she was not going to winI admit it. The numero uno reason I didn’t leave or kick him out and put a tremendous amount of energy into working things out was not the kids or money (we had none of either), or love or compassion or religion and nope, not the goodness of my heart. The only way I could guarantee she would feel like the discarded cheapness she is was by making sure she knew that he would never pick her over me. Ever. I could have cared less if he would have been run over by a truck. Actually, I hoped for it. The motivation for my year-long Oscar worthy performance of caring about our marriage, while dreaming about his tragic death was that I knew that she felt used and hated herself for believing he would leave his wife for her. He had been texting during the concert. I was curious. While he was in the shower, I saw the message, “We left early. Show was good, but would have stayed until end if I was with you.” I got sweaty and my heart raced. I quickly scrolled through the rest of his messages. I pretended to do work while I hacked into his e-mail account. There was no denying it. They were in lust. I felt sick to my stomach. Paralyzed. My heart was coming out my chest. Then nothing. In a split second, I decided that she was not going to win.