“Letter to My Husband’s Mistress — Five Years On: Now, You’re Just a Bad Memory”

Dear Delilah,

It’s been five years since I discovered the affair between you and William. I remember that day vividly, as if it were a scene from a movie that I’ve watched over and over, unwillingly. The shock, the disbelief, the crushing weight of betrayal—it all lingers in my memory, a ghost that refuses to fade.

I’ve never been able to address you by your name, Delilah. To me, you’ve always been “her,” the shadow that crept into our lives and nearly tore our family apart. William was no innocent, of course. His actions were his own, and he has had to live with the consequences. But this letter isn’t about him. It’s about you, and the role you played in this heartbreaking drama.

You knew he was married, knew about me, Aurora, his wife of fifteen years. You knew about Nathan and Zoey, our children, who were just starting to navigate the complexities of middle school when their father’s attention drifted away from family dinners and school plays to clandestine meetings and secret messages.

I’ve often wondered what went through your mind during those days. Did you think about the pain you were causing? Did you ever stop to consider the lives you were disrupting? Or was the thrill of the forbidden too intoxicating to ignore?

Five years have passed, and the wounds have slowly turned into scars—visible, palpable, but no longer raw. William and I are no longer together. The trust that was broken could never fully be mended, and though we tried for the sake of Nathan and Zoey, it was ultimately in vain. We co-parent, maintaining a civil facade for our children, who deserved none of this.

As for you, Delilah, I’ve heard that you moved on quickly after William ended things. Perhaps ours was not the first marriage disrupted by your actions, nor the last. I don’t know where you are now, nor do I want to know. You are a chapter that is closed, a book I wish I had never read.

I write this letter not out of spite or malice, but as a final act of letting go. By acknowledging the pain and the past, I hope to leave it where it belongs—behind me. You are now just a bad memory, a lesson learned the hardest way.

To anyone who finds themselves in a similar position, know this: the pain does subside, life does go on, and you are stronger than you think. And to you, Delilah, I have nothing left to say.

Sincerely,

Aurora