An Open Letter to Your Wife

Dear Mrs. X,
I'm not sure if you know about me, maybe you do. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that your husband is giving up on you. I'm sure you're really nice. When he disparages you while we're sharing a romantic meal together or cuddling on my couch, I don't listen. Your children are beautiful. I really hope that they grow up knowing what healthy, loving relationships look like. I actually think about you a lot. In some ways, I want to be you--to have what you have. Other times, I have a sickly feeling that one day, I will be you. He jokes and calls me his "part time lover" while he caresses my body and puts me at ease. At first, I think it's sweet, but then my stomach turns at the thought of you having to wake up next to a liar who just quietly climbed back into bed with you three hours earlier. I don't think about you when your husband and I make love. Or maybe I do, which is why I fake an orgasm, not allowing myself to fully enjoy our sin. It is a sin. Not in the whole "bolts of fire striking me dead" way, but because I am betraying you, a woman I have never met. I call myself a feminist and say that this affair is empowering but I am just trying to validate my actions. The truth is, I don't really deserve anything better than your middle aged leftovers who thinks he's a 9.5 (but you and I both know, is probably more like a 6.5). I feel bad about what I'm doing but I feel worse about myself. The truth is, you deserve better and so do I. I only wish I believed the latter.
Sincerely,
Ms. Y