All That She Needs: The Betrayal of a Marriage

Part 1 Aiden

"Vanessa. That was her name," I said quietly, my words lost in the sounds of muffled clinking of glasses and murmurs that seemed to float in the air of the bar. I was talking to Jake, a bartender I'd only met less than an hour ago. I didn't know why, maybe because of the three glasses of whiskey that were burning my stomach, or perhaps because the agony had been eating me slowly inside, but I suddenly felt a desperate need to spill my gut. To anyone who would care to listen. Perhaps a stranger would be better. Someone who wouldn't judge me. And Jake was there. It was almost as though those deep-brown eyes of his knew more than the words that rolled off my tongue, and I uncharacteristically trusted him with all my secrets. "She was my assistant—the best I ever had. Sharp and efficient, she knew what I needed before I did, anticipating my moves like she could read my thoughts.

"And she was..." I drifted off, the memories with her, both precious and painful, flooded my mind. I sighed heavily as a familiar twinge squeezed my chest as I thought about her. "She was beautiful," I said softly, as though speaking aloud might bring her into the space. "And she was brilliant. The type of woman who enters a room and effortlessly captures everyone's attention. Not just because she was beautiful, but because she had this energy, this light, that drew people in. She loved the attention, soaking it up like it was her life force. But she never really let anyone get close. Not really."

I stopped for a moment, looking at the drink in front of me, the golden liquid catching the soft light from the ceiling. "And Vanessa was... complicated. She could make you feel you were the most important person in the world. She would give her all to you like you were the only man she ever saw. She gave me her body, but she never gave me her heart. It was all probably just a game to her. Even so, even knowing that, I couldn't stay away. I kept coming back to her."

I felt my throat tighten, the words catching there. "I noticed her like no one else did." I paused, forcing a confession that was almost too heavy to bear. My thumb traced the rim of my glass—my fourth of the night—as the memories flooded my mind. The liquid in the glass swirled slowly, reflecting the dim light, but all I could see was her.

"It was... inappropriate, the way I noticed her," I admitted painfully. "At first, it was just admiration. Who wouldn't admire someone like her? She was confident, radiant, fearless. But then it became more. Something I couldn't control."

I glanced up at Jake, expecting judgment, but his expression was unreadable, his hands busy with a glass he was polishing, though I could tell he was listening intently. "I started looking forward to seeing her every morning," I went on, my gaze drifting back to the glass in my hand. "Her smile, her laugh. The way she'd tucked her hair behind her ear when she was deep in thought. I noticed it all. Every little detail."

"Then I found myself arriving at the office early," I said, my eyes unfocused as they stared into the rows of bottles behind Jake, almost as if I were talking to myself. "Just to catch those first few moments when she walked in, before the day really started. Her presence alone was enough to light up the entire place. She had this way of moving, so effortlessly graceful, like she was floating through life while the rest of us were just trudging along."

I could still picture her clearly in my mind, the moments I had with her. What stuck with me most were the quieter ones—how she'd bite her lip when concentrating, the crease in her forehead when she was deep in thought. How her eyes lit up when they found me. The way she looked at me, like she was giving herself completely to me. Everything about her drew me in, and I wasn't strong enough to resist. It was more than just an attraction. It was a constant, gnawing need that took over my days and nights. It quickly became intense, turning into something so powerful that I lost control.

"I knew it was wrong." the words tumbled out as if a dam had burst inside me. "But I couldn't stop myself. She was like a fire—so intense it was almost blinding. It fucking hurt to get close, but I kept going back. Every time, it scorched me, but I couldn't stay away. No matter how many times I told myself not to, I still returned, knowing it would destroy me. And yet, the burn felt worth it just to be near her."

I could still feel the heat of that fire, even now. It was like a brand that had seared itself into my soul, leaving a mark that couldn't be removed.

I leaned back in my seat, the weight of my confession sinking in. The noise of the bar faded into the background, but my mind was still stuck in the past—caught up in something I couldn't change, something that stayed with me.

Jake didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. His silence was its own kind of response. A quiet acknowledgment. He slid another drink in front of me, a silent offer of solace.

"I fell in love with her," I admitted, my voice was unsteady under the weight of it. "My love for her was the obsessive kind. The worst kind. The kind that takes over every thought, every breath, until there's nothing left but her. It was crazy, I fucking knew that. But it didn't matter. I couldn't stop it. I was completely hopeless. She consumed me entirely. Every waking moment, she was there in my mind. I literally thought of nothing else but her, and I recklessly abandoned everything that used to matter to me."

Jake stopped what he was doing, his hands pausing mid-motion as he leaned forward, resting both elbows on the counter. His eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time since I'd started spilling my guts, he spoke. "Did she love you too?"

I shook my head slowly, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "I honestly don't know," I replied; the admission was more painful than I expected. "She never said it back." But there were moments—fleeting, delicate moments—when I thought, maybe, just maybe, she felt something too. A few subtle signs gave me false hope, making me believe there was something real between us, something deeper than just a passing affair. Like the lingering gaze when she looked at me, which seemed like longing. Or the persistent touches that seemed like she didn't want me to go. Or the way she whispered my name.

