wedding and once after she attended high society dinners with people I had met before; and multiple times in the car.

Now, here’s a disturbingly interesting one: you may remember that towards the end of 2022, I proposed to her when we met up in Sri Lanka for a holiday. On her body count list, under the 2023 section, the first entry was “Airport from Sri Lanka.” In other words, she slept with him as soon as she landed back in Kenya after accepting my proposal just weeks before.

I brought this up with her, telling her how sick and disgusting it was. She denied it, claiming she didn’t screw him after my proposal and that she couldn’t recall why she wrote it down. But how can I trust her?

In addition to most likely cheating right after my proposal, 2023 turned out to be another big year for her (28 times again), including but not limited to: multiple hotel visits, the campsite by the lake I had taken her to the previous year, a party she hosted with her work colleagues—whom she had introduced me to; another seaside resort trip with her work-colleagues and him, and various other incidents where she showcased what she wore.

In mid-2023, she moved to Australia, and when I picked her up, she told me she was seeing a therapist because she was depressed. I remember the expression on her face when she said this: a quiet, almost sorrowful recognition that she was working on herself. At the time, I was confused because she had never shown signs of depression, and based on her facial expression, I assumed that when she said “depressed,” she meant dealing with the trauma her mum caused, the excessive drinking over the past two years, or maybe her emotional detachment in our relationship. I told her, “I don’t think you are depressed, but if it’s helping, I’m glad.” In hindsight, I understand what that expression was: she was admitting to me that she was repenting for her sins and working on ensuring she never repeated them.

Of course, it wasn’t really counselling, but more of a confession to an anonymous professional to ease her guilt, because the cheating continued. Recall that we got married at the end of 2023, and a few months later, in 2024, she went to Kenya for a holiday after I encouraged her to take a break from the stress of unemployment in Australia. During this trip, there were seven incidents of infidelity with him, including sex in car parks, at the apartment we used to live in, and at the house of her college friend.

How do I know all of this? The answer lies in her journal, where she kept a detailed account—almost like a ledger—of her encounters with him. While it was just a count with locations, it didn’t take long for me to connect the dots, putting it into the broader context of our shared history. The journal entry goes as follows (I’ve only presented the first section to keep this short):

22 Aug
Then we tallied how much we have fucked over the years as highlights
Highlights —95
2021
Ibis —2
Car— chiromo—1
Airbnb—11
Skyhorse couch— 1
Ole sereni—3
Park inn —2
Cousins wedding —1
Car— Karen— 3
2022
Bungoma— couch—2, car—1

I’ve read many books by remarkable authors, yet none have ever elicited a true physical response in me—until I read my wife’s journal. Though she wasn’t particularly poetic, her meticulous memory brought out every detail of her experiences in the journal with unsettling clarity, leaving me nauseated for months.

Unfortunately, the body count list wasn’t even the worst part. The most nauseating entries were of the four days spent with him in my own home in Melbourne in 2024—the very incident I started this story with. I will let the words in her journal explain this part of the story (the words in brackets are my words)

15 Aug (The day before he came to stay at our house)

Then we ended up having phone sex cause he could see my cleavage right after talking to zarah for ten mins and she said uzman is gonna catch us.

Anyways he turns me on, I don’t know how but he can and he says such positive things about me like m beautiful and how are you so hot.

16 Aug (The night he arrived at our house while I was asleep)

I think uzman‘s gonna be so shocked at how clean it’s going to be — hope he won’t be jealous m doing it for hamza and now I wanna clean my room

Somehow I ended up sucking his dick and stopped as I told Him he can’t come and he sucked my breasts while he touched me down there but we didn’t do anything

17 August (I took both of them on a hiking and camping trip with my friends. Even now, remembering them both sitting in my car, while I drove them for two hours, keeping them entertained, fills me with disgust. The next day, August 18, they both left early, saying the trip was too strenuous, while my friends and I continued.)

18 Aug (Day after hiking trip on Sunday, before I returned home)

I suckd his dick and then we fucked in missionary and I was ontop of him as well but I came while he was eating me out. Then we had sex and tried the 69 position for a long time and it was so good.

19 Aug (On the Monday while I was at work)

He kept touching me and it was turning me on so much and after a while, we decided to just dry ourselves and we came to the couch and I put a blanket on top and he started doing things to me And we had sex.

(Later that night I came back from work, and went to bed early while they were in the living room after they went on a day trip to the city visiting the Melbourne market, Royal Botanical gardens, and National gallery of Victoria)

Then we made out and he moved next to me and next thing you know he is unbuttoning my pjs. And hands on my breast while I touch his dick and I ended up sucking it like three times and I sucked it everytime he said he was just teasing me …

20 Aug (The following morning—this was even more nauseating to read because I recall kissing her cheeks when I woke up that morning, and she kept pushing me away insisting that it’s oily from the make-up)

I woke up to uzman hugging me for a few seconds in bed from the back and kept thinking, hope he can’t smell hamza on me.

(After returning from work that day, I took both of them out to dinner. In retrospect, this memory revolts me—I took my wife and her secret lover, our guest, out to dinner, paid for it, and he even thanked me for hosting him. She sat there, making small talk with me, both of them audaciously pretending nothing was wrong.)

(That night, after I went to bed)

Then I came and closed Uzman‘s door and I banged it then I went inside and changed into tights then into my forks pans and when I came, he made me sit on his lap…

I got up to go to bed and he’s like come suck my dick and I even switched off the lights and I had to switch on the phone flash and I came and I sucked it for like 20 seconds and then when I was going to leave…

A Space between Stimulus and Response

As hard as it is to find the vocabulary to describe and explain love, equally difficult is to explain the essence of hurt and heartbreak. Reading her journal, at six in the morning, while she’s asleep next to me, heart pounding faster the more I discovered the extent of the cheating and lies, is a memory that’s etched in my mind. How could the person I’d loved deeply for so many years, and who had loved me with that same intensity, deceive me in such ugly, calculated ways?

I needed some time to process and make sense of what I had read, so I didn’t confront her immediately. But carrying the weight of this knowledge alone was suffocating. After work, I met my brother at a nature reserve parking lot and shared a summary of the story with him. He was angry, and wanted to physically hurt this guy, but I reminded him—he is merely the symptom, she was the one who’d broken my trust, and she is the actual disease.

When I returned home that evening, she was packing her bags, getting ready to move to Perth for her new job that started in a few weeks. Towards the end of the night, both of us were on the couch, she was blissfully unaware that I know the truth, and I hugged her, and she hugged me back, and I started crying—something I hadn’t done in 15 years except in 2019, after seeing my brother in recovery from his cancer surgery.

While crying, I told her how much I’ll miss her while she’s in Perth. She thought my tears were about the recent talk about taking a break, possible separating. She’s never seen me cry, so she was a bit speechless. Emotionless. Eventually, I made my way to bed, cried into the night by myself to sleep while she stayed behind in the living room, on the phone, with him I believe. She’s never seen me so emotionally hurt, and I was visibly devastated, yet she couldn’t even offer a moment of comfort.

The next morning, I looked through her phone to understand what was more important than checking up on me, her distressed husband. She had texted him something along the lines of, “He’s just pretending to cry after hurting me for so long,” to which he replied, “Yeah, just ignore him.”

That evening, while we sat together again, I told her, mostly to test her response, I’d miss her and was thinking of quitting my job to move to Perth so we could be together. Her face twisted in disgust as she said, “Oh my god, don’t. Just stay here and enjoy yourself—you’d be miserable in Perth.” That expression is seared into my memory. It made me wonder, had she ever really loved me?

