Skip to content 
There was one sheet of paper inside, delicately folded into thirds.
A letter. Troy’s handwriting was instantly recognizable to me; it was the same handwriting I had seen for thirty-six years on birthday cards, grocery lists, and messages on the refrigerator.
Even before I began reading, my hands began to tremble.
I want you to know this very clearly: I chose to lie to you on multiple occasions. I made that choice.
My eyes quickly began to well up with tears, making the words difficult to understand. I stumbled to the nearest chair, fell heavily into it, and forced myself to keep reading.
I was receiving medical care for a terrible illness.
My throat tightened around my breath.
I had no idea how to describe that without drastically altering your perception of me. I had to go for the treatment; it wasn’t close. It wasn’t easy or clear-cut. And I was afraid that once I informed you and spoke it aloud, I would no longer be your equal and partner but rather your burden.
I therefore payed for distant motel rooms. I transferred funds without disclosing their destination to you. I gave poor, half-truthful answers to your pointed questions. And even after you faced me with the facts and asked me directly, I continued to lie to you.
That was incorrect. I failed at it.
I’m not asking for your pardon. I am aware that I am undeserving of it. All I want you to know is that I didn’t desire another life or another person at all. It was about being scared to show you this aspect of my life—this fragility, this frailty.
You did not do anything improper. Based on the information I provided you and the facts you knew at the time, you decided to depart. I hope you find some peace with that knowing someday.
Even though it wasn’t enough, I loved you as much as I could.
Troy
I didn’t start crying immediately.
With the letter shaking in my hands, I simply sat in that chair and let his words to gradually become clear to me, upending all of my preconceived notions about our marriage’s demise.
I had been duped by him. That portion had not changed and would never change. However, I was now able to comprehend the nature of those falsehoods, their motivation, and the terror that had caused him to remain silent.
If only he wouldn’t keep me out and allow me in. If only he had shown me enough trust to be open and honest. How entirely different our lives could have been.
I ran my fingertips over his calligraphy one last time before gently folding the letter and putting it back in the envelope.
The child next door who would become my husband was the man I had known and loved my entire life, and I realized that I had lost him twice—once to his secrets and once to death—as I sat there for a very long time in the increasing darkness.
This narrative poses poignant issues about the burdens we bear alone, the lies we make to keep the people we love safe, and whether protection or honesty is more important in a marriage. Have you ever protected a loved one by keeping a challenging secret from them? In a relationship, how do you strike a balance between being vulnerable and remaining independent? How would you have responded in this circumstance? Join the discussion about marriage, secrets, medical privacy, and how we harm the individuals we are supposed to protect by posting your opinions on our Facebook page. Please share this story with friends and family who might need to read it if it touched you or got you thinking about being honest in your own relationships.