Then So Be It

After Claire came back home, I stumbled across an anonymous poll online.
[When a woman cheats, who does she feel guiltier about: her husband or her lover?]
A staggering 99% voted for the lover.
I turned and asked Claire, Do you feel that way, too?
She set down her book, her gaze distant, veiled with a weariness she couldn't put into words.
"Eason, I'm back now." Her voice was flat. "What more do you want from me?"

1
With a heavy brow, Claire rose and went to the balcony, pouring herself a glass of water to cool down.
I watched her.
Against the glittering backdrop of the city lights, her slender silhouette melted into the soft darkness, a picture of lonely elegance.
Half an hour later, she returned, her face fixed in a strained, placating smile.
"The company's having its annual Family Day. You should come with me. I'm free this weekend, so we can go shopping and get you something to wear."
Claire's company held these events from time to time, but she'd never invited me before. When I'd asked about it once, she had just frowned, her face a mask of impatience.
"That's just a perk for the junior staff, Eason. The spots are limited. As a department head, I have to be considerate. It's not worth fighting them for a spot."
Right now, I desperately wanted to ask her, So you don't have to be considerate this time?
But I didn't.
Ever since Claire moved back in, a suffocating, sticky tension had settled between us.
Yes, sticky.
Like a lump of phlegm caught in your throatit won't go up, it won't go down, but its always there, a constant, disgusting reminder of its presence.
"Okay," I said.
She smiled, as if she were pleased.
But the moment she turned away, the smile vanished, replaced by a sigh so faint it was almost silent.
Later that night, as I turned off the lights to sleep, the door creaked open. It was Claire.
"Are you asleep?"
We slept in separate rooms now. She had taken the guest room.
The day she chose to "return to the family," she had stood by the door with her suitcase and said, "Eason, we both need time and space to heal. Let's not share a room for a while."
Back then, I was still drowning in a chaotic sea of extreme emotions. The searing pain of betrayal by the one person I trusted most; the self-loathing for my own unhinged actions after everything blew up; the bitter satisfaction of holding the moral high ground...
Every expression, every gesture felt twisted and magnified.
I had tilted my chin up, sneering at her. "What are you thinking, Claire? Did you really believe I let you come back just to sleep with you? Do you assume everyone's mind is as filthy as yours?"
"As you wish," she'd replied, her voice flat, not a flicker of defiance in her eyes as she dragged her suitcase into the guest room.

Now, she stood by my bed, watching me in the darkness for a long moment.
Then, with a soft rustle of sheets, she lay down beside me.
"Eason, we're still husband and wife."
Her voice was thick with moisture.
It was strange. It was just a simple sentence, and I couldn't see her face, but I could feel the reluctant submission in her words, the resigned sigh behind them.
It was as if she were offering herself to me.
As if she were finally bowing to fate.
A surrender to the marriage that still, technically, existed.
A gift of mercy bestowed upon me, her partner of ten years.
Outside, the moon hung tired and cold, looking down on the world with indifference.
I couldn't stop myself. I finally said the name I hadn't uttered in three months.
"What about Leo?"
"Isn't he the only husband you acknowledge in your heart?"
The air in the room froze solid.
In the darkness, the woman behind me erupted, her voice sharp and furious.
"Why are you bringing him up? Why would you say his name?"
"I'm back! We've both paid the price! You got everything you wanted!"
"Eason, what in God's name do you still want from me?!"