Confrontations

I prefer writing my thoughts and feelings because it’s easier to convey them clearly. So, I wrote her a letter, which discussed the idea of the last time and it went like this:

My Darling,

Have you heard of about the concept of The Last Time? That there is always the last time you get to be in your childhood home, the last time you get to hug your parents, the last time you get to feel the warmth of the sun on your skin. The knowledge that any experience could be the last time has taught me to savour every single drop. The tricky bit is known when there’s going to be the last time.

I’ve come to accept how transient everything in life is. Yet, I never ever thought you would be my last time.

You know more than anyone else that I’ve come a long way from who I was. I was constantly moulding myself to be the best person I could be for you. I came as far as I could, and at one point I realized there is wall between us, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t get over it to meet you. I just couldn’t figure out what that wall was, but it created so much resentment between us.  

And even if I was never able get across, despite all our problems, there was always five seconds in the night when you had me on your chest, and I felt that innocence of youth that I lost but always longed for. In those moments, I would pray to God to stop time, so I never have to worry about a last time to experience this. He would respond by making you lie on my chest, and in that moment, I felt that the whole world was changing but I had you as a constant to always ground me.  

You might be wondering why I am writing this. After so many years, I finally found out what that wall was. I know about it. All of it. The lies. The cheating. And now, looking back, it all makes sense. Why we were never able to connect (because you already made your choice before even trying). Why you didn’t want to marry me (it wasn’t trauma from your mum). Why sex always felt like you weren’t there. Because you weren’t. You were with him.

When she read this letter, she initially didn’t grasp that I knew. So, I repeated verbally this time: “I know everything about you and him.”  She denied it. I pressed further, raising my voice slightly: “I have your journal, I bugged the house with cameras, and the dash-cam in my car recorded everything. At least have the decency to confess the truth.” The camera was a bluff—an attempt to catch a lie with a lie—because this might be my only chance for a confession, and she could easily claim her journal was fictional.

After this, the night was a blur to me. I know she cried, and I recall that I ended up comforting her; a habitual response I suppose. What I remember vividly, however, were the words: “It was a mistake. I am so sorry. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Though she sounded remorseful, if you analysed her words, you’d understand it was delusional, even if it was meant with good intentions. Firstly, a “mistake” doesn’t repeat itself 95 times over three years. Secondly, she didn’t confess because she didn’t have the courage to face the consequences—if she’d truly cared about not hurting me, she wouldn’t have gone back to him over and over. Finally, the word “sorry” is one I’ve come to hate when it’s expressed as a knee-jerk reaction without any evidence of change.

Lesson: Everyone makes mistakes, and when you do, own it: “I messed up.” No apologies, no excuses—just honesty. An apology only means something if it’s backed by effort, change, and time. Throwing out “sorry” without taking any steps to make things right is nothing more than a reflex to ease one’s own conscience and to move past the incident as quickly as possible.

Another clue that the apology wasn’t sincere is when it’s followed by justifications. Over the following days, as we talked and argued about the affair, the excuses she offered were more bizarre than sensible: “He was just a booty call; it was just sex when I needed it; I was just drunk those times; it wasn’t four years of cheating, it was only 2.5.” These justifications were, and still are, hard to process—strange things to say while married. Even as I write this, I’m at a loss for words to comment on it.

At one point, I expressed how disgusting it was that she had slept with him in our house while I was in the next room. She responded, “Uzman, I’m sorry, but on the second night, we had too much Saké when we went out for dinner, and I was drunk.”

Another bizarre justification. Was she trying to say it wasn’t her fault—that getting drunk somehow excused sleeping with him? I wondered silently, choosing not to voice it. Instead, I asked, “But why did you bring him to our house in the first place?”

Her answer: “Uzman, I asked you many times before he came if you were okay with him staying here, and you said it was fine.”

Once again, I was speechless. I thought, “Yes, because I thought he was just a friend—not someone you’d been secretly sleeping with for years.”

One night, she questioned the ethics of reading her journal, a retaliation I later discovered had been suggested by her sister, accusing me of invading her privacy. Was she really arguing about morality? I responded, “I’m not sorry, and if I could go back in time, I’d do it again.”

While you, the reader, might have your own opinion on it, even now, I stand by that response. I committed a sin to expose a far greater betrayal, and under the circumstances, I believe it was morally justifiable. If that makes me guilty, whether in the eyes of the law, religion, or any higher power, I am prepared to face the consequences.

Duty of Care

She continued to stay with me for a couple of weeks before moving to Perth to start her career.

We packed her bags, and I flew with her to Perth, and spent all my savings on flight tickets, car rentals, and shopping for her necessities over the next few days. I know her well enough to understand that she wouldn’t be able to adapt, with some equanimity at least, to the logistics of relocating without support—moving 100kg of luggage from one city to the next, without a car, and the loneliness of settling into a stranger’s home in an unfamiliar city.

Amidst chaos of settling in, we had discussions about our next steps. I told her that I wouldn’t tell anyone about the situation until she confessed to her parents: she didn’t have to go into details, but the minimum she had to say was that she had been in a relationship with another guy while still with me. Initially, she responded, “What’s the point? We can just live separately, and no one has to know,” but I told her this was non-negotiable.

During the nights, we held each other with the intensity of lovers saying their final goodbye; tears silently tracing paths down our faces, each drop carrying the weight of heartache and unspoken words.

A verse from the song “Ditmas” by Mumford and Sons played in my mind:

I cry as I hold you for the last time in this life. This life I tried so hard to give to you. What would you have me do?

While I held her, she said, “I’m sorry for what I did, Uzman. After some time, can you at least give us another try?” I didn’t respond. I hugged her, knowing that this would be the last time I’d hold her in my arms. With tears in my eyes, I kissed her for one last time. *

When I returned to Melbourne, my brother asked me why I had done all of that for her. But he knew: you can’t stop caring for someone you love so quickly. Old habits die hard.

*When I kissed her on the lips, I remember her pulling back a bit, and I wondered why she did that.

A Few Tricks and a Hundred Lies to Hide the Truth

Once I returned to Melbourne, I finally had the time to process everything and understand the full story—beyond just the affair. As I went through daily life, my mind began to piece the puzzle together, and I realised that the cheating was only one part of the deceit; it always takes a hundred lies to cover up one.

I had a few revelations in the weeks that followed. I remembered how she would occasionally tell me about the dangers of having multiple partners, and how it could lead to STDs—a fact that was conveyed arbitrarily without any initiation on my part. She also often shared stories about her cousins and extended family members who had been caught cheating, emphasising how they were cowardly for their actions. At the time, I thought it was just her way of commenting on other people’s lives, but in hindsight, it felt more like projection—a way for her to distance herself from her own actions.

One incident that stands out occurred in 2022 (if I recall correctly), when she and her sister got matching tattoos. Afterward, she would occasionally ask me, almost casually, if I would ever get a tattoo of her name. At the time, I said I might consider it, not thinking much of it because I didn’t like tattoos, but now, looking back, I’m trying to understand what her intentions were in suggesting such a thing.

Did she genuinely believe our relationship would last, despite the cheating because there was chance I would never find out? Was she trying to convince herself that we had something permanent, even though her actions were telling a different story? Or maybe, in a deeper, more troubling way, she thought that if she convinced me to get the tattoo, it would anchor me to her, both symbolically and emotionally, in a way that would make it harder for me to walk away.

I also vaguely remembered an incident from either the end of 2021 or early 2022, when we drove to her university campus to pick up some documents. Out of nowhere, she asked, “Would you have sex with me in this parking lot?” I can’t recall how I responded at the time. But now, looking back, I realise that she asked me that because she had already been with him in that very same spot maybe few weeks or months ago.

