"I promise you, October," I whispered, voice almost breaking. "I will never put you in that position again. Not the position of wondering if you matter less. Of doubting your place in my heart. Of feeling like someone else could come close."
I paused, words catching in my throat, and then added, more quietly, almost a vow:
"Never again," I said, my voice low but certain. "Never again will I make you doubt how I feel about you or what you mean to me."
October just kept looking at me, silent, her gaze steady and unflinching, saying more than words ever could. God, I wished I could undo what I'd done, take every bit of that pain from her and carry it myself, if it meant freeing her from it. Watching her hold it all inside like that, knowing I put it there, tore something open in me I don't think will ever fully close.
Dr. Mireille leaned forward a little, her hands resting lightly in her lap, eyes moving between the two of us.
"The way I see it," she began, her voice calm but deliberate, "two things made it easier for you to drift into emotional infidelity, Thomas: complacency and boundaries. And let me be clear—these aren't excuses. Nothing justifies what happened. But understanding them matters, so you don't repeat the same patterns."
She paused, letting the words hang between us, like dust catching the afternoon light.
"When you love someone from such a young age," Dr. Mireille began, her voice calm but unflinching, "that love can start to feel indestructible. Thomas, that's where the danger crept in for you, not out of malice or disregard, but because you were so certain of what you shared that you stopped tending to it."
She leaned in slightly, her gaze steady yet gentle.
"You trusted so deeply in how much you loved her, and in how much she loved you, that you thought nothing and no one could threaten that bond. So you stopped offering the very reassurances and tenderness that built it in the first place. The quiet 'I'm still here,' the small gestures that say: you still matter more than anything."
Her voice softened, but there was an unmistakable weight beneath it.
"But love isn't a monument that stays standing just because you once built it strong. It's something that asks to be chosen every day. And the moment you began giving attention, even small pieces of yourself, to another woman... that certainty you had—that nothing could shake what you shared—became the very thing that allowed you to hurt her."
Then, her expression grew firmer, the softness edged with something sharper.
"And the second part," she said, "is boundaries—especially at work. There is a reason why many affairs begin at work. Not necessarily because someone stops loving their partner at home but because the work environment itself can create an illusion of intimacy and validation that feels separate, safer somehow, from the real mess and weight of family life."
She folded her hands, her gaze steady.
"But that separation is false. It's a dangerous convenience your mind creates, a way to compartmentalize feelings: here, I'm admired and understood; there, I'm needed and obligated. And while it can feel harmless at first, it's exactly that split that becomes fertile ground for betrayal."
She paused, letting her words sink in, "Affairs don't usually start with grand declarations. They start with a thousand tiny permissions: a text answered late at night, a private lunch, a 온라인카지노게임 shared that really should have been told at home first. You have to guard your marriage not by building walls around it but by keeping your emotional doors open to each other, so they don't swing quietly open to someone else."