Image: iStock. By Eden Strong for Your Tango.
I sat there with my mouth hanging open so wide that my internal organs could’ve fallen out onto the floor, which was ironic considering the fact that it felt like someone had literally ripped my heart right out of my chest.
Tears filled my eyes and my vision became blurry which, in a way, I was thankful for because it obscured everything on the screen in front of me.
What I had just found had not only rocked me to my core but on some level I felt relief — relief in the fact that I wasn’t crazy.
All those nights I had laid awake, wondering where my husband was, completely unable to trust the reasons that he was giving me for his absence, I had been right.
All the fights we had where he somehow managed to twist my suspicions into a curtain of guilt and left me apologising for ever doubting him, I had been right. (Is cheating physical or emotional? Post continues after video.)
He was cheating on me, in more ways than one, and the proof was a multitude of emails that splashed across the screen in front of me.
That night, my husband had gone out and accidentally left his email account open, which I innocently stumbled upon as I sat down at our shared computer with the intention of sending out a few emails of my own. At first, I was shocked when I saw that his account was not only up, but open.
He was the most private man I’d ever met, never letting me in on his thoughts and definitely not letting me in on the life I was sure he was leading behind my back — a life that, up until that moment, I had no proof of. (Post continues after gallery.)
I sat there for at least 30 minutes grappling with the choice of “should I look, or should I not?” and in the end, I looked.
The answers I got were so far from anything I had been expecting that I wasn’t even sure how to process what I had found.
He was sleeping with escorts off Craigslist.
His inbox was full of messages from interested women, and his outbox was even worse. There were hundreds of emails, all sent with a faceless d*ck pic attached, all asking women if they liked what they saw and if they wanted to take him for a ride.
I was reeling.
Until you’ve found yourself nose-to-screen inspecting a picture of a penis, hoping desperately to find something that would confirm that it was not actually your husband’s d*ck, you don’t know the meaning of the word “bizarre.”