On the topic of sex, she frequently discussed my penis size, sexual duration, and performance—things I had never been insecure about. At the time, I found it odd, even funny, that she would bring these things up, especially since I was her only sexual partner, and she’s not had a sexual history. I assumed it was just regurgitation from modern media culture. I would often think about how ironic it was that she would criticise my sexual performance when, in reality, she offered little in the way of creative input or enthusiasm during sex.

I realised now that she was comparing me to him. What was her agenda when she discussed these topics with me? Was it about the adrenaline rush, the thrill of hiding things?

Over the years, I picked up on numerous red flags. She allowed him to call her by cute nicknames every time they texted (emphasis on every time) when they shared their daily life anecdotes. She would stay up late talking to him or mostly when I am not around. She would keep his gifts tucked away alongside mine in the closet. On our wedding day, her friends put him on video call, and I saw the look of embarrassment on his face when he saw both of us. There was also the time when both of them picked me up from my friends place when he came to stay over at our house (read back on the 18th August 2024 journal entry on the “Perception of my Past” chapter above) and when I asked her what they’d done before coming to pick me, they looked at each other and smirked before she casually said, “nothing much, we just went shopping.” And then there was the time I saw him in our guest bedroom with an expression of intense guilt.

When you look at these events, it seems blatantly obvious—how could I not have known? But when I was with her, she would constantly remind me how terrible I was at reading people, and over time, I started to believe it. Knowing about gaslighting in theory is one thing but experiencing it in practice is entirely different.

Lesson: Be wary of liars; if they lie to others, they will lie to you. Be wary of lying; if you lie to others, you will eventually lie to yourself.

Then there is her family. You might recall that in 2021, I confided in her youngest sister about the messages he had sent. She comforted me, assuring me that I had nothing to worry about because my wife loved me too much. Imagine my hurt when I later discovered that, just a couple of years later, she had become best friends with him. I assumed it’s because he talked to her frequently, and I told myself that people are allowed to befriend who they want.

In late 2023, when she was going through a difficult period in her life—what could be called a quarter-life crisis—she naturally turned to me for comfort, advice, and wisdom. I say “naturally” because, despite the six-year age gap, we were alike in spirit. We shared similar interests, the same existential questions, and a mutual love for life. We believed in the power of knowledge and ideas to transform ourselves and the world. My wife often joked that her sister was my real sibling, and she would get annoyed when I had long philosophical discussions with her sister instead of her. In her sister, I saw a part of myself, and she saw a part of hers in me. We inspired each other to embrace our relative strangeness; a trait that we had often suppressed because we couldn’t find anyone to share it with.

I later found out through my wife’s journal that she knew all along about the cheating. And she encouraged it. Worse still, as they were plotting the end of my relationship, she had asked my wife “How much does Uzman still owe dad?” (You may recall mistake #3 in 2018 chapter). She was essentially implying on finding a way to retrieve what’s owed before burning the bridge. My worth to her, and the love that we shared, reduced to the headaches and worries of life. Betrayed again.

Her other sister, who I wasn’t particularly close with but was known in the family as the “freedom fighter” for exposing her cousin’s affairs, and protecting the vulnerable of the family, also played a role.

My wife had written the following in her journal: “Spoke to Zee and told her about my conundrum with Uzman, and she said she is team Hamza. She just watched Hasee Dil Ruba and thinks it would be funny to push Uzman off a mountain during a hike as a joke.”

The Marble Jar

In 2021, I learnt from author Brene Brown how relationships are analogous to a jar of marbles: every time there’s an act of kindness—be it listening, sharing, caring, and so on—you add a marble; every time you hurt them, not being attentive while they are talking, for instance, you take a marble out. The gist of it being that love is something that’s practiced daily, and not something that’s found or given. I like this idea because it gave practical, measurable steps to a topic that’s incredibly difficult to define and discuss.

Since 2021, I tried my best to build up that jar. Gestures of romance—getting a top-of-the-line stethoscope with the words “I love you” laser engraved on it as a graduation present; or gestures of care—cooking for her, or when she was cooking, making sure that I was the sous-chef to help her; gestures of adventure—taking her on date-trips on the weekends which included explorations in the city, trips to the mountains, walks on unexplored beaches, picnics at parks, and so on.

Of course, I had a lot of areas that needed improving. I know because she told me. “You need to talk more about your life.” “Why don’t you remember anything?” “When we have issues, we never communicate.” When she says “we,” I know she meant me, because it’s always been me who wasn’t keeping up.

Even if there were areas of improvement, the net surplus in the marble jar was always positive. To be clear, I wasn’t consciously playing the marble jar game, rather she was part of my heart, and I have to keep my heart happy and content, most of the times at least.

Yet, I kept wondering, why it is I could never get past the 70% mark in the marble jar—the hypothetical point where a relationship became a sacred bond between two souls and there was a sense of oneness that went beyond mere companionship. Why was there always something missing, like a piece of the puzzle that never quite fit, despite the love, despite the good times, despite the care and effort I put into building something lasting?

In this relationship, I often felt like I was the only one adding to the jar. The times she added, I had to ask her: can you make some dinner tonight as I am tired from work. Even if she did it, she never took the initiative to go the extra mile: he has work tomorrow, so let me pack some food that I just cooked so he can take to work. Often, whether I cook, or she cooked, I made sure food was packed for next day breakfast and lunch for both of us.

Of course, this was just how I felt in this relationship over the last few years. It’s not that she didn’t do anything; it’s that it was vastly disproportionate. If you asked her about this, she would deny it, but where was my graduation present? Or my sous-chef? Or my date trips?

It’s clear to me now that prior to 2021, she put effort and care in her acts of service both on a daily basis and on big celebratory events. After 2021, she bought me gifts for my birthday and other milestones, but there was no effort on her part, merely a purchase.

The only aspect where she took initiative was removing the marbles I added by discrediting the value of the marble. How? I’ll give you an example.

Over a few weekends while we were living in Melbourne, I took her on multiple city-dates: we explored the Melbourne market on a Saturday and had a picnic on Sunday at the Royal Botanical Gardens at the height of spring when nature was putting on a show. Those dates were…. alright. We had the experience, but returned home, and back to domestic bliss. Maybe, I wasn’t doing enough? Maybe that’s why we never got around to doing my third city-date: appreciating timeless art at the National Gallery.

Now, a few months later, when he came over to stay at our house, she took him on the exact same date, all merged into a single day (read back on the 19th August 2024 journal entry on the “Perception of my Past” chapter above). She came home that night with him, full of excitement and laughter, sharing for almost an hour, with newfound enthusiasm, all her seemingly comedic anecdotes of their trip. I was hurt, and I told her with a tone of quiet sadness, “how come you never had this enthusiasm when I took you out?”

Of course, she gave a detached response about how I shouldn’t be sad because she did enjoy our date, but it’s easy to differentiate the responses. Not to mention, if you recall from the “Perception of my Past” chapter, she screwed this guy that night after I went to sleep, which, apart from other points of consideration, also shows how little my sentiment that night affected her.

The only reason for the difference in response I could imagine was either we lacked any mutual interest or that I was just not good enough for her. The latter is what I often felt throughout the relationship which may explain why I (we) could never get past the hypothetical 70%. The marbles I added—acts of kindness, love, care, passion—were of low value to her. How can you get ahead if you can’t keep up?

Armed with the knowledge I have now, however, this analogy has a shift in paradigm. In 2021, without my knowledge, she slammed the glass jar on the ground. Then she blindfolded me and convinced me to keep adding marbles in a jar that no longer existed.