2
I didn't want anything.
I just couldn't help it. I felt so damn wronged.
I just wanted to rip apart the fake, fragile veneer that had been stretched over my life.
Claire and I met in college.
We fell in love during a campus event, married the year after graduation, and had our son, Rory, the year after that.
Everything felt so natural, so right.
I was the extrovertsunny, outgoing, a people person. She was the introvert, a brilliant researcher whose career had stalled because she hated networking. I felt her talent was being wasted, so I used my own PR skills, leveraging a connection through my boss to get an introduction to the director of her research institute.
For weeks, I got up at the crack of dawn to bake pastries and drive them across town to the director's mother, who had a notorious sweet tooth.
Claire was disdainful of my efforts. After all, I was a grown man doing something she considered demeaning.
"My abilities speak for themselves," shed said. "Why do I need you to stoop to such cheap tricks? You'll just end up with nothing, and I'll be the one who looks like a fool."
I carefully protected her academic pride, admitting my approach was clumsy, but I smiled and said, "Even if it fails, it's no big deal. Think of it as just being kind to an old woman. Besides, knowing a director like him could help my own career, too."
The director was impressed by my persistence, and given that Claires work was genuinely outstanding, he endorsed her during a critical promotion review. After five years of being overlooked, Claire finally got the advancement she deserved.
Her salary and bonuses soared, but with one hand in research and the other in management, her workload became immense.
With no one to look after the house and Rory at a crucial age, we talked it over and decided I would step back from my demanding role at my job and take a less stressful position. That would give me more time for our family and allow me to fully support her career.
I always thought I was the lucky one.
When I picked Rory up from kindergarten, the other moms would chat, and they all agreed our family was the model of modern happiness: a college-sweetheart marriage with a strong foundation, a successful wife, a full-time "super dad" with a relaxed job, and a bright, adorable son.
I felt happy and fulfilled. Sure, I'd feel a pang of regret seeing former colleagues who were less competent than me get promotions and raises, but I told myself that a family is a single economic unit, a shared destiny. What I gave up was for the greater good of us all.
And that was enough.
The first time I saw the name "Leo," it was on a research paper on her desk.
The authors were listed as: Claire White, Leo Vance.
I handed her a mug of herbal wellness tea I'd brewed and joked, "Your names actually sound good together. Just reading them, I can imagine some epic, star-crossed love story."
At the time, I was blissfully ignorant, wrapped in the comfortable lie of my life. I didn't notice the fleeting tenderness in her eyes as her gaze fell on his name.
"He's a single colleague, Eason. Don't make jokes like that."
She looked down, pushing the report aside, her tone a soft warning.

3
The next time I saw the name "Leo Vance" was six months later.
I was making a PowerPoint for Rory's presentation as class representative, but my laptop died. Claire was out at a department dinner, so I went into her study and used her computer.
While searching for templates in her cloud drive, I accidentally clicked on a shared folder. It was titled: [My Love].
Claire was an impeccably organized person.
Inside, there were 27 subfolders, all neatly labeled by year and month.
Intuition is a strange, terrifying thing.
Before I saw that folder, it had never once crossed my mindnot for a single secondthat Claire could be hiding something.
But in that moment, as I moved the cursor to click on one of the files, I realized my hand was shaking.
I sat there and read for two hours.
The [My Love] folder documented the secret, blazing two-year-and-three-month emotional journey of a woman and a man.
They had been colleagues in different departments, brought together on a research project. In the endless days and nights that followed, they engaged in exhilarating intellectual discussions, a meeting of souls.
Slowly, ones heart stirred, and the others feelings ignited.
They were acutely aware that their connection was forbidden by morality, by the world.
They made a pact: their love would be pure, platonic. They would never touch, never succumb to base human desire.
Perhaps shielded by this hypocritical cloak of "moral responsibility," they allowed themselves to pour out their hearts, to unleash their love in this private Eden.
Claire called Leo "my one true husband."
You walked past me today, and I caught the unique, intoxicating scent of your body. My heart leaped.
So many men in this world are tainted, but you you are a pure, untainted sanctuary for my soul. Thank you for cleansing my life.
I fall asleep thinking of your face, repeating your name in my mind over and over.
I used to mourn my thirty-three wasted years, but then you appeared like a silent savior. Suddenly, all my past suffering became worthwhile.
Leo called Claire "my angel."
Angel! My love! My wife!
This morning, I found a few of my long hairs and gently placed them on your desk. In a way, we've now shared a bond, like tying the knot.
In the meeting minutes, our names were printed one above the other. I felt a secret thrill. The two most beautiful names in the world, dancing together, intertwined.
Angel, I had a dream last night an unspeakable dream. I was crying out your name. When I woke up, there was only emptiness, my soul adrift.
I think about you day and night. My performance reviews are tanking, but it was old Mrs. Henderson who got the pink slip. Angel, you pulled strings for me, didn't you? I feel so guilty and so grateful at the same time. How can I ever repay you?
Below that entry was Claires tender reply:
Don't feel guilty, my love. A wife is happy to bend the rules for her husband. I've never cared for power or position, but in this moment, I'm so glad to have it.