Yet, despite those moments, she never said it—not once. Not even in the quietest, most intimate times we shared. While me? I told her how I felt a million times, pouring my heart out to her, hoping she'd say it back, that she'd give me some assurance that what we had was more than just physical.

I couldn't help but wonder if that was what drove her away—my relentless need to express what I was feeling, to hear her say the words I longed for. Maybe I overwhelmed her, pushed too hard, or asked for more than she was willing to give — because I said it too much, and she couldn't bring herself to say it at all.

"Our relationship only lasted for about six months. Maybe more." I said, my voice trailing off as my mind remembered vividly the night when everything shifted—when I first kissed her behind the closed door of my office. The memory played like a movie scene in my mind: the look of surprise on her face when I leaned in, a shock that lasted only a few seconds. And then, as if she couldn't contain her feelings any longer, she responded with a fervor that took me by surprise. Her lips slammed into mine with passionate urgency, and her hands grasped at the front of my shirt, clutching it desperately as if she needed to anchor herself in that moment.

I remembered the times I was with her, privately, in her bedroom, where I worshipped every inch of her skin, savoring every mouthwatering taste of hers. How my hands would eagerly trace her body so I could memorize every dip and curve, to recall it in my mind before I went to sleep, hoping that it would color my dream. I remember how soft her lips were when I kissed her. The perfect size of her breasts blanketed under my hands. And how heavenly it felt when I was inside her. Oh, how exquisite it felt. Her warm channel would squeeze me tight, milking every single drop from me until there was nothing left.

"I didn't even know when exactly our relationship started. I couldn't remember. It was the best time of my life, and it's also the worst." Maybe it started when I first fucked her. Maybe when I first kissed her. Maybe even when I first laid eyes on her. Suddenly, there was not a day that went by when I wasn't craving her, constantly needing her. I used every spare time that I had to be with her. We were fucking everywhere like we had no care in the world. In my office. In her apartment. In my car. In a hotel room somewhere. Even in a restaurant bathroom stall. I would find excuse after excuse so that we could spend more time together. Longer times together. I planned business trips out of town with her when there was no need to, just so that we could be together out there in the open. I wanted to kiss her, touch her, anytime I wanted, without worrying that anyone we knew would see. She became my addiction. A mad hunger that was insistent. A sickness that had no cure.

"Then she decided she was done with me," I said, and I couldn't conceal the defeat and sorrow in my tone. "She said she couldn't be with me. I guess she was right. I'd been living in a fucking denial, thinking I could somehow make it work, that maybe we could find a way. But she saw through it all. She knew she was the one who needed to end it, as I would never have the fucking guts to do it. And it's probably for the best. Because I could never be with her, anyway."

"Why can't you be with her?" Jake asked, as he pushed himself back and resumed his task, wiping down the counter with practiced ease. The bar gradually got quieter, the hum of conversations fading as patrons filtered out, leaving me as one of the last ones sitting there, nursing the remaining of my drink.

I stared at the glass in my hand, the amber liquid swirling like the thoughts in my head. The truth began to force its way out, desperate to be free. "Because I have a wife," I finally said, my voice barely a whisper, heavy and laden with guilt that had been building up inside me for so long. "And I have my kids."

Jake said nothing, even though his expression clearly showed that the revelation stunned him. He wasn't outright condemning me or giving me unwarranted advice, and I gave him credit for that. Even though he should loathe me, he should be disgusted with me. He gave me space to sit with my guilt and regret with his silence, to feel the full impact of what I had done, of all the mistakes I had made, and where it took me.

I was a liar and a cheater. And I was fucking good at it. I could lie through my teeth without flinching. I could come up with excuses so easily, it took me only a second to think of them. I did everything I could to have more time with Vanessa. Everything I could. I began neglecting the two mandatory dinners a week with my family. I used work as the reason for always coming home late, for not seeing my children before they went to bed, and for my wife already being asleep before I returned. I was often so tired when I came home, both from work and from hours of fucking Vanessa in her apartment, that I didn't have the energy to satisfy my wife anymore. And my mind wasn't in it, anyway. I could only think about her. Vanessa. My mind was so occupied with her that I unconsciously detached myself from my family. Then there was the guilt—heavy, all-consuming, which was impossible to shake. It continuously distracted me every time I touched my wife.

"Vanessa had already resigned from her job before she broke up with me. Right after her temporary contract ended. She told me it was because our relationship had become office gossip, and she felt it was better for her to leave and start fresh elsewhere. At that moment, I had no inkling that she was planning to end things. She convinced me it was better for our relationship, so I let her go."

The lights started to brighten, and the music suddenly stopped, giving me the signal that the bar was about to close. But Jake gave me a subtle nod and said, "We still have another hour until I have to lock up."

"You sure?" I asked. He gave me another nod.

So, shamelessly, I continued, desperately needing to get everything off my chest. "When she broke up with me, I was blindsided. I tried desperately to reach out to her, willing to do anything to make things right. I begged her, pleaded with her, hoping I could somehow fix this. I went to her apartment, sat outside her lobby for hours on end, hoping for a chance to talk, to make her understand how much she meant to me. I stalked her to her new office, waiting for her in the parking lot beside her car. I called her a million times a day. Texted her continuously like a mad man."

