I’m 33 years old and have been friends with this guy since we were toddlers. He’s been married for 3 years, and they’ve been together for 6. I know his wife pretty well—we used to hang out as a trio often, though that’s happened less since they had a baby last year.
Lately, he’s been opening up to me about how hard becoming a dad has been on his marriage. He says he barely spends any time with his wife anymore and feels disconnected. I’m not married and I don’t have kids, but I try to be a supportive listener while gently reminding him that some of this is what comes with the territory.
Two weeks ago he admitted he’s been having an affair for the past three months.
I was stunned and upset. He tried to justify it, saying I wouldn’t understand, but I wasn’t interested in hearing it. Since then, I’ve been stuck in this mental tug-of-war about whether to tell his wife.
On one hand, she deserves to know. She should have the ability to make informed decisions about her life and relationship. On the other hand, she’s clearly overwhelmed—new baby, not much support, and from what I’ve seen, he’s already not stepping up much at home. Dropping this on her could make things even harder in the short term.
So part of me thinks I should just stay out of it. Let it unravel naturally—either he tells her out of guilt or she finds out when something slips. But another part of me feels like silence makes me complicit.
What’s the right thing to do here? I genuinely want to do the right thing.
You’re in a brutal spot. You love your friend. You’ve known him practically your whole life. And I don’t doubt for a second that becoming a new parent shook him—it shakes everybody. But here’s the deal: what he’s doing is cowardly and wrong. Full stop.
Marriage is hard. Parenthood is exhausting. But choosing to lie, sneak around, and betray your spouse? That’s not a coping strategy—that’s selfishness dressed up as victimhood. And no amount of justifying it to you—or to himself—changes that.
Now here’s where it gets harder: you’re the only one who knows the truth right now. Which means you’ve been handed a terrible, heavy responsibility you didn’t ask for. And that’s unfair. But you’ve got it, and now you have to decide what kind of man you’re going to be with that weight in your hands.
Let’s get real for a second. His wife is already carrying the world. A new baby. A struggling marriage. And likely very little sleep. But here’s the thing—we don’t protect people by lying to them. We don’t shield someone by allowing betrayal to live in their home, sleep in their bed, and raise their child.
She deserves to live in reality, even if it’s painful. Because truth is the starting line of healing, not the wrecking ball.
So what do you do?
Here’s my advice, rooted in compassion and courage:
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Tell your friend he has a deadline to come clean. Give him a few days. Be firm. “You need to tell her. You don’t get to keep living two lives. If you don’t, I will.” That’s not about being vengeful—that’s about holding someone you care about accountable to a higher standard.
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If he refuses, you tell her. Gently. Privately. With love. Not with rage or judgment, but with calm and sorrow. She may fall apart. That’s okay. She deserves the dignity of truth and the freedom to choose her next steps. That’s how you love someone well in the middle of pain.
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Prepare for fallout. You might lose this friendship. People may be angry. That happens when you choose integrity in a world that avoids conflict. But I promise you—your peace of mind and your self-respect are worth it.
Brother, this is hard. But the right thing is rarely easy. And I believe in you.
You don’t have to carry this alone. Talk to a therapist. Get in a community that speaks truth and supports you. This isn’t about being a hero—it’s about being honest.
You’re doing the right thing already by asking this question. Now take the next courageous step.
You’ve got this.