The birth of a cheater.

You keep trying to tell me that you don't love her. That she's moving on and you're staying put. That you haven't been romantically involved or not for that long, anyway. That you aren't sleeping in her bed ... you know, just sharing a closet. 

Actually, if I'm being honest, you're really just trying to avoid giving me any details at all. Which probably means all of the stuff you said above is pure bs. 

I don't know why you STILL feel the need to shade the truth about this. If you think not telling me hurts my feelings less, you're wrong. Or maybe you are still trying to convince yourself that you're not as big an asshole as you're afraid you might be.

I need you to understand this one thing: 

You started cheating on me the second she entered your life and you didn't tell me about her. The very second. 

You were cheating on me long before you helped pick a property in Wyoming. Long before you kissed her in North Carolina. Long before you hung your deer on the wall in Iowa. And long before you faxed her bank information for the South Carolina condo loan payoff. 

Y'all started talking at some point and you made a decision to not tell me that you'd connected with an old friend. 

Which means you were looking for something else. You knew it was a different kind of connection and you kept it to yourself to see where it would go. 

That is cheating. 

So spare me the tortured, victim version of you. He doesn't exist. You made a choice. 

Be honest with yourself. 

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