"She kept refusing you?" Jake asked.

"Yes. She was firm and unyielding, and no amount of groveling could change her mind." I had done everything I could, everything I could think of, but Vanessa remained firm in her decision. She refused to have anything to do with me. There were no words to describe how it destroyed me, how the pain was so overwhelming that I was barely functioning. I was barely living. She broke my fucking heart to pieces. I spent days, weeks, weeping and grieving, struggling to come to terms with the fact that she truly left me.

"Will you ever leave your wife for her?"

I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. The question was heavy and loaded, but I always knew my answer. There was never even a shadow of doubt. "No," I said quietly. "I know I'm a selfish fuck. But I want them both. I couldn't live without my wife. I'm certain I wouldn't survive if she ever left me. She is my rock. She's my soul." I took a deep breath. My emotions, my guilt, left me feeling drained and exhausted. "But Vanessa... she's my escape. My fantasy. She's made me feel alive in a way I hadn't in years. She brought out a side of me I didn't even know existed, a side that gave me a spark of euphoria, and I wasn't ready to let go yet. So, when she left me, a part of me died with it. It left me empty."

"Did your wife know?" Jake asked, his voice careful but thick with curiosity.

My head dropped into my hands, feeling like the worst person in the world. My elbows rested on the counter, and I could feel them trembling slightly as I tried to steady myself. "I think she knows." It was a thought that haunted me constantly. The way Asha would look at me sometimes, there was sadness in her eyes that spoke a million unasked questions and unspoken fears. She never confronted me, never demanded answers, but there was a part of me that knew—knew she sensed something had changed, that something had happened to me, something I was keeping from her. I was heartbroken over another woman, and my pain was laid bare right in front of her eyes. It was the worst kind of betrayal I could never explain or justify. The guilt kept gnawing at me. That made it hard to meet her gaze, to hold her close, to be passionate with her, without feeling like I was betraying her in the worst way.

And yet, she remained unwavering. She stayed with me patiently, holding on to a love that I was so cruelly tearing apart. Because even in my blatant selfishness, in my careless infidelity, she still loved me. Even though it made the guilt sharper, cutting me deeper, it didn't stop me from continuously hurting her. I ignored her, my wife, for almost two decades, to pursue another woman. I was deep in denial, thinking that what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Worse, the idiot in me thought that, somehow, I could have them both.

"I never confessed to her," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't think I could ever tell her the truth. It's been one hundred days since I stopped pursuing Vanessa. I walked away completely. I finally did it—I finally broke free of my addiction. That's why I'm here. I'm celebrating my goddamn victory."

I paused; the relief of that decision tempered by the lingering ache it left behind. "I thought that once I ended it, I'd be able to move on. I'd forget about her. But the truth is, I still think about her all the time. She's still in my mind, constantly haunting me, like a ghost that fucking refuses to leave." I sighed, resigned to the defeat that I could never remove her from my mind. "I still miss her so much. It's like this powerful, overwhelming longing that relentlessly hits me from the inside, and sometimes, it is so painful, I feel like I'm about to die from it."

"How did you do it?" Jake asked. "Letting her go completely."

"I reminded myself how much I love Asha—my wife, the woman who has stood by me through everything. I thought about my kids, who mean the world to me. I kept telling myself how much I would lose if I kept pursuing Vanessa, how it would all come crashing down if I didn't stop. I had to force myself to weigh the importance of my family against the pull she had on me."

I paused, struggling to put the inner conflict into words. "That darkness inside me that constantly demands to be fed, I had to fucking kill it. I had to suffocate it, to bury it, because I couldn't let it destroy everything else that was important to me."

"Is she really gone from your life?" Jake asked.

"Yes." The pain of letting her go was a slow, relentless ache that I carried with me, something that had been eating me alive every day.

Jake leaned in slightly, his tone serious as he asked, "Do you think nobody around you has noticed?"

"Except for Asha, I have to believe they haven't," I said, desperate for it to be true. "I have no choice but to believe it."

"I hate to break it to you, man, but if I—someone you just met a few hours ago—could tell how broken you are, don't you think they've noticed too?"

His words hit me like a punch in the gut. Jake was right. I had been so focused on keeping up appearances, so determined to hide my pain, that I hadn't considered the possibility that the people closest to me could see through the mask. If a stranger like Jake could see it, then surely my wife, my kids, would have noticed the cracks, too.

Fear and worry gripped me. How much had they seen? I thought I had hidden everything, but was it possible that maybe it was painfully obvious to everyone? Moments with my wife and kids from the past weeks and months replayed in my mind, now clouded by the worry that they had noticed more than I ever intended. Had my silence caused them more pain? The thought that they might have figured it out on their own weighed heavily on me.

Jake's eyes softened, as if he understood the sudden, gripping fear that sent chills down my spine. "You can't hide from the people who know you best. No matter how hard you try, they'll see it. I believe they already have. But remember, you let Vanessa go for them. So, make sure they never feel like they're the ones to blame."