How I caught my husband cheating while our daughter was admitted to the hospital

These weeks have been exhausting

In and out of the hospital. Worries about your children. But what prevails? The one I should be able to count on is letting me down. Promises, so many empty words, so many fucking empty words. Trembling, I lie in a hospital bed watching my daughter. My phone beeps. A message: “Hey girl, are you guys at the hospital? I see your man on Instagram going all out at a party. All these women, alcohol, and they're holding balloons in their hands. You really should say something about that! How long do you want to keep accepting all this?” I don't respond. Because I know he'll wrap me up in promises again. Those fucking promises. My phone rings again. More messages. Exactly the same story. Okay, then I'll check Instagram. And sure enough, there he is. My love, my husband. Partying somewhere. “Why, my love? Why do you do that? Last weekend we were also admitted and then you went out until the sunrise.”, it screams inside me. I feel sadness and anger. But I don't want to give in to it. The energy must be used for other things. For my daughter in the hospital.

The next day he shows up at the hospital. Reeking of alcohol. With a buddy of his in tow. Straight from the after-party. I can see in your eyes that you've used drugs. And quite a bit, too. I clench my jaws together. I want to scream! Yell: “Go away!”

A brief look back at previous years

The moments he was there, he was fully present. Nothing but love. I was the most beautiful, the sweetest. We had amazing sex. We dreamed the same dreams, talked all night long. But as wonderful as the love was, he could also hurt me deeply, bring me down, belittle me, and make me insecure. Just throw it in that backpack, it's already there. From cheating, sex with my best friend, fighting over sex (I wanted it six times a week instead of seven!), leaving at crucial moments, infections with STDs, completely badmouthing me to anyone who would listen, and systematically lying about literally everything. That's no small thing. And then to also accuse me of cheating. How did that wise saying go again? 'The innkeeper trusts his guests as he is himself.' Oh yes, that's it. And yet, I kept going back to him. Why? Because I think I don't deserve better. Because I don't know any better. Or maybe because he has told me several times very clearly: 'You are nothing, you can't do anything. You're a worthless woman. You can be a mother, but beyond that, you're terrible. Do you really think anyone else would want you? A mother with a few kids? Do you really think so? You're a disgusting woman. A slut, stupid.' So I agree with what there is. When he has his good months, he is the most loving man I know. Or is that not real either? I just don't know anymore.

Back to the hospital admission

We come home after two weeks. He and I cautiously start to reconnect. He expresses his desire for us to fight for our relationship. He is certain that things will work out. He promises me improvement. And I get swept up in his manipulative words. A week later, he stays over. The night is pleasant. I try to regain trust. We talked and talked and talked. I so desperately want to keep my family together. I love him so much. Or am I just fooling myself? The next morning, I get up a bit earlier than he does. I walk downstairs. On the floor, there's a receipt from a hotel. A hotel in Groningen. From last Saturday afternoon. A tea, a cappuccino, and two open-faced sandwiches. I feel the blood drain from my face. Stars before my eyes. He told me he was spending that weekend at a friend's place in Zwolle. But he wasn't there. Numb, I put a pan on the stove. I fry two eggs. Silent tears roll down my cheeks. I wrap the two egg sandwiches in foil. I make coffee for him. Then he comes downstairs. "I really need to hurry, darling," he says. "Wasn't it lovely? I love you so much." I look at him and ask where he was on Saturday. "Ohh sweetheart, we ended up going to Amsterdam, you know?! It got very late, so we didn't head home until the morning." I feel the anger rising. "Buddy, I'm asking one more time. Where were you Sunday morning and Saturday night? Because I found a receipt from a hotel," I say. He starts to laugh and reacts awkwardly: "Honey, I was just grabbing a bite with a friend there." I've had enough. "Please stop lying. You were in Amsterdam, right? You lie as easily as you shit. You've talked yourself into a corner," I yell. "Ok ok, I was there with a woman. But I can't have sex with someone else. I was only thinking of you." Of course, bla bloody bla... Another blow, another dent. I don't know how to process this. I don't want this to be true. He needs to remain as I so dearly see him. Cuddling with the kids, holding my hand, and telling me how proud he is of me. I say nothing more. He leaves.

In the following week, I hear from him that he's doing very poorly. Everyone has abandoned him. He has no one left. He is forced to move in with a friend. As strange as it sounds: I am worried. I can't just turn off my love for him. But he's destroying me. And not just me. I laugh my way through the days, through that damn Christmas and New Year's. My god, how alone I feel with all these people around me. I laugh, but I cry. As soon as the door closes behind me, I cry until I can't anymore. Until I can barely breathe. Why am I not enough? Why can't I meet his demands? Why am I doing this to myself?

We're starting to talk again

I really want to know how he's doing. He's said before that he would harm himself, so I need to know how he's feeling. We talk. He honestly tells me about the woman and the hotel. About the other women. How much he regrets it. That he doesn't understand himself. That he really wants to commit to us. He's going to start therapy and focus on his family. I believe him.

Now we are a week later. I'm struggling after another hospitalization of our daughter. Financially, it's also difficult now. Alone with children. During a conversation about this, he suddenly jumps up: “You're just whining! I'm leaving. Figure it out yourself”. Completely stunned, I remain seated on the couch. He slams the door and speeds off down the street with screeching tires. Today he says over the phone: “I'm done with you”. Our child has just had surgery. Stress and tension and then he says this? Just like that? He pulls me in and pushes me away. Within a week, he tears my heart apart, glues it back together, and then smashes it into a thousand pieces again. Or am I doing that to myself? I need to break free, break free from this pattern, break free from him.

Why does this hurt so fucking much? Why do I feel so worthless?

I believed in love… That’s over…

JANE DOE