How do you hide a secret? How do you stop your body from betraying what your mind knows? When your husband asks you directly if you’re having an affair, how do you stop your eyes from batting that one flicker too many? How do you halt your blood from rushing to your face; keep your breath from catching in your throat, making you choke? How do you negate his accusations with a steady voice; with a flowing stream of words following each other comprehensibly, sensibly, logically? And if you manage none of this; if your body betrays you; if your tongue blabbers, your face flushes, your eyes blink, your heart beats audibly against your chest; if he catches you in your blatant lie; how do you then express the depth of your remorse? How do you make him believe that he is the one man you want to be with? You’ve tried the alternative and it fell so short of your fantasy that your reality now feels like heaven, but how do you make him believe that?  How do you beg forgiveness without sounding desperate; without revealing that your insides are tearing; that regret is consuming you like cancer? How do you come to terms with the fact that with that one single blunder, one choice, one instance of weakness, you have provided yourself with the means to destroy the rest of your own life?  How do you do it?

This is a file from the Wikimedia Commons.