I have been a silent reader on these forums for half a year, but I can no longer just watch from the sidelines. I need an opinion on my situation. I’m thirty-five, and my wife, who is thirty-one, stopped having any kind of intimate relationship with me six months ago. We have two young sons, ages three and one-and-a-half, and we are in the middle of building our dream house. I’m not the type to let things fester; I prefer to act, to fix what’s broken. So, I initiated a conversation.

“Why have you stopped talking to me?” I asked her one evening, my voice gentle. “Why no hugs, no kisses? Why do you recoil when I touch your hand?”

At first, a hard shell of silence. But I persisted, and she finally opened up. The words she used were like stones. She said I wasn’t enough for her. That she was doing everything herself—that she wore the pants, made the decisions, handled the kids. “I would be better off alone,” she concluded.

It was shocking to hear, but I love her, and I didn’t want a fight. I told her I understood her pain and that I would work on myself. I am not a proactive person by nature. Her father is a man who can’t sit still, always fixing, always building. I’m not like that. After a day of work and taking care of the kids, I want to unwind with a movie or a video game. I’m not a career-chaser or a business-starter; I’m a regular guy who wanted a happy, healthy family. For nine years—four of them married—that seemed to be enough for her. Now, it wasn’t.

I tried to change. I worked against my own personality, doing extra chores, fixing things around the house, giving up my evenings of rest. She noticed and seemed to like it, but her coldness toward me didn’t thaw. I had to initiate a second talk.

“Do you want to save this marriage?” I asked, dreading the answer. “I don’t know,” she replied. The words were hard to swallow. “Do you want to go to marriage counseling?” “I don’t know.” “This isn’t a moment for ‘I don’t know’,” I pressed, my voice tight with emotion. “Our children could have parents living separately soon.”

That finally got her to agree. I found a good therapist, but my wife showed no interest. In counseling, she dropped more painful bombs. “I married you to impress my parents,” she said, her voice flat. “So we could be a big, happy family with beautiful children. It wasn’t love. It was enchantment.”

The therapist was shocked to learn we’d been sleeping in separate rooms for six months. My wife explained there was no room for me in the bed with her and the children. The therapist’s advice was blunt: “That is a terrible example for your kids. Go to IKEA, buy a single bed, and put it next to the big one.” I did just that. I bought it, assembled it, and now I sleep there. But I still feel like I’m sleeping alone.

Recently, my wife’s story changed. She started saying she was depressed from being at home with the kids all the time. She claimed she only said all those hurtful things because she was emotional. She went back to work, and we hired a nanny. The only change is that we talk more, but only as friends. The intimacy is gone, with no sign of it returning. When I brought it up, she told me she doesn’t need it and had only been doing it because I wanted it. I felt like an abuser. This year, we’ve only been intimate twice, both times out of a sense of pity or duty. It made me not want it anymore.

“This is who I am,” she’d say. “If you don’t like it, just leave me.” I felt trapped, not knowing what to do. But there was one massive red flag that I couldn’t ignore, something that had happened right when her behavior changed.

Around the time she grew cold, there was an incident. I discovered through a shared phone app that my wife had tried to call her ex-boyfriend four times in a row at 10 p.m. When I confronted her, she lied, denying it completely. I showed her the proof on the app. Cornered, she admitted it. She claimed he had called her, drunk and mumbling, and she had hung up on him. Then, she said, she felt bad and tried to call him back to talk to him “like a normal human being.” She also admitted to sending him a message: “I’m going to keep calling until you pick up.” He never replied. Her story felt thin, and her attitude was dismissive. For her, any contact with an ex wasn’t a big deal. For me, it was an unacceptable betrayal. Was she cheating?

The comments on my first post were a brutal awakening. So many people claimed she was having an affair. It felt like science fiction, something from a movie. But today, it became a fact. I feel foolish, but I guess this is my life now.

Instead of confronting her family or calling her ex, I decided to play it cool. It was terrifyingly easy. I installed a voice-activated recorder in our car. It was there for only three days. She used the car for work, for a workout, and finally, she made the call. Or he did. I don’t know who initiated it, but I heard every word of their video conversation.

I heard things about intimacy, about their lives, about their shared jokes. They talked like my wife and I did nine years ago when we first met, with the same attraction and energy I hadn’t felt from her in years. I heard them planning a vacation for her to visit him this July. I heard her give him a two-year timeframe to move back to our country.

I am now sitting here, having listened to an hour-long recording of this… filth. There are things I need to process. I need to meet with an attorney. But I wanted to thank you all. You opened my eyes. If it wasn’t for you, I would have never bought the recording device. The affair started in September of last year. It took me two months to notice the change in her.

The recording tells it all. She tells him she loves him. She tells him she wants to visit him and be intimate with him. She tells him she will be his wife, and that she will leave me soon. She was even talking about his favorite lovemaking positions. There is no doubt they have been physical. It’s all there.

And she has no idea that I know.

Her plan, as laid out in the recording, was chillingly simple. She would file for divorce soon. She couldn’t stand being in the apartment with me anymore. Once I was gone, she would wait. Within two years, her affair partner would move back from abroad and move into the house we built, to live with her and my two little boys. In our small town of 20,000 people, she figured everyone would eventually accept it. People would understand that a single mother needs a father for her kids.

I refuse to be played like that.