This explains to me why I could never get past the 70% mark because I was contributing to a relationship that didn’t exist. It answers many questions I often felt in this relationship: why sex always felt like an act committed than an experience shared; why her response to my proposal felt like an obligation instead of a treasured act to cherish; why marriage felt like a task crossed off a to-do list than a communion of two people. These aren’t questions I realised after I found out about the cheating, rather question I often thought about regularly while we were together.

Taking this further, perhaps unconsciously, she convinced herself that she broke the jar because of me, even if the reasons (most of them at least) were found after the fact. And the only way for her to convince herself is to trivialise my all my acts of love, which in turn made me feel like I wasn’t good enough. This created a vicious cycle: I would do something thoughtful for her, but she would either discredit it, failing to appreciate the gesture, or ignore it altogether by not reciprocating the same love and care. This left me with a growing sense of negativity, questioning if I wasn’t good enough or if we simply weren’t meant to be together. Since I couldn’t pinpoint the real cause, I communicated my frustrations poorly, she got hurt, and the cycle would repeat itself.

Passive—Aggressive

One way I communicated poorly to her was through passive-aggressive comments. On one of her entries, she had written:

20th Aug
…and he found teasing way of communicating with me and it was always about me being hopeless and how I should leave him and I feel like he means it in a way.

The truth is, over the years, I did make a fair number of comments like this. There were likely several reasons for it: I wasn’t sure if she was truly the one for me, I struggled to communicate difficult feelings, or perhaps, because after 2021, I often felt my requests were going unheard or unaddressed. Eventually, I gave up because it felt like she wasn’t willing to truly listen—it makes sense now because why would she when she had someone else?

You may remember that in 2021, I was under immense stress due to unemployment, which affected me mentally, emotionally, and physically. One symptom of this stress was a reduced libido. We still had sex, though infrequently (about once or twice every couple of weeks, if I recall correctly). One time, when she wanted to have sex and I wasn’t in the mood, I jokingly—and very poorly—made a passive-aggressive comment, saying she “wanted sex like a man.”

This comment affected her self-worth deeply. I know this because when I later asked her why she cheated in 2021, she mentioned that part of her rationale was because of that comment—it made her feel like I wasn’t attracted to her. Of course, retaliating by sleeping with another man is not a justifiable response, but it highlights how my words wounded her. Regardless of the circumstances, I know I should never have said it, and I should have communicated better, and it’s something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.

The Symptoms and the Disease

It’s tempting to point to the cheating as the sole cause of the unhappy marriage and leave it at that, but doing so would oversimplify the situation and ignore the underlying issues. In order truly understand what led to this point, it’s important to look beyond the surface and explore the underlying causes.

Two lessons I have come to learn and appreciate:

• First, the adage, prevention is better than cure, is invaluable. Taking steps to avoid a problem before it arises is always the better approach, as it saves time, energy, and pain in the long run.
• Second, when a problem does inevitably arise, identify and treat the disease, not the symptoms. For example, if you experience back pain and the underlying issue is musculoskeletal weakness, continuously buying expensive mattresses, chairs, or back braces is simply treating the symptoms. While they may provide temporary relief, the pain is likely to return. A more effective solution is to focus on strengthening the muscles that support your back through consistent strength training. This approach targets the root cause, offering longer lasting and more meaningful relief than any marketing solution could.

One cause, as identified in the previous chapter, was my passive-aggressive comments which made her question her self-worth to me. However, I believe there is more issues to be addressed to fully understand what the were reasons that led to the cheating.

The Unanswerable Why

“It’s a bad sort of young lady who’s only alive when she’s being admired, and as soon as she’s alone lets herself go altogether and finds no charm in anything—who’s all for show, and nothing for herself.” — Leo Tolstoy,

The crucial question to start with is: why did she cheat in 2021? By the end of 2020, I had uprooted my life in Australia, moved to Kenya to be with her, and began prioritising her in our relationship. I was under the impression that we were both happy and that our relationship was where it needed to be. The fact that she cheated during this time clearly shows that we had different views.

I can speculate, however, on possible reasons:

• Mistakes I made earlier in our relationship, particularly in 2018 and 2019.
• The infrequency of sex in 2021 (a topic I addressed in the Passive-Aggressive chapter), and my lack of constant validation or appreciation for her beauty. During this exact time, he had started making her feel valued and attractive.
• My unemployment between 2020–2021, which left me unable to support her financially.

When I asked her why she cheated, she couldn’t provide a clear answer—just mumbled references to the first two points that felt more like justifications than genuine reasons. Rationally, I can deduce that it was likely a combination of these factors. But the capital-T truth cannot be fully uncovered, and I have had to accept that it happened.

Regardless of the reasons, the three years that followed were marked by her facing the paradox of choice. Uncertain about what she truly wanted, she alternated between what he could offer, and I didn’t, and what I could offer and he couldn’t.

He was the “golden retriever” type—devoted, eager to please, and willing to do anything she asked without question. They had mutual interests and values, shared the same profession as doctors, the same birthday, and their idea of fun was relaxing by the beach. They could spend hours just talking to each other, and she loved that they could do it. However, his willingness to comply with her every wish also made him unambitious, something she noted herself: 

12th Aug
I didn’t like he was going bald and his lack of ambition.
 I got confused again.

In contrast, I was reserved and drawn to the deeper questions of life—philosophical abstractions, existential reflections, and aspirations for higher spiritual realms. I was fiercely independent, adventurous, and ambitious, and always encouraged her to pursue her dreams fearlessly. My idea of fun was a backpacking trip in the wilderness or any physically active outdoor pursuit. Relative to him, I was also, as she had written, more physically attractive—not just due to genetics but because I trained hard and prioritised my health.

She wanted to be marvelled and desired, and he gave her that, while I provided respect and admiration—qualities she didn’t fully value.

During 2021-2024, she wanted me to be like him—put her on a pedestal and spend hours in endless conversation—but she couldn’t see in him what she saw in me. However, I suspect at some level she understood what she did was morally unacceptable began unconsciously convincing herself that I was the problem by negating my strengths, dismissing the good I’d done, and amplifying my flaws to justify her actions.

This led us into a vicious cycle of negativity. When she returned to Australia from Japan in 2024, and I told her that maybe we should take a break, she got angry, and Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Her choice to bring him into the house while I was still living there felt like calculated revenge, and her words reveal a level of premeditation, confirming that she knew exactly what she was doing.

12th Aug
Anyways he went to bed and I spoke to hamza
Convinced him to book a flight and stay at my place.
We are gone have fun

After the Fact?

Another important question to ask—one that, again, no one can truly answer—is whether these feelings of love for him and resentment towards me emerged after the fact to justify the cheating, or if they were the very feelings that led to it.

Love for Him

14th Aug
Home is a Time and place, hamza and fadhila remind me of home
I was going through my gallery at 2 am
I saw so many pictures of me and hamza
Why was I so blinded by ego and goals and self denial, I was just stubborn that I left true love.
He was my first everything except virginity…
First hotel rendezvous— oved all of them and cherish the day you kissed me in the back of the cab on our way to hob house and we had sex eleven times in that Airbnb…
First tattoo 

(This was interesting. You may recall from a previous chapter, A Few Tricks and a Hundred Lies to Hide the Truth, that she’d often ask me if I would get a tattoo of her name. Based on this entry, it appears that she had already gotten one with him before she started asking me about getting one. So, what was her intention in asking? Was she testing me, and if when I’d refuse, she was able to find yet another reason to justify the cheating?)

