I recently discovered that my wife was writing, romantically, about someone whom we both know professionally. The note below is but one example, this found in the midst of a technical review. I found others after this.
She was away at the time, cruelly at a show where this guy would be. I decided not to confront her while away, she was busy, and, I needed time to rationalize my thoughts.
Some 12 days later, after her return, we sat and I showed her what I had found. She was shocked and embarrassed and explained there was nothing, nothing would have happened.
She’s a non fiction author, but wants to write a fiction novel, and this was her fantasizing.
I tried to accept this but I then found something more intimate, a very descriptive note on the receipt of a restaurant where they shared lunch, with others, ending with she “would keep this receipt for ever”.
For me, there has to be, at the very minimum ( but the writing says otherwise), a crush on the guy.
I hope and want to believe she has been truthful and I guess I’m just searching around for some guidance.
Below is the 1st note I found
“After (the show ) I’m thinking about the feelings I carried with me the rest of the evening—and as I walked to my hotel in the dark, over the bridge, putting needed distance between us because you are inexplicably physically familiar to me and I don’t know how to turn the volume on that down completely. Your eyes catching mine as you walked up to me, as I stepped away from Pete to embrace you, the light in them, the happiness, we are friends already, and would be even easier with each other if we could spend more days like that one I keep recalling to people, to myself, playing the turn of your sentences and thoughts back in my mind. Yes, I stepped into your arc naturally in that room full of our colleagues dressed as penguins—but you in that baby blue tie and me in my frosted burgundy velvet shoes. I teased you with my line about the error—and if that helps you read my story closely then I love that even though it’s scary and you might find other things wrong with it. Yet I am transparent to you already—I trust you to treat that delicately. Why? I couldn’t say; it’s just a natural thing. I touch your arm and you touch my hand as we step into each other, a little dance we’ll repeat again in a few weeks. I was a tiny part of your morning too, when you read my quick email and answered me, then liked my article post. Then I know you went on with your day, but it makes my heart beat a little faster to think you thought of me a little bit, and answered my kindness to you with your own to me. You read my email and answered me, then liked my article post. Then I know you went on with your day, but it makes my heart beat a little faster to think you thought of me a little bit, and answered my kindness to you with your own to me.
