“When Would I Have Time to Cheat?” — The Story of a Woman Who Did It All Until She Didn’t

“When Would I Have Time to Cheat?” — The Story of a Woman Who Did It All Until She Didn’t

They say marriage is about partnership. About lifting each other through the storms, being teammates in the chaos of life, and knowing—deep down—that someone’s got your back.

I believed that once.

Until I realized I wasn’t in a partnership. I was in a performance. And I was doing all the work while he stood backstage, clapping when it suited him and criticizing when it didn’t.

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I met Terrence when I was 24. He had charm, smooth words, and the kind of laugh that made strangers turn their heads. He was funny, spontaneous, and had just enough ambition to make you believe he might be going somewhere—eventually.

I had goals. I was building a career, supporting my family, taking care of aging parents, running errands, cooking, cleaning, managing bills, and preparing to start a family of my own. He said he admired my drive. Said I inspired him.

But somewhere between “I do” and “I’m done,” that admiration turned into resentment.

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The first year was decent. We were figuring it out. Learning routines. But slowly, my life started to look like this:

• Wake up before him.

• Make breakfast.

• Get the kids ready.

• Work a full-time job.

• Pick up the kids.

• Cook dinner.

• Clean.

• Laundry.

• Answer work emails.

• Pack lunches.

• Try to sleep before anxiety starts whispering about what tomorrow needs.

Meanwhile, Terrence?

Sleeping in.
Working inconsistently.
Spending hours scrolling on his phone.
Leaving dishes in the sink—right above the empty dishwasher.
Asking, “What’s for dinner?” with the audacity of someone who had done nothing to earn a plate.

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At first, I tried talking. Calmly. I made lists. Asked for help. Tried to share the weight.

His responses?

“You’re just being dramatic.”
“I’ll get to it later.”
“You act like I don’t do anything around here!”
…after he watered a plant once in March.

I remember one night standing in the kitchen, sweating over the stove while holding my crying toddler on one hip, stirring a pot with the other, and answering a client call on speakerphone.

He walked in, looked at the mess, and asked, “Why are you so stressed all the time?”

Sir, I haven’t sat on the couch since last month. The only time I rest is when I blink.

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Then, the final insult came.

We got into an argument—nothing new. This one was about how I “didn’t make time for him anymore.”

I said, “I don’t make time because I don’t have time.”

And then he said it:
“You probably messing around on me anyway. You always on your phone, working late. You barely talk to me. Something’s off.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

Cheating? Me?

When? Between wiping our child’s nose, responding to emails, prepping for tomorrow’s client pitch, deep-cleaning a bathroom, and folding 23 tiny pairs of socks?

I wanted to laugh. And I did. Right in his face. Not because it was funny—but because it was so absurd it broke something inside me.

I was running a one-woman show and he had the nerve to accuse me of sneaking in a side romance?

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And that’s when the switch flipped.

I realized something heartbreaking and freeing at once:
He wasn’t just failing to help. He was choosing to misunderstand me.

He didn’t want to see the work I was doing because then he’d have to see the work he wasn’t.
He wanted me to feel small, guilty, tired, confused—because then I wouldn’t ask for more.
He wanted me to feel like the problem.

So I packed my truth, my peace, my tired-but-still-standing self, and left.

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I got divorced. And I gained something in return.

Silence that wasn’t heavy.
Freedom that didn’t require explanation.
A clean home that didn’t argue back.
Kids who saw their mother resting sometimes.
And a version of myself I hadn’t met in years: calm, whole, soft again.

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Now when people ask, “Why’d you leave?” I smile.

Because I refused to be the wife, the mother, the maid, the nanny, the accountant, the chef, the therapist and the villain in his fantasy.

Because I don’t cheat.
I choose peace.

And let’s be real—when would I have even had the time? 🤷🏽‍♀️🤣