He is so good and we have passionate sex and have effortless communication and we can be on call for seven hours talking and we won’t even know time passing
Love that was there under my nose and I never picked it up
I was always looking for it in uzman when the original was infront of me and wanted me.
First weed brownies and best kiss ever also him.
I have truly grown with him in person.
My drunkest ever in kisumu and he drove me back while I was lying on his lap and I really wanted to be with him
Whenever I am drunk I crave his body
I just want him and that’s not normal considering I am with uzman
I was in denial for so long I convinced myself he can’t be the one cause he was my first rejection as well

Based on this entry alone, it’s evident she had stronger feelings for him than she did for me, and perhaps they were indeed more alike and better suited for one another. This may explain why, no matter what I did, she could never fully feel satisfied in our relationship, because she felt connected to him in ways that I couldn’t.

Resentment Towards Me

If she truly felt so strongly about him, why would she keep asking for forgiveness and a second chance with me after she got caught? When I pointed out that it’s pointless because her journal shows she loved him more, she said she only wrote those things out of anger toward me and that her relationship with him was purely physical.

Even if she says she wrote those things out of frustration, it’s hard not to wonder if they hint at something deeper. Alongside her declarations of love for him, she’s also written extensively about her anger and resentment toward me.

14th Aug
I feel like uzman was my rebound and safe guy cause I knew he can’t leave but he traumatized me with tears which he denies cause he is manipulative and has ways to make sure I don’t even show him attitude.

He is toxic and I think I was attracted to that cause he would always make me cry then showers me with love so I forget it but he will never apologize or resolve the issue.

The judgment that I am “toxic” and “manipulative” is a repeated theme in her journal and in our marriage, and I don’t agree that it’s completely justified. I’ve already admitted to my mistakes early in this relationship, but one of my strengths is that I learn from those mistakes (most of them, at least) and implement strategies to avoid repeating them. Unfortunately, one of the mistakes I did repeatedly make was passive-aggressive comments, which I’ve addressed in the previous chapter. When she says “toxic,” is she referring to this?

I’m still trying to understand her claim that I am controlling, as I can’t recall any instance where I acted in that way. I’ve always believed that everyone should have the freedom to make their own choices to live their “one wild and precious life.” In fact, even after I saw troubling messages from him in 2021, I didn’t push her to change anything about her relationship with him—proof, I believe, that I wasn’t controlling.

Now that the entire picture is clearer, I would argue that, on a scale of toxicity and manipulation, she would be more deserving of that label. She manipulated me into believing I was the primary reason this relationship wasn’t working, even though she was the one involved with someone else for three years. She gas-lit me into thinking I had poor intuition about people, even though my suspicions over the past three years were all accurate. She repeatedly disrespected me by siding with him during arguments and by presenting a false image of me to her siblings. She constantly blamed me for her cheating, even though most of her “reasons” were formed after the fact. These actions are, by definition, toxic.

I also disagree with her claim that we “never resolved issues.” The reason we never resolved issues was because there was no true “us” to begin with. Every time we faced conflict, I was the one expected to change. No effort was required on her end because she kept one foot out of the door in this relationship; she didn’t have to work on herself because she always had the option to choose what she wanted.

Paradox of Choice

This is the paradox of choice (as Barry Schwartz succinctly put it although not in the context of human relationships). When you have one option, you learn to appreciate certain aspects, change what you can, and accept what you can’t. When you have multiple options, however, you never have to accept things you don’t like—you can always choose the alternative. This freedom of choice can lead to overall dissatisfaction, because there’s always the thought that the alternative could be better. This isn’t scientific fact, nor does it imply that choice is inherently problematic. It simply suggests that, under certain contexts, having too many options can be counterproductive.

I don’t believe in the idea that, in a true relationship, you shouldn’t expect your partner to grow or change. The reality is that we’re all works in progress, but it’s essential to distinguish between what can and can’t be changed. Core traits, like our inclination toward introversion or extroversion, are largely set—part of our genetic wiring. But there are skills, like communication, that we can actively improve. Recognising which qualities can adapt and which are deeply ingrained is crucial for understanding both ourselves and our partners.

After 2021, I worked to find a balance: evolving into someone she desired while also preserving the parts of my identity that were unchangeable and important to me. She wanted me to prioritise her, so I made sacrifices—big ones, like moving to Kenya, and smaller, everyday gestures, like doing her laundry or cooking for her despite being exhausted from a full day at work. She wanted romantic dates, so we went on candlelit dinners, played arcade games, rode in a hot air balloon, and even spent a night in a tiny home together. She loved romantic gestures, so I decorated the house for her arrival in Australia, created an online treasure hunt with a surprise gift at the end, and baked her a cake to celebrate her first job.

This isn’t even a comprehensive list of what I’ve done and how I’ve changed to become the person she desired. Yet, she had written:

18th Aug
Uzman does cute things but zarah said that’s so basic like for valentines he had gotten me a plant and chocolates…

Looking back over the past four years, I can’t recall any date she’s planned for me or gestures marking milestones, like when I got a job in my field—or even something simple, like a plant and chocolates for Valentine’s Day. This isn’t to say she did nothing: she made sacrifices, too—leaving Kenya to live with me, gestures of care like cooking dishes I love, and even joining me on a few backpacking trips, despite how uncomfortable she finds them. I admired her for even considering coming along. But for her to agree with her sister that my acts of romance were “basic” was insulting.

Consider sex, for instance. She wrote:

18 Aug
Sex is so pathetic…doesn’t like foreplay or making out

To keep things creative and exciting, I bought her various lingerie, decorated the room with music and lights, and even experimented with things like weed gummies. Sex, by nature, is a shared act—how could we have good sex if I was the only one putting in effort?  How has she contributed? Often, I’d come home from work to find her on the couch, in the same clothes as when I’d left, watching TV or chatting on the phone, with household chores left undone. Then I’d have to cook, tidy up, and find energy at the end of a long day for intimacy, too.

Over time, I realised I was the one constantly changing and evolving, while she rarely seemed to reciprocate the effort. We argued about this, but I eventually stopped expecting change from her.

A Lonely Marriage

It’s worth noting that my expectations were about her growing as a partner. In contrast, her expectations often demanded changes in the core of who I was. For example, she’s extroverted by nature and enjoys spending her time with people. I love companionship and conversation, but I lean towards introversion, so I required time and space alone to recharge. We aren’t on extreme ends of the scale, just inclined in opposite directions. One of her entries highlights this distinction:

20th Aug
Because when it comes to Uzman , we do spend the whole day but we’re not in each other space he has his own time. I have my own time. We probably do an activity together for like two hours and call it quits. We don’t talk to each other much, and even when we do, it’s always profound conversations.

I loved talking with her, listening to her vivid stories, and laughing at silly jokes. I cherished our walks, where we’d have profound conversations about life, and I valued her advice on handling different social situations. The fact that I was able to do these with her more frequently than I can do with other people was part of the reason I considered her my best friend.

Given my genetic wiring, however, I also need time to focus on myself to re-energise, and I’ve found that having that personal time always helps me to give her the best version of myself when we do spend time together. And that’s always been my modus operandi: less frequent but higher quality.

24th Aug
You know when Hamza was here I didn’t actually feel like he was gone because he would always spend the whole day talking to me so it’s like he’s always here with me even though he’s not, but it’s funny Osman is always here with me. Doesn’t talk to me as much as he does and I always feel alone around Osman

Reading that sentence in her journal, with its quiet tone of resignation, and realising that she felt lonely in this marriage breaks my heart. I tried as hard as I could to keep her happy—yet it still wasn’t enough for her. She wanted me to be someone I couldn’t fully become, despite how much I wanted to. I wanted her to be in this relationship as much as I was, and she wasn’t.

I will never truly know why she cheated in the first place, nor will I ever uncover whether everything she wrote about him—and about me—was simply a way to justify her actions. Ultimately, what matters is not the why or the how, but the reality: she did it, and now she longs for him, and not me.

