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After a couple of months I had to end it – and it was after I had made this decision that my husband found out.He discovered messages on my phone and so I sat him down and poured the whole sorry tale out to him, feeling I was stamping on his heart with every word. I spent a lonely Christmas at my mother's house with nothing to do but wonder how I had got myself into this situation. I started therapy, and learned just how dysfunctional my life had been, and so little wonder I kept making new problems for myself.I am bound to say, though, that I wasn't solely culpable. I ended up marrying one of these complicated boyfriends.He was by far the best of the bunch, a kind and generous man, but someone who could also be selfish and unfeeling.What drew me to the online world was the maintenance of fantasy.Bringing it to life brought only complications, albeit occasionally exquisite ones.
From the very first meeting, the guilt racked through me.We had agreed, early on in our relationship, that we wouldn't have children. Several friends, however, were convinced that our lack of children created a vacuum.I was convinced I wouldn't make a very good mother and didn't want my son or daughter, in 40 years time, to dread calling me, fearful I'd berate them for some emotional crime or other. I'm not sure I entirely agree with that, but it is true that when we bought our first house together, we somehow conspired to buy a wreck that required a lot of our attention and focus. I didn't want an affair, nothing grubby, nothing seedy.And it was harmless, until I fell in too deep and wanted more than his messages.And so our long-nurtured virtual affair became real.