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In my worst moments on my worst days, I think about the affair my husband had and how much I fucking hate him for it.

I fucking hate how he smiled and pretended everything was fine while our marriage was slowly crumbling.

I fucking hate that instead of talking to me, he sought solace in the arms of a married mother of two kids, otherwise known as The Whore.

I fucking hated how his phone went with him everywhere and how he’d plug in to recharge every chance he got so it would be juiced up and ready for when he and The Whore wanted to message each other.

I fucking hated how he’d come home after being with her at lunch and would kiss me more passionately (out of guilt, I suspect).

I fucking hated how I would send him on basic errands and how he would reappear hours later with bullshit explanations for the missing time he couldn’t account for.

I fucking hated how he lied to me about what he did at lunch when he was in fact meeting with her (“I decided go for a walk at lunch” – this from a man who hates walking.)

I fucking hated how he would get home late from work, lying about what kept him there.

I fucking hated how he’d get home from work and sit in the car texting and smiling while I was inside the house watching him. His explanation was always that it was his friend X and they needed to know something.

I fucking hated when I’d ask him to come to bed with me and he would have some reason to stay up late (I  have to finish something for work) when he was really up late texting The Whore.

I REALLY fucking hate one of the messages he sent to her which said he couldn’t talk to her anymore that night because his phone battery was going flat and that his wife was “getting suspicious”.

I fucking hated when every trip to the bathroom became at least a 20-minute trip while he sat in there texting her.

I fucking hate how he became extremely short with kids, shouting at them and having zero patience for anything that kept him from spending time with The Whore.

I fucking hate how he would snap at me.

I fucking hate how his thoughts of an affair began while I was bed-ridden recovering from a botched caesarian. He says the actual affair began when our baby was just 8 weeks old. I think it was earlier.

I fucking hate how he took up running marathons and training hard to get fit to look good for The Whore.

I fucking hate how he ignored me when when I got dressed to the nines to go out together.

I fucking hate how he brushed aside my birthday card to him while he was in the midst of the affair, even though I poured my heart out to him.

I fucking hate him for adding this stress to our relationship so I end up reading countless books and forums on how to survive this fucked-up period in my life.

So much hate, right?

The sad truth is that I love him more than anyone.

And I fucking hate that, too.

Do you find yourself hating your cheating partner? What do you hate most? Please take a moment and let me know in the comments below.

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