Reflection #2 — A Mirage

You’d recall that in Reflections #1, we briefly discussed the opinion that you as the reader might have formed of me, her, and our relationship. I urge you now to reconsider if and how your opinions have changed. Not so much as WHAT they changed to, rather HOW they changed. You had this idea of this person, and once you got the details, you had a shift in paradigm.

This shift is what I cannot get her to understand when I tell her that once I knew the truth, our relationship in its entirety has been a lie. She responded, “Uzman, excluding the cheating, I always loved you, don’t make it seem like everything else was lie.”

Here’s a sentence that stood out to me on her journal (refer to the “After the Fact” chapter above) where she spoke about how this guy was who her first everything:

14th Aug
“He was my first everything except virginity…That I gave it up to some tard who I don’t even know if he is alive”

Putting this into context, when we first met, she told me she’s never been in a relationship. And in 2018, she said that when we had sex, it was her first time, and for the rest of our relationship, I believed we had both lost our virginity that night. On her journal, she’s mentioned that she gave it some “tard” who she doesn’t know if he is even alive anymore.

I brought this up with her, and she responded, “My virginity I meant my hymen. I did do stuff with one person in high school but not sex. I never slept with anyone. Your virginity is sleeping so I am clarifying.” Did she assume she could dodge this on a technicality? This response raises more questions than answers, and if the technicality is valid, then why would she not write she lost her virginity to me?

It is worth noting that I didn’t care if she’s been in relationships previously and if she’d had sex. What matters to me is why she lied about it all these years. Was she embarrassed? What do I know about her past, and her identity, that is real anymore?

More importantly, who was this person I loved for so long? This realisation is as painful as the heart break, the cheating, and the deception. Sometimes when I look at our pictures, I feel nothing—no hate, no betrayal, no anger—just wondering who this stranger is. It’s the equivalent of loving someone for a long time, and then suddenly being told that she was AI generated. In an instant, the entire idea that you built your relationship around vanishes.

This feeling, I believe, is the opposite of love: indifference. Yet, how strange it is that for more than half a decade I believed that the the feelings I had for her transcended language, and how in a few moments, those feelings went from absolute truth to a mere mirage.

Unsaid Words

When I finally had a quiet moment to process my anger, I wrote this message in frustration. But I chose not to send it, deciding against reopening old wounds.

These two weeks have been so hard for me. Do you know how many times I picked up my phone to text you that I missed you, only to delete it? Yesterday, while packing your bag, I caught the scent of your hoodie and broke down crying, wishing for you. Today, while driving home, all I wanted to hear was your voice for just five seconds. What I would give for even five minutes with you. I really do miss you. 

But I’ve been processing everything this week, and I realised how fucked up all this is.  

The cheating is one part. But the words you wrote about me: “He is toxic” “i genuinely don’t like having sex with him” “he is so manipulative”

I know I had a lot to work on. And so did you. But I have never belittled your core character in this way.

You’ve taken 3 of my worst character traits and wrote a book about it, but just brushed through the hundred acts of love I’ve done for you. Still, how highly you’ve spoken of him. Don’t tell me I don’t deserve at least 10% of it because I’ve moved mountains to make sure you were able to follow your dreams.

You were supposed to be my best friend, my biggest supporter. More than that, we were supposed to be a team. But instead of building something together, you were more interested in taking what you could for yourself. 

“never cares about paying the Maher” — Now I understand why you cared so much about it. You cheated, and you were using me to get whatever you thought you were owed. It was always about you and what you got out of it.

And more than all this, you used me like a stepping stone to get what you wanted — “I just want the visa and get out”  

Is that all I was to you? And the stupid thing is, I know you’re keeping me around in the fear that I’ll remove the visa, and you won’t get PR. Even after all this, I can’t find a single part of me that wants to make your life miserable. I’m such a sucker.

You’ve made me sound like I’m a monster, and I’m the reason for all these choices you’ve made in life. But you’re lying to yourself.

And the amount of lies you have told me in this marriage. So. Much. Lies. The more I think, the more lies I find. You made me believe we lost your virginity together. I don’t even care about that, but you lied about that too didn’t you?

I realise now that I don’t know anything about you that’s real. 7 years with a person, and it’s all lies.

You took 7 years of my life. You agreed to my proposal even though you have to. You went through the marriage even though you didn’t want to.

And I know you’re lying to me now too. You were never going to get rid of him even after all this. I know you’ll end up with him eventually. There’s a part of me that says “I hope one day you find that he will never be the man I am”. Another part that wishes that what goes around, comes around. But in truth, I want to wish you well in the next part of your journey, if not for your sake, for my own well-being so that I can get rid the anger in my heart.

Fool Me Twice

She moved to Perth in the middle of September, and every few days, she’d text me messages about how she misses me, sometimes subtly hinting at the possibility of us getting back together. I acknowledged her words but never reciprocated.

“I really really miss you and I can’t open my Spotify cause all the songs remind me of you, and I just end up in tears.
I miss falling asleep on your chest
I love you so much and m sorry we had to end like this
I pray one day your fate changes and you let me in again even as a friend
I don’t know what m looking for anymore”

When I make it clear that there is no future for us, she’d respond:
“Nothing is set in stone”

Occasionally, she’d call, usually once a week, to update me on her life—stories about her housemates, her busy work schedule, or her lack of leave days. I kept these conversations as brief as possible, trying to set clear boundaries.

One day, she mentioned attempting to get a day off on November 15th for her 30th birthday. It struck me as odd since she didn’t have any close friends in Perth, but I said nothing assuming that she wanted time off for herself. A week before her birthday, she called to tell me she had removed herself from our shared Apple Family account—an action she’d always been reluctant to take, fearing loss of all her personal data.

My immediate suspicion was that she didn’t want me to see her location, likely because she was planning to meet him. There were too many red flags leading up to her birthday.

On November 12th, she messaged me:
“I miss you so much
And m so happy you are doing well. I hope you get everything you deserve in this world.
Can I call you tomorrow”

Trusting my instincts this time, I replied:
“Can I ask why you’re telling me this? Like, I know you’re meeting him for your birthday. So why? And to be honest, I don’t mind if you’re seeing him because I can’t be hurt more than I already am. I just don’t want to get these ‘I miss you’ messages if you are with him.”

To which she responded defensively:
“M really trying my best
Just working and trying to do the right thing
I don’t like these things thrown at me. It makes me feel bad and m at work right now and you caught me off guard and it’s not nice cause I feel upset on top of the lethargy”

On November 14th, the day before her birthday, my dad called, asking me to send him the old iPhone I had given her before upgrading her to a newer model. I messaged her, requesting her iCloud details to reset the phone. To my surprise, she didn’t respond. Throughout the day, I called her repeatedly, but for the first time in our relationship, an entire day passed without a reply.

The next day, on her birthday, I finally got through to her. I wished her well and casually asked where she was. She claimed she was at work. When I inquired why she hadn’t responded the day before, she said she had been tired and sleepy, but there was something in her tone—an all-too-familiar undercurrent of deception—that made her answer hard to believe.

Testing her honesty, and trying to catch a lie with a lie, I bluffed: “Are you sure? I turned on your old iPhone, and it’s still connected to your iCloud account, and it says your location is somewhere else.”

She hesitated, her words faltering before snapping defensively, “Well, it’s not like you tell me things, so why should I?” Her deflection was defensive, but I kept my tone measured.

She tried steering the conversation back to the iCloud account and why the old phone hadn’t been removed. I laughed lightly, maintaining a casual demeanor. “Well, you say you’re at work, but your iCloud says otherwise.” My bluff caught her off guard. She demanded, “So what does the location say?”