I met with an attorney. I learned that simply burning her world down with the recordings wasn’t smart. We have children. I will have to co-parent with this woman for the next sixteen years. I also have a lot of respect for her family, and I didn’t want to drag them through the mud as witnesses. So, we formulated a plan.

The attorney sent her papers—an invitation to mediation, so we could divide everything like civilized people and divorce amicably. They were set to be delivered the day after Easter. I faked my way through the holiday, alcohol helping me maintain the facade at the family table.

On Tuesday, my brother helped me move all my things out of the apartment while she was at work. The postman delivered the papers. They clearly stated that the reason for the divorce was her ongoing relationship with another man. The evidence I have would serve as leverage for child support and other negotiations.

When she entered the house that evening, I was waiting. “I know everything,” I told her, my voice devoid of emotion. “I have irrefutable proof. I am deeply wounded, and you need to contact my lawyer.” Then I handed her the papers and walked out the door.

Of course, she denied everything, asking what I knew and how I knew. I drove directly to her parents’ house. As my attorney instructed, I recorded the conversation. I started by asking them if they thought I was a good, caring husband and father. They agreed, which meant she couldn’t use them as witnesses against me. Then I told them the truth. They were in shock, but they believed me. They understood she had destroyed not only my life but theirs and our children’s as well.

In the meantime, I had a friend distribute the news to her friends. Two hours later, her brother-in-law called. He informed me that she had admitted to the affair, though she denied they had been physically intimate. He told me everyone was on my side. Then, the narrative began to shift. “Everything can be saved,” he told me. “I cheated on my wife, she forgave me, and now we are very happy.”

Her father called next. He was furious with her, telling me her affair partner would never set foot in his house and that he would cut her off financially. But in the end, he also said, “I believe it can be saved.” Her sister texted, offering full support, but again, believing it could be saved.

I don’t believe it can be saved. I am afraid they will cling to the fact that I don’t have a “lovemaking tape” and argue my reasons aren’t enough. But I have her on tape saying things no wife should ever say. And right after the confrontation, she admitted to me that she never stopped loving him. To me, that is proof enough.

Just as many of you predicted, she is now crawling back. After her family confronted her, the texts began. “I can’t imagine living without you. I’m so sorry for everything. The kids and I are waiting for you to come back.” They make me feel like I jumped the gun with the divorce, but they don’t know the full extent of what I have.

It has been two months since I confronted her and moved out. I live with my parents now, sleeping on the couch in their living room. I see my boys every other weekend. I did a paternity test; they are mine. At least there is no confusion there.

The divorce negotiations have been difficult. She is the one responsible for this entire mess, yet she is ready to argue over every detail. Her family, after their initial shock, began to flip. Her sister, who once supported me, now called me selfish. “It was my wife who started this,” she argued, “but right now she is sorry. She is crying. Now it is you who will destroy this marriage by divorcing her. It is on you now.” For a moment, her words made me feel guilty, as if it was all my fault. But I will not change my mind.

At her daughter’s communion last month, I had another confrontation with my wife. She asked me if my decision was truly final. “Yes, it is,” I said, as calmly as I could. “Nothing is going to change it.”

She told me how remorseful she was, how she ended the relationship with her AP, how she went to an exorcist and left it in God’s hands.

“If you’re truly remorseful,” I challenged her, “then tell me the truth, for once. How many times were you intimate with him?” She denied it again. “Remember the party with your work friends in November?” I asked. “Why did you rent an Airbnb for the night instead of staying at a friend’s apartment?” She went numb, unable to find any words. I told her I knew about the video chats, and she couldn’t even count how many times they had happened. “How do you imagine us getting back together?” I asked her. “You start a conversation with me and lie in the next second. Do you know I would be checking your phone every day?” “That wouldn’t be trust,” she replied. “That would be treating me like garbage.” Our son interrupted then, and I finished with, “Remember, you didn’t just cheat on me. You cheated on our two wonderful little boys, too.” It destroyed her.

Our attorneys finally came to an agreement. She is taking the unfinished house and the mortgage. I am taking the money I put into it. The child support is settled. I see my kids almost every weekend, but it’s not enough. It causes me so much pain that some days I can’t handle it. But I cannot allow my sons to live without a father because of a woman who couldn’t control her impulses.

Lately, she has softened. She messages me that she loves me, that she wishes she could turn back time. She even told me she no longer thinks checking her phone would be treating her like garbage; she would allow it. She offered to move to the capital city. She promised to tell me every detail of the affair if I’ll take her back. But she only does this over Messenger. She has not called once. She has not visited once. When she apologizes, it’s through a screen. Her family is now fully on her side, with her mother calling me a narcissist.

The divorce was finalized on April 7th. Every day, I have to ask myself the same questions. Do I still love her? Could I go back for the kids? Would I feel comfortable with myself in ten years? The answer to all of them, without hesitation, is no. I once offered her a second chance: move to my city with the kids, and we could start a new life. She refused, unwilling to leave the convenience of her family’s help and the house. This is when I understood there is no “us” anymore. I will not continue my life in the small town where the affair started. I will not finish building a house located one mile from her AP’s family home.

I have started dating again, tentatively. It’s difficult. How do you tell a new person you are almost divorced with two kids? For now, I’m learning to live by myself, cherishing the limited time with my sons, and trying to escape the negative thoughts about what happened. I will stay strong and finish this mess. One day, maybe, I’ll be happy again.