Whispers of Guilt

**October 21, 2024**

You can know someone inside and out; what they’re going to say next, the reaction they’re going to give, and how they’re feeling about most things. Everyone has their secrets that they deem not to talk about. I catch myself wondering what a person might not have told me, but realize I have some deep ones myself. I figured the ones we don’t tell are the ones we are ashamed or embarrassed about, I’ve found that to not be true to everyone.  

I’ve kept this secret for so long that it feels like part of me now—like a scar no one else can see but me. I never planned to write it down, but maybe that’s the only way to feel lighter. Maybe by putting the words on paper, I’ll finally be free.

It started a year ago, innocently enough. I’d just gotten that promotion at work, the one I fought for, sacrificed weekends for. I should’ve been ecstatic, right? But there was this nagging emptiness inside. It was as if I’d climbed the ladder and found the top wasn’t what I thought it would be. 

And then, *he* showed up. Not in person—no, that would've been too simple. He reappeared through an email, of all things. It's just a name from my past, nothing more. But the rush I felt seeing his name in my inbox... I hadn’t felt anything like that in years.

His email was innocent—congratulatory even. "Saw your promotion on LinkedIn! We should catch up sometime." Casual, but everything but innocent to me. We hadn’t spoken since college. We were both different people then. Or maybe we weren’t, and I’ve just buried who I was.

One coffee turned into another. Then lunches. Then… everything spiraled. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I was married, and he was engaged. But there we were, breaking every unspoken rule. It wasn’t love, not in the way you’d expect. It was comfort, a reminder of who I used to be—someone wild, someone unafraid to take risks. 

It’s over now. Has been for months, but every time I see my husband’s face, every time he smiles at me like I’m the most wonderful person in the world, the guilt claws at me. I wish I could tell him the truth, but what good would that do? It would shatter him. It would shatter everything we’ve built.

So, I carry this secret like a weight around my neck, hoping time will make it lighter. But I know, deep down, it won’t.

**November 3, 2024**

I thought writing it down would help. I thought I’d feel some sense of relief, maybe even a little less guilty. But since that first entry, it’s only gotten worse. The words stare back at me from the page like a confession I can’t escape from. 

I told myself over and over that it was just a phase—a blip in an otherwise stable life. But lately, it feels like that part of me, the one I thought I buried with the affair, is clawing its way back up. Every time I look at him, at my husband, I see the cracks forming in the facade I’ve built. He doesn’t know, but sometimes I catch him watching me like he can sense something’s wrong but can’t quite put his finger on it.

And then there’s the worst part. Last night, I dreamed about *him* again. It wasn’t even anything significant—just a brief moment where we were walking, his hand brushing against mine, that stupid smirk on his face like he always had when we were younger. I woke up drenched in guilt, but a part of me—a small, shameful part—wanted to sink back into the dream. To hold onto that fleeting sense of freedom.

What is wrong with me? Why do I feel like I’m suffocating in a life that, by all accounts, should be perfect? My husband is kind, attentive, everything I could ever ask for. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? He’s too perfect. He doesn’t know the ugly parts of me, the parts I’ve hidden away. If he knew… if he really *knew*, would he still look at me the same way? I doubt it.

I’ve thought about coming clean, about telling him the truth. But what would I say? How do you even begin that conversation? “Hey, honey, remember when you thought everything was fine? Surprise, I’ve been lying to you for months.” 

No, I can’t do that to him. It would destroy him, and I’m too much of a coward to face the consequences. So I’ll keep pretending, keep smiling, keep playing the part of the devoted wife. Maybe one day this weight will disappear, and I’ll be able to breathe again.

But today isn’t that day.

**November 17, 2024**

I saw *him* today. Just for a moment. I was at the grocery store, reaching for a can of soup, and there he was, walking down the aisle like a ghost from my past. For a split second, our eyes met, and my heart stopped. He looked different, older maybe, or maybe that’s just how time changes things. But his smile—that crooked, knowing smile—was the same.

I panicked. I left the store without buying a thing, my heart racing like I’d been caught. I thought seeing him again would bring back all those old feelings, but instead, it just made me feel sick. Not because I still want him—no, that’s not it. It’s because seeing him reminded me of the person I became when I was with him. The person I hate.

I thought I was stronger than this. I thought I could bury it and move on. But now, after seeing him again, it’s like the wound has been reopened, and I don’t know how to close it. I can’t keep living like this, lying to myself, lying to my husband. 

Maybe the truth will come out on its own. Maybe one day I’ll slip, and everything will come crashing down. But for now, I’ll keep writing in this journal, the only place where my secrets are safe.

At least, until they’re not.