Three days before Valentine’s Day 2018, I discovered my husband of 13 years was cheating on me. Just 72 hours later, I participated in a student-led Valentine’s Day Q&A panel at the university where I teach as a psychologist with interests in social technologies.
Ironically, the students wanted the panel to talk about healthy relationships and love. I didn’t experience the panel as painful, but I still have no idea how I got through that event other than the protection provided by being in a state of shock. I do recall talking about how unhealthy it would be to use technology to constantly track your partner’s location due to mistrust, which was also completely ironic considering I was about to track my husband’s location due to mistrust.
My discovery began with a text message, in which my then-husband told me about an amazing church he was visiting in North Carolina, where he had supposedly traveled for a work trip. He sent me photos of the singers on the stage, noting the name of one of the singers in particular, so I could find her music later. My husband, who told me he attended the church with a work buddy, explained that he enjoyed the service so much, he wanted to share the experience with me.
I told him he was lucky to be there for that special occasion for the church. But all it took was a simple Google search of the singer’s name and the date of the event to learn the church was in Knoxville, Tennessee. Since we’d lived there before, I’m sure my husband knew he wasn’t in North Carolina.
I repeatedly watched video footage I found of that church service, and eventually, I saw my husband standing big as day in a yellow sweater vest I bought him, texting me with one hand, and holding another woman’s hand with the other. I was so stunned ― I realized my body was completely still, and I was holding my breath. It felt as though the world was going to fall apart if I exhaled.
That moment four years ago set off what would become the most excruciatingly painful next few months of my life.
I didn’t confront my husband. Instead, I became my own private investigator and went on a quiet rampage.
Dealing with bills made me anxious, and my husband said he was better at finances and management, so I let him handle them. I wondered what I didn’t know about. So I opened the piles of mail that were stacked neatly on the kitchen table, in our office or by his bedside. I found he had opened multiple credit cards in my name that I didn’t know about.
