Chapter 7 - MY HUSBAND SAID HE NEVER THOUGHT IT COUNTED AS CHEATING
We sat across from each other at the dining table.
No lawyers.
No board.
No titles.
Just two people who had been married ten years.
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I knew how it would sound.”
“Correct.”
He looked down.
“I told her nothing could happen.”
“But you kept her close.”
“Yes.”
“Kept calling her Tong Tong.”
“Yes.”
“Kept buying gifts.”
“Yes.”
“Gave her a corporate housing loan.”
“Yes.”
“Complained about our marriage to her.”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Did you ever tell her if circumstances were different, maybe things would be different?”
His eyes closed.
“Yes.”
I felt remarkably calm.
Sometimes betrayal becomes easiest to see once every fact is finally in the room.
Then:
“Why?”
He rubbed his face.
“I liked being needed.”
There.
That was more honest than anything else.
“With you, I always felt like you could leave tomorrow and run a continent without me.”
I stared.
“You admired that when we married.”
“I still admire it.”
“But?”
“With Tong, I mattered every hour.”
Calendar.
Decisions.
Meals.
Emergencies.
Mother.
Travel.
She constantly needed him.
Or at least built a life where she did.
I did not.
Not in the same way.
Then he said:
“When you got promoted overseas, I was proud.”
I waited.
“And lonely.”
There.
Finally.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
“No.”
“I said I missed you.”
“That is not the same as saying our marriage is in danger.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
Then:
“Did you want me to give up my career?”
“No.”
“Did you want to follow me?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Did you want counseling?”
“I never suggested it.”
“Did you want us to redesign our lives?”
Silence.
No.
He wanted discomfort to resolve itself.
Jang made the discomfort easier.
So he stopped fixing the marriage.
Then I asked:
“Did you cheat?”
He looked at me.
“I never slept with her.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Long silence.
Finally:
“Yes.”
My eyes filled.
He continued:
“Not physically.”
“I know.”
“But yes.”
That mattered.
No technical defense.
No “nothing happened.”
Something happened.
For years.
Then he said:
“I’m sorry.”
I cried.
Quietly.
He reached across the table.
I moved my hand away.
Not punishment.
Boundary.
Then:
“What do you want?”
I did not know.
That terrified him.
We separated.
Not immediately divorced.
He moved into a company-owned apartment, paying market rent.
Good.
No executive freebies.
We informed the board because our marital separation created governance considerations.
I remained CEO.
He remained president temporarily.
Some directors asked whether one of us should resign.
We reviewed conflicts.
The board determined we could continue with clear reporting lines and independent oversight while the company underwent broader governance reform.
Professional before personal.
Hard.
Then I began therapy.
So did he.
Separately.
Months later, couples counseling.
Not reconciliation counseling.
Decision counseling.
Important.
Could the marriage be rebuilt?
Did I want it?
Did he?
One session, the therapist asked:
“What did each of you believe marriage protected you from?”
Shiaoza answered:
“Being alone.”
I answered:
“Having to do everything alone.”
The difference almost made me laugh.
He wanted presence.
I wanted partnership.
Neither of us had been receiving what we thought marriage meant.
Then the therapist asked:
“Vivian, what would it take for you to trust him?”
I answered:
“Time.”
Shiaoza looked hopeful.
Then I added:
“And I don’t know if I want to spend it.”
His face fell.
That was honest.
May you like
Change does not create entitlement to another chance.
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