27 folders. 30 documents in each. A total of 810 entries.
For 810 days and nights, they had shared and edited this digital Eden, baring their souls to one another.
It was early September, and the last dregs of summer heat still clung to the city.
But sitting in that study, an icy chill spread through my entire body, as if I'd been plunged into a freezer.

4
I stormed out of the house in a daze.
A part of me still refused to believe it. It had to be fake. A cruel prank, a setup, someone trying to frame her.
I called her phone. No answer.
She said it was a department dinner. I went from restaurant to restaurant, searching for her.
I had to confront her, right then and there. I had to know the truth.
I finally found her in a loud, steamy Korean BBQ joint. A large group was laughing and talking around a long table.
Claire sat at the head, a faint, polite smile on her lips. She looked exactly as she always did: elegant, poised, a successful woman in her prime.
To her right sat a man in a white hoodie. He seemed shy, but his smile was radiant.
My feet froze to the floor. I couldn't bring myself to take another step.
I could hear the younger employees joking around.
"Claire, we admire everything about you, except for how much of a hard-ass your husband is! We'll just have to admire that from a distance!"
"Yeah, seriously! You're so cool and collected, a true genius. Why do you listen to an outsider like your husband and run your team like a drill sergeant?"
It took me a second to process what they were saying.
Claire wasn't a natural manager. Her method was to do everything herself because she felt it was a waste of time to teach others. As a result, she was the most overworked person in her own department, with no time left for her own son. I had suggested she needed to be a stricter boss, to delegate and hold her team accountable, otherwise their performance would always be at the bottom.
I never knew what she'd told them, but it was clear they'd laid the blame squarely at my feet.
But I didn't care about that right now. My eyes were locked on the young man.
He sat there, a gentle smile playing on his lips, graceful and composed amidst the chaos of the restaurant. He had an almost ethereal quality.
He smiled and said softly, "Alright, alright, stop teasing Claire. From now on, if any of you are swamped, I'll help out."
The others roared with laughter.
"If only Claire's husband were like you, Leo! Our lives would be a dream! What a shame!"
My heart sank into a black pit.
Of course. It was him. Leo Vance.
The group started toasting him, and he blushed like a peach blossom, his smile radiant.
Suddenly, Claire stood up, took the glass from his hand, and downed it in one gulp.
"We don't pressure people to drink in my department. Don't pick on him. I'll drink for him!"
Leo's lips curled into a soft smile as their eyes met.
The others cheered and refilled her glass.
With a flourish, she drained that one, too.
I watched from afar, my body shaking violently.
Claire had a sensitive stomach. The slightest thing could trigger agonizing pain. For years, besides caring for Rory, nursing her stomach back to health had been my top priority. I'd searched for folk remedies, brewed bitter medicines, made special herbal teas. Nothing cold, spicy, or harsh ever touched her lips. I loved spicy food, but I never used a single chili when I cooked for us. I'd even take the watermelon out of the fridge an hour before she got home so it wouldn't be too cold for her.
And alcohol? She was never to touch a drop.
All my painstaking effort, all my care, to heal her stomach.
And now, to win a smile from her "one true love," she was throwing it all away, pouring glass after glass of poison down her throat.
Something inside me snapped.
In a moment of pure, blinding rage, there is no logic, no rational thought, no weighing of consequences.
With a roar in my ears, I charged forward.
I snatched the glass from her hand and smashed it on the floor.
"You bitch!" I screamed.
Claire stared at me, her face a mask of shock.
"Ah!"
Leo scrambled back, stumbling and knocking over a cart with a sizzling hot plate. The scalding oil splattered across his face and forehead.
He screamed.
Claire gasped, crying out his name. "Leo!"
Everyone rushed toward him.
Suddenly, a powerful force shoved me from behind. I lost my balance and crashed to the floor, my head striking the corner of a table.
One of the young employees glared down at me. "Where did this psycho come from? You're not getting away with this!"
I clutched my head, a wave of hot liquid flowing down, blurring my vision.
Through a red haze, I saw Claire rushing toward me in a panic.
I didn't care. I just screamed, my voice raw and broken.
"I saw it! I saw the whole damn folder!"
"You two are disgusting! A pair of filthy animals!"