Caught without specifics to back my bluff, I chuckled dismissively, masking any tension. “Happy birthday again,” I said with an edge of laughter, ending the call.

Later that evening, I texted her, clarifying my actions. I explained that I hadn’t checked her location deliberately; I had simply turned on the phone to reset it for my dad. Her response came swiftly, filled with both guilt and justification: “I didn’t want to tell you because you’d assume I’m meeting someone.”’

Her message was ambiguous. Was she admitting she avoided telling me about her plans, fearing I’d assume she was with him? Was she with him?

Later that night, she confirmed she had removed the old iPhone from her Find My app and sent over her iCloud details to reset it. Confident that the phone was no longer linked to her account, she likely assumed I wouldn’t have any way of knowing where she was. But as I powered it on to begin the reset, her current location briefly flashed across the screen: Queensland—his city. To make matters worse, his iCloud account was linked to hers, unmistakable and undeniable.

I was being deceived again, and it hurt just as deeply as the first time. She fooled me twice, and I let her.

I’ve made it clear that we’re over and that she’s free to be with him if that’s what she truly wants. She’s told me repeatedly that she’s blocked him and only wants to do the right thing now, even if I never take her back.

So why does she keep sending heartfelt “I miss you” messages while continuing to lie about her affair? The only explanation I can think of is that she’s playing the apology card, perhaps out of fear that I’ll remove her from my visa. But even that doesn’t make sense—she could apply for her own visa or rely on him if that’s what she truly wanted.

With everything I know now, I can speculate with some degree of certainty why she continues to lie. The truth is, she wants him. But she keeps me as a safety net to shield her from the consequences of her choices: the visa, her parents, and her reputation.

Despite her poor decisions, I’ve always tried to protect her from facing the worst consequences. And yet, she continues to play games. This was the final push for me to see that I needed to step away—not just from her, but from the entire situation.

When I called to tell her I was blocking her, she was stunned. She cried, desperately trying to justify herself with a flood of stories and excuses—“I just came with my workmates, and I went to meet him just to say my final goodbye and do the right thing.”

I kept wondering to myself: ff that’s the case, why is her on your family account? The reality was that no matter how she spun it, every excuse led back to the same place: more lies, more deceit, and an absolute refusal to take real accountability.

I stayed in this place for far too long because I wanted to know why—chasing answers I’ll never get. The truth is, we are both drowning, and as long as we stay together, we’ll keep pulling each other further down. The only way to survive is to push ourselves apart and rise to the surface or sink to the bottom on our own.

My Experience

“and when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. what do you call it, freedom or loneliness?” — Charles Bukowski

Immediately after reading her journal for the first time, once the initial shock began to fade, my mind wandered incessantly during the quiet moments—the drive home from work, the quiet Sunday evenings, the nights alone in bed. In these moments, my mind cycled through anger, resentment, and longing, yet beneath the melody of these emotions played a constant, unshakable undertone: a profound sense of lostness. I no longer felt grounded. Instead of living my day with intention, the day just happened to me—one day blurring into the next, then a week, then a month. Preoccupied with endless questions and emotions, I became a passive observer of my own life, unable to find the clarity or strength to steer myself in any meaningful direction.

I had always assumed that if we were to end, I would turn my energy toward travel and adventure. But I’ve come to realise she wasn’t just a branch in the tree of my life that I could discard and continue to grow. Instead, she was part of the intricate root system, and when you cut off a root, the entire tree becomes unstable. With a life that’s now out of balance, I kept arriving at the same question: What is the point of all my travels if she wasn’t there to share my stories with? Who would cheer me on?

After confronting her about the infidelity, and once she left to Perth, I tried to carry on with daily life. Yet, over the next couple of months, my mind worked relentlessly, piecing together fragments of what had happened without any deliberate, conscious effort on my part. During this time, I recorded my thoughts here, hoping to connect the scattered pieces and glimpse the full picture. Still, even as the details grew clearer, I found myself returning time and again to the letter I had written to her during our initial confrontation (refer to the Confrontations chapter):

And now, looking back, it all makes sense. Why we were never able to connect (because you already made your choice before even trying). Why you didn’t want to marry me (it wasn’t trauma from your mum). Why sex always felt like you weren’t there. Because you weren’t. You were with him.

Towards the ending of this letter I wrote:

You broke my heart in more ways than you can imagine. You made me believe that I wasn’t doing enough to work on this relationship when you weren’t even here. You deceived me for so many years, watching me make sacrifice after sacrifice—my career, my dreams, my family—despite knowing we weren’t going anywhere. Did you ever consider how much of my life I was wasting, without my knowledge, waiting for you to have decency to tell me the truth?

The truth is, if she truly believes he was better suited for her, then she should be with him. That doesn’t diminish my worth or make me any less of a person because she chose someone else. What I cannot reconcile, however, is her insistence—despite her infidelity—that she always loved me. Is this what you do to someone you love? Watch them waste their life away on an illusion?

By way of example, after we got married in Sri Lanka, I paid an exorbitant amount for her visa, covered our daily expenses while she was unemployed, and tried my best to provide her with everything she wanted. Despite earning a high income, I was barely making ends meet. My brother and I had been financially supporting our parents every month, but once she came, I had to stop because there wasn’t enough left. The guilt of being unable to help my family weighed heavily on me, and she was fully aware of this. Yet, even knowing all that, she wrote:

18th Aug
I think he loves me but his way of love is not suitable in the long run
7 years and never been on honey moon

I can never understand how she could write such a statement, knowing the sacrifices I made to support her. Is that what love is supposed to be? I remember reading a story as a child where one character said, “He had $100 and gave you $10. I had $10, and I gave you all of it.” While the former isn’t relevant here, the latter resonates deeply.

The reality of the situation didn’t fully hit me until I let her deceive me a second time (see Fool Me Twice chapter). That was the moment I knew it was time to let go—of her lies, of her, of our story, and of the love I thought we shared.

Slowly, I began to feel a profound sense of relief. It felt like standing on a mountaintop that had been shrouded in fog for so many years that I’d forgotten there was ever a view. And then, gradually, the fog lifted. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I could see where I truly was—and how far I had wandered off course. That was when I realised the truth: I wasn’t on a mountaintop at all. I was deep in the valley, convincing myself all along that I’d reached the summit.

As I reflected further on this metaphor, I realised that I had simply learned to love her over time. And that learning may have involved an unconscious acceptance of the valley, and a resignation to staying there.

Throughout our relationship, I often felt that he was better suited for her. They were so alike, so naturally compatible. Both doctors, they shared a profession that allowed them to understand each other’s pressures and aspirations. They even shared the same birthday—a small, seemingly trivial detail that somehow deepened their connection in my mind.

I cherished having her as my best friend and biggest supporter, cheering me on as I pursued my dreams. But she was never part of those dreams. For him, she was the dream, and she knew it. That, I think, made all the difference.

I’ve heard of love-at-first-sight and soulmates from stories, but I’ve never experienced it myself. If I were to be completely honest, with all the knowledge I now have about myself and relationships, I cannot say with certainty that I would choose her again if go back in time given our stark differences.

So now I’m left with a question: was it an act of courage for her to pursue the person she truly wanted, or was it cowardice for the way she did it? And for me: was it cowardly to stay with someone I wasn’t sure I wanted, or was it courage to love her with everything I had, even when I wasn’t sure of her?

Although I may never accept her means, I can understand why she wanted to be with him. I also suspect that most people who eventually hear our story—including friends and family—may find her actions as revolting as I do. Still, I believe she has as much right to pursue her happiness as anyone else.

