My wife (32F) and I (33M) have been together for nearly seven years. She is the most important person in my life. She was four months pregnant with our first child.
The first three months of the pregnancy were extremely difficult. She was constantly sick, had severe morning sickness, and experienced intense mood swings—so much so that I began questioning whether I had married the right person. About a month ago, my office held a team-building dinner where there was a lot of alcohol. Afterward, one of my coworkers invited five of us back to his place. I got very drunk and made the worst mistake of my life: I slept with another coworker, Lisa (26F).
I immediately knew it was a mistake. The next morning, I told Lisa that it meant nothing, that I loved my wife, and that it should never have happened. After that, things went quiet. My relationship with my wife actually began to improve, and the fourth month of her pregnancy was great—she was back to being the happy person she was before.
Everything changed this Tuesday when my wife asked me if it was true that I had slept with Lucy. I admitted it immediately and asked how she found out. She told me that Lisa had contacted her directly and told her everything. I tried to apologize and ask for forgiveness, but my wife said she wasn’t interested in anything I had to say. She told me she needed time and didn’t want to talk.
Yesterday, she went to work as usual, and I hoped that maybe things would calm down. Today (Thursday, when she works from home), I woke up at 7 a.m. to go to work and realized she wasn’t home. She had been sleeping in the spare bedroom, but now she wasn’t there at all. She wasn’t answering my calls, so I got worried and took the day off.
About an hour ago, her best friend brought her home and left immediately. I asked what was wrong, and her friend told me to ask my wife. When I did, my wife told me she was done with the marriage and that I needed to find a place to live while we apply for divorce over the next year. I asked about our child, and she said she would give me the address of the hospital she went to so I could “get it”—the fetus. When I tried to ask more questions, she said she was tired, in pain, and wanted to be left alone. She told me to let her know when I plan to move out.
I feel sick. I know I made a terrible mistake by sleeping with my coworker, but I don’t think I can live without my wife. Is there any way to fix this? It hurts deeply, especially because I feel like she may have aborted the child to get back at me. She didn’t want children initially, and I was the one who convinced her to try.
You didn’t make a mistake. You made a choice—while your wife was physically wrecked, emotionally vulnerable, and carrying your child. Alcohol didn’t cause this. Stress didn’t cause this. Her mood swings didn’t cause this. You chose it.
And now you’re centering your pain instead of the damage you caused.
Your wife didn’t “do this to get back at you.” She didn’t “overreact.” She didn’t owe you patience, forgiveness, or conversation.
From her perspective, the one person who was supposed to be safe—who vowed to protect her—betrayed her at the exact moment she needed you most. That kind of breach doesn’t just hurt feelings; it shatters reality. Everything she thought was solid suddenly wasn’t.
Right now, stop asking: “How do I fix this?” “How do I get her back?” “How do I survive without her?” Those questions are about you.
The only question that matters is: “How do I take full responsibility for the harm I caused—without expectations?”
That means you move out if she asks. Immediately. You stop defending, explaining, or minimizing. You do not speculate about her medical decisions or assign motives. You get into individual therapy now—not as a bargaining chip, but because you clearly don’t know how to sit with discomfort without blowing up your life. And you accept that reconciliation may never happen—and that’s the cost of what you chose.
Here’s the hard truth: you cannot save this marriage. Only she can decide if it’s worth saving.
And the irony is this—the only possible path forward (and I’m not promising one exists) is you becoming a man who can tolerate consequences without trying to escape them.
No pressure. No timelines. No “but I love you.” No entitlement to forgiveness.
If you want to do one thing right starting now: stop trying to control the outcome and start becoming accountable for your actions—even if it costs you everything.
That’s the work. Anything else is noise.