5
The events that followed feel like a dream when I look back on them now, three months later.
A nightmare.
A hideous, twisted nightmare.
The shock and the blow to my head were too much. After my furious outburst, the world went black.
I woke up in a hospital room. Claire was sitting beside me, her head bowed low.
My voice was a weak croak. "Get out."
"Don't let me see you. You make me sick."
Her body flinched. She looked up, her face gaunt, and spoke in a raspy whisper. "Eason, please don't get agitated. It's not what you think."
I grabbed the thermos on the bedside table and threw it at her.
She didn't move, didn't even flinch. It hit her with a dull thud before clattering to the floor.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then bent down, picked it up, and placed it back on the table. "You can hit me, you can scream at me, I don't care," she sighed. "At this point, I'm not going to make excuses. I just want to say one thing: I swear, we never crossed that line."
I glared at her, my teeth clenched. "And? Am I supposed to praise you for your moral fortitude? Thank you for not stooping to a disgusting physical affair?"
A pained expression crossed her face. "Do you have to be so vulgar?"
I dug my nails into the mattress, trying to control the trembling in my hands.
"You think my words are disgusting? What about what you did? Every time I think about the crap you two wrote, I want to vomit! Pretending to be some tragic, star-crossed lovers. What a load of bullshit! It's not platonic, it's just plain sleazy!"
I used to watch movies and TV shows where a husband would have a complete meltdown after his wife cheated, and I'd always thought it was so pathetic, so undignified. It's just a woman, I'd think. If she's tainted, just let her go.
But now, with it happening to me, I found I couldn't control myself at all.
I was consumed by rage and betrayal, a pressure building in my chest like it was about to explode. I wanted to hurl the vilest, most poisonous words at them. I wanted to drag them both down into the abyss with me.
In an instant, I had transformed from the cheerful, friendly Eason into a bitter, violent madman.
And the way Claire was looking at me now, she saw a madman, too.
That only fueled my rage. I grabbed a pillow and threw it at her face.
"Get out!"
Claire slowly smoothed her messy hair, her voice calm now as she stood up.
"You're too emotional to have a rational conversation right now. I should go."
She continued, her tone detached. "That junior colleague, Matt, who pushed you? He came and apologized to me. You can't blame him. He didn't know who you were, and you came out of nowhere and scared Leo, causing him to get hurt. He was just defending his friend."
"Leo has some burns on his forehead that might scar, but he's not going to press charges, so you don't have to worry about that."
"Look, this whole situation isn't as sordid as you think. Just calm down. If you really can't get over this, then whatever punishment you decide on, I'll accept it without a word of complaint."
She bent down, picked up the pillow, placed it back on the bed, and walked out of the room.