Despite our differences, I did love her—at least by the definition of love I’d come to understand.

If I were to die tomorrow, I’d carry the memory of knowing what it felt like to love so deeply—a feeling I never thought I was capable of. I’d also carry the memory of what it felt like to be burnt by that same love—a feeling I never thought I’ll have after I had her. Was this the price I had to pay to experience love? The cost of admission?

In my heart, I know there is a part of her that most people don’t see—a soft, kind, and beautiful soul. Traumatised by the upbringing of a harsh, unforgiving mother, she just didn’t know how to nurture that side of herself, and maybe it was never my place to help her discover it.

We were together during the hardest, most transformative years of our lives. I can’t accept that her actions were justified, but I also can’t dismiss the possibility that maybe it wasn’t either of us. Maybe we were two right people who met at the wrong time, or perhaps we were two right people in the wrong relationship. This thought will always linger in my mind, and I suspect, in time, I may understand the reality of it.

Yet, these things happen. And it has happened. And as I often use to act out Omar Khayyam to her:
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

The Grand Designer

Some nights, I find myself reflecting on how this story played out.

In 2022, just as she began her affair, I received unexpected news—my visa was reissued by the Australian government, a development that required no action on my part and allowed me to leave Kenya, where I was struggling to build financial independence.

In 2024, she had begun journaling, an activity that was completely out of character for her. She documented not just her present but her past, capturing moments and secrets I had never known. Then, one morning at 6 a.m., I woke with an inexplicable urge and, without conscious thought, reached for her phone and opened her journal.

Had she left and I never looked at her journal, I would have carried the burden of believing I was the root cause of the relationship’s failure for the rest of my life.

Once I discovered her affair, I realised my visa was nearing its expiration, and she, having secured her job in Perth, was on a path that could lead to permanent residency. I felt vulnerable, knowing I might have to depend on her. Then, in a twist that seemed almost surreal, my visa was extended for another two years—an outcome virtually unheard of—allowing me to maintain my independence.

While it may not be definitive proof of a higher power, I can’t shake the feeling that some unseen force has been watching over me. I look up to the heavens and feel a quiet sense of gratitude for this Grand Designer—whoever He may be—who seems to have guided me through this journey.

I think of all the lessons I have learned along the way: that I am capable of loving someone beyond what I ever thought possible when this relationship began. I have known what it is to love deeply and to be scorched by that love—and yet, I have come out of it willing to risk it all again because I now see how spiritually uplifting love can be.

I have learned how a single moment can redefine how I see an entire decade of my life, and how effortlessly it all dissolves into the grand mystery. I have discovered how easy it is to forget the feeling of holding your beloved in your arms, no matter how vivid it once seemed.

I have realised that our lives run parallel to others for brief periods, and during those times, when paths align, to love and care with intensity—whether it’s a partner, a friend, or family—because eventually, the trails diverge, and I may never have that opportunity again.

And I have come to understand the power of a few words spoken by my comrades to heal my soul, their presence stitching together the pieces I thought could never mend.

I am grateful—for my brother, who lay beside me when I was at my lowest, sharing my pain without judgment or pressuring me to move on. For my closest friends, who helped me confront my own biases and guided me back to the mountains. And for her, because through her and her love, and through the pain and betrayal, I discovered who I truly am, who I needed to become, what I wanted in life, what I didn’t want, and the courage I never knew I possessed.

And that that gratitude fills my heart.

Forgetfulness

“To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.” —George Santayana

Often, the advice given to help someone move on is to forgive and forget.

But can I really forgive her for continuing her affair in secret for over three years—nearly half our relationship—and then claiming it was a mistake when she got caught? For watching me invest years into a relationship that didn’t truly exist? For making me believe that I was the reason it wasn’t working?

And if I could ask her, I’d say:

You always inspired me to never quit, but how many times did you give up on me when things got tough? How many times did you preach about loyalty while having an affair behind my back? How many times did you comfort him by comparing me, your husband, to him? How many times did you belittle and tarnish my character to your siblings with false stories? How many times did you make me feel like I was the only one in this relationship?

The more I thought about it, the harder my days became, and the lonelier I felt. And, the more I talked about it, the angrier I got—and I am not an angry person at heart.

To truly move on, I knew I had to confront the full depth of what had happened, drawing on every piece of knowledge I could gather. Only by understanding the reality behind it all could I begin to close the lingering questions and reclaim my sense of self. This is why I’ve chosen to write about it—to untangle the past and find the closure I need to move forward. To rewrite my own story.

As for forgiveness, at least for the sake of my own peace, that is a question only time can answer. But to move on and live with equanimity, I knew I had to forget.

Over time, I began to feel like I’d returned from a long, complicated holiday. It happened, and now I’m back to where I always was. Eventually, the whole experience settled in the recesses of my mind. Sometimes, a smell or a song might bring it back, but recalling the details takes effort. That’s as close as I’ll get to forgetting this story.

I keep telling myself I’m fine, that I’ve handled this well. And in many ways, I have. But in my sleep, she always appears—in dreams of intimacy, love, deceit, and anger. It’s as though my surface has healed, yet beneath it, a story continues to unfold that is beyond my control.

So, I patiently wait—for my mind and heart to heal fully, for the day when her presence in my dreams fades, and I can finally say I’ve healed.

Our Lake

On a cold, cloudy spring evening, I cycled the long ride to the lake—our lake, where we had spent so much of our last year together.

The rhythm of the wheels on the open road echoed in the stillness of the countryside. In that silence, my mind drifted in the ocean of our memories. The laughter we shared, the tears we shed; the long drives and miles walked. Our first kiss in Sri Lanka, and our last hug in Perth.

When I reached the top of the hill, I paused, allowing my heart and breath to synchronise with the rhythm of this wild place.

In the silence of the fading day, as I looked out at the shimmering water stretching endlessly before me, I saw us together. We sat on a weathered bench beneath the embrace of an ancient oak tree, my arm wrapped around her shoulder, her head resting softly against mine. She smiled at a silly joke I had just made, her laughter light and carefree.

The gentle breeze carried the scent of the lake, mingling with the subtle fragrance of her hair. For a moment, the world around me seemed to melt away, leaving only us and the fading glow of the day. When it was time to leave, we stood up, and I hugged her so tightly that it felt as if we had become one. I kissed her forehead and took a deep breath of the warm, vanilla scent of her hair. She curled into a ball, the innocence of a child.

I let myself get carried away in that dream, if only to forget her sins, even if just for a brief moment.

I held her small, soft hand, and we walked back to the car, continuing to hold each other as we drove. At home, we put on some music; she became my chef, and I was her sous-chef. She guided me as we made pizza while we danced in the kitchen. I would take the first bite and realise that she had become my home. And when the night came to an end, and the moon rose over the clear sky, I lay on her chest as she stroked my hair, and I felt the innocence of youth return to me.

I stopped myself here, unwilling to let go of that moment. How strange it is—the everyday moments of our life, now memories of a disillusioned paradise, a bygone era that I will always long for but can never reclaim.

As the sun finally sank below the horizon, I returned to the present, my vision blurred by tears of heartbreak.

When I closed my eyes to wipe the tears away, in the darkness of my mind, I saw her light, walking towards me at Melbourne airport in the winter of 2018. Her eyes sparkled with the hope of what we could be. I remembered pulling her close, feeling the softness of her cheeks beneath my lips, and the scent of a vast, blooming meadow that lingered on her skin. And I thought about how I should have pulled her closer.

Amidst the cold wind and fading light, with a tormented mind and a broken heart, I found myself unable to let go. I wanted to stay here forever. And in that moment, I cried, as I held her for the last time in this life.