I Cannot Say I Love You.

He knew what I meant.

He being Marc, my boyfriend of seven months. I’m laying here now, neck deep in the white hotel sheets we just spent all evening in. He’s barely gotten home to his wife, and I’ve texted goodnight to my own husband, Avery. I’m only 40 minutes from home, but the hotel is a mere ten minutes from work, where I need to be tomorrow, versus nearly an hour if I were to go home.

So I’m staying.

One reason? I’m tired. The afternoon was spent wrapped up in sex, which with Marc, is oftentimes exhausting. His libido is nearly unmatched…I’ve never experienced anything like it. Sometimes, I mind. Today? I didn’t. Today was our first time together in a full month, and I had missed him. But today almost didn’t happen.

Last night I flew home from a short vacation to Boston with Avery, and on the plane ride, Marc and I made quick plans to see each other when I landed. I was excited, hopeful. Our conversations lately have made me long for him, made me miss him, made me feel that perhaps I could let my guard down again. He’s been opening up again, a source of contention for us because as he is having an affair with me, his guilt eats at him. But lately he’s telling me he misses me, letting me know in his way that he does love me.

I’ve missed that.

I’ve missed being the woman he longs for, that gives him what he lacks at home. I thought the holidays would drive him closer to his wife, away from me. But the opposite happened.