My Wife Demanded A Trial Separation To Evaluate Us—I Turned The Test Around, Dated Better Women…
My wife demanded a trial separation to evaluate us. I turned the test around, dated better women, and ended our empty marriage on my own terms fully. When she finally delivered her prepared speech about needing a trial separation to evaluate our relationship, I knew I wasn’t hearing a wife having doubts.
I was hearing someone who’d already made her choice and wanted permission to explore it guilt-free.
“I think we need some time apart,” she said, sitting on the edge of our couch like she might need to make a quick escape.
“Just a month or two to see if this is really what we both want.”
The performance was almost convincing, the slight tremor in her voice, the way she twisted her wedding ring, the carefully crafted vulnerability.
She’d practiced this moment until it looked spontaneous. “You want to evaluate what we have?” I said, watching her face carefully.
“Against what standard exactly?”
Her pupils dilated slightly.
“I don’t know. Against what a real partnership should feel like.
I just think we’ve lost something.”
What we’d lost was her interest in pretending this marriage mattered to her.
But she needed me to agree to this separation.
Needed it to look mutual, probably so she could tell people we grew apart instead of admitting she’d lined up a replacement. “And during this evaluation period,” I continued, “we’d be free to explore other options.”
The way her face brightened was like watching someone win the lottery.
“I mean, if that helps us understand what we really want.”
There it was, the hall pass request wrapped in therapeutic language. She’d found someone else and wanted to test drive him while keeping our marriage as backup insurance.
I stood up and walked to our bookshelf, running my finger along the spines of books we’d collected together.
Eight years of shared purchases, shared dreams, shared jokes about the terrible romance novels she secretly loved.
“You know what’s funny about evaluations?” I said, pulling out one of those romance novels. “They only work if you’re honest about what you’re measuring.”
She made some nervous, agreeable sound.
I turned the book over in my hands, looking at the cover with its impossibly muscled hero and swooning heroine.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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