6
I was in the hospital for three days, my mind a fog. I drifted in and out of a restless sleep, and each time I woke, it took a few seconds to separate the nightmares from reality.
My dad came to visit. He said Claire had called him and explained everything, worried that I'd be alone.
He sighed. "She was very sincere. She admitted her mistake but swore nothing physical ever happened with that man. Remember when you were obsessed with that basketball player? You wrote a whole notebook full of letters to him. Just think of it like that."
I shook my head. "It's not the same."
"But is it worth wrecking your health over? If not for yourself, you have to think about Rory."
My father-in-law and sister-in-law came next. They sat on either side of my bed.
My father-in-law chuckled. "Technically, Claire was in the wrong here. But you know, she's always been a magnet for men, and now that she's so successful, it's inevitable that some wolf would try to snatch her up. It's good this happened. It's a wake-up call before things went too far."
My sister-in-law, sipping an iced Americano, added, "Look, Eason, I'm not just defending my sister, but she's a person of principle. She has integrity. I bet she was set up. Besides, this isn't even really cheating. It's flirting. And barely even that. She'd never say anything truly out of line."
As my father-in-law was leaving, he looked at me with a grave expression. "The fact that Claire was willing to tell us everything shows that her conscience is clear. Of course, you have a right to be upset, but it's time to let it go. She's up for the Associate Director position soon, and if people see you two fighting, it could hurt her chances."

Honestly, I had no idea what to do.
Get a divorce?
Over a decade of history, the home I had so carefully built, Rory's future, the perfect image we had in the eyes of the world
My dad, my father-in-law, my sister-in-lawthey were all telling me not to ruin my health, not to disrupt the family harmony. It was as if divorce wasn't even on the table.
In their minds, this was nowhere near serious enough for that.
But my heart felt like it was clogged with concrete.
Claire came every day with a thermos of soup. When I ignored her, she would place it gently on the table and leave in silence.
Rory called me a few times, crying, asking when I was coming home. He said Mommy's cooking was terrible.
I truly didn't know what to do.
The day before I was discharged, I went down to the small hospital garden for some fresh air.
And I saw them. Leo and Claire.
Leo was in a patient gown, and Claire was holding two thermoses. They were talking in low voices.
They stood face to face, and a gentle breeze lifted Claire's long hair, letting it dance across Leo's face, his lips.
He stood perfectly still, letting her hair caress him.
It was a silent, intimate moment.
After a while, she looked down and handed him one of the thermoses.
The wind carried Leo's soft voice to me. "Angel."
A roar filled my head, and I charged.
The moment Claire saw me, her eyes widened in terror. I grabbed Leo by the collar of his gown, dragged him to the ground, and screamed, "How dare you! How dare you show your face again!"
Leo yelped, clutching at his collar.
A few of their younger colleagues came running over. Seeing the scene, they tried to pull me off him, pleading, "Eason, you've got it all wrong! We just came to visit Leo and ran into Claire!"
As I raised my fist to punch him, someone stepped between us. I heard Claire's voice, cold as ice.
"That's enough!"
The young colleagues awkwardly tried to pry my hands off Leo, but my grip was like steel. A crowd of onlookers had gathered, pointing and whispering.
Leo's shoulders were slumped, a wounded look on his face.
Claire glanced at him with pity, then turned her cold eyes on me and shouted, her voice ringing through the garden.
"I swear on our son Rory's life, nothing happened between us! We never slept together! We never kissed! We never even hugged!"
"Eason, you keep pushing this, again and again. First, you scarred his face, and now you're humiliating him in public. If you keep acting like a lunatic, then let's just get a divorce!"
My body went rigid. I stared at her in shock. "What did you say? Divorce?"
"On what grounds are you threatening divorce?"
The crowd started murmuring.
"Wow, she swore on her own kid's life. She must be telling the truth. I thought he was catching a cheater, but it looks like the husband's just a psycho."
"And he scarred that poor guy's face? Look how vicious he is. No wonder she wants a divorce."
"That woman looks so gentle and quiet. He must have really pushed her to the edge."
In my stunned silence, my grip on Leo's collar loosened. His friends quickly pulled him away from me.
Through the crowd, Leo slowly lifted his head and met my gaze.
His eyes were filled with mockery, contempt, and even a hint of pity.
And suddenly, I was calm.
For the first time since I discovered that folder, for the very first time, I was completely and utterly calm.
I turned to Claire and spoke slowly.
"No. I don't agree to a divorce."
At least not yet.

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