I remember the day I found out about my wife’s secret life as an escort. It was a Friday evening; I had just come home from work and found her packing her bags.
“Where are you going?” I asked, confused.
“I have to go away for a few days,” she replied, avoiding eye contact.
“What do you mean? Where are you going?”
“I have some work out of town. It’s an emergency, and they need me to go right away.”
She continued to pack her bags in silence, refusing to meet my gaze. Something about her behavior felt off. We had been married for five years at that point, and we were always open and honest with each other. So why was she acting so secretive?
“You’re not telling me something,” I said, my voice filled with concern.
She sighed deeply before finally looking at me.
“I’m sorry, but there’s something I need to tell you,” she said softly.
My heart began to race as a million different thoughts ran through my mind. What could it be? Was she leaving me? Did she have an illness? I braced myself for the worst.
“I… I’ve been working as an escort,” she admitted tearfully.
As soon as the words left her mouth, my world came crashing down around me. The room began to spin, and I struggled to find my balance. How could this be happening? How did I not know about this?
“You’ve been what?” I stammered, unable to process what she had just told me.
“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I never wanted things to turn out this way.”
I felt a mix of emotions swirling inside me: anger, betrayal, sadness. But despite everything, there was still one feeling that remained unchanged: love.
I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself before speaking again.
“I don’t understand,” I said calmly. “Why did you do it?”
She looked at me with a pained expression on her face.
“We’ve been struggling financially for the past few months,” she explained. “I couldn’t find a job, and we were barely able to pay the bills. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Tears streamed down her face as she poured out her heart to me. She told me about the shame and guilt she felt, about how she had tried to quit multiple times but always ended up going back to it.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” she said between sobs. “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry for everything.”
In that moment, I realized that my wife was not a bad person; she was just someone who had made some bad choices. And despite those choices, she was still the woman I loved.
Tears welled up in my own eyes as I walked over to her and pulled her into a tight embrace.
“I love you too,” I whispered in her ear. “And we’re going to get through this together.”
For the next hour, we sat on the couch holding each other, talking through our feelings and making plans for the future. We decided that my wife would quit her job as an escort and focus on finding more stable work. We also agreed to seek couples counseling to help us work through the pain and rebuild trust in our relationship.
Over time, with lots of hard work and open communication, we were able to heal from this difficult chapter in our lives. My wife found a new job that she loved, and together we rebuilt our financial stability. More importantly, our love for each other grew stronger than ever before.
Looking back now, I am grateful that we didn’t let this one mistake define our entire relationship. Love is not always easy or perfect; sometimes it requires forgiveness and understanding. And while it may have taken time to rebuild the trust that was broken, I can confidently say that I am glad we chose to fight for our love.
So yes, my wife was an escort. But she was also so much more than that. She was a survivor, a fighter, and the love of my life. And no matter what challenges we may face in the future, I know that we will face them together.
Even though the evening sun was still warm on the back of Jack's neck, his blood went cold. He felt like he'd been slapped in the face.
He took an involuntary step backward, nearly tripping over a pair of dirty sneakers that belonged to one of their three kids. His mind was racing; fragments of thoughts spun around in his head. What? When? How had I not known?
This couldn't be real. But it was: A look into Helen's tear-filled eyes told him everything he needed to know.
Somehow he managed to control his voice, "How long?" At least that's what he meant to say but it came out more as a croak.
Helen looked down at her hands, which were clasped tightly together in front of her. The silence stretched between them until she said softly, "About six months."
Six months? Six goddamned months! While I've been working my fingers to the bone!
Jack wanted to scream at her or hit something - anything - but when he tried to talk again, his throat felt too tight and all that came out was an anguished moan.
Helen tried to grab onto Jack's arm but he shrugged her off roughly. His anger surged through him and for a moment it almost pushed aside his hurt feelings. "Who?" It was all he could manage without losing it completely.
Helen winced at the question as if expecting it even though she'd managed not to answer before.
"No one you know," she mumbled and immediately regretted it when she saw the hurt look on Jack's face.
No one you know? Like hell! I'll find out who every last son-of-a-bitch is!
Jack turned away from Helen and stormed into their tiny kitchenette. He grabbed two beers out of the fridge and handed one to Helen without looking at her then popped open his own and took several swigs, not even bothering to wipe the foam off his upper lip. He thrust the beer toward Helen, "Drink," was all he said.
He took another swallow from his bottle and tried to slow his racing mind. He could hear Helen's sniffles behind him but he wasn't ready to deal with her emotions yet.
Jack set down his beer - somehow it had become slippery on the outside - and wiped his hands on a paper towel before he turned around and faced Helen again. His voice was low and steady but there was an undertone of steel in it that she'd never heard before. "Go upstairs and get your things."
Helen blinked at him in confusion through her tear-streaked face. "What do you mean?"
"You heard me," Jack said coldly, "Get your shit and get out."
For a moment, Helen just stared at him in disbelief, then she started to cry again. Her tears came harder than they ever had before as she realized what this meant for their family - for their marriage.
She fell to her knees on the scuffed linoleum floor and wrapped her arms around Jack's legs tightly, as if trying to anchor herself there with him.
"Please," she gasped between sobs, "please don't do this."
Jack looked down at Helen's disheveled blonde hair which desperately needed coloring again; it almost made him smile despite everything that had happened recently. She always put off going to the salon until her roots were showing too much then would swear up and down that next time, next time she wouldn't let it go so long between appointments.
He reached down hesitantly and smoothed back some of Helen's hair from where it had fallen into her wet eyes. His hand rested for a moment on the back of her head then he withdrew it slowly as if touching red-hot coals.
When he spoke again, his voice was cold but not unkind, "I have to think about what's best for the kids."
Helen looked up at him through puffy eyes. "Please, Jack. I'm so sorry. It was a mistake - just a stupid mistake."
Jack stared down at Helen, his expression unreadable.
Was it really just a mistake? How do I know this won't happen again? Can I ever trust her again?
The questions swirled around in his mind but he pushed them aside for now; there would be plenty of time to think about those things later.
"Go upstairs and pack," he said firmly, "We'll talk about all of this later - after you're gone."
Helen gasped in surprise at the coldness in Jack's voice which she'd never heard before. She opened her mouth to say something, anything that might make him change his mind but one look at his expression told her that it wouldn't do any good.
Slowly she stood up and walked toward the stairs, every step feeling like lead under her weary feet. She paused at the bottom of the staircase and turned back toward Jack. Her heartache was etched across her face as she tried one more time to reach out to him.
"Jack," she said softly, "I love you - and I always will." Then she turned away quickly before he could see another tear escape from her swollen red eyes and climbed the stairs.
Jack listened to the sound of Helen moving around their bedroom upstairs: doors opening and closing softly, hushed conversation punctuated by an occasional muffled sob until eventually, there was nothing but silence.
He picked up his beer again and finished off what was left with several long swallows then let the empty bottle drop from his hand onto the floor where it made a sharp clinking sound against several others already there. He sat down heavily in one of their worn-out dining room chairs and put his head in his hands.
What a fucking mess...
