I didn’t mean any of it. Really, I didn’t, especially hurting you. It was a mistake, a stupid thing to do and now I don’t know if you’ll forgive me. I could argue I had too much to drink and it loosened my inhabitions, but we were not drinking. I could say I had a bad day at work, and took it out on you, but you know I love my job. Possibly you would believe I received bad news and was feeling heartbroken, but I would have shared it with you first. Maybe I could just not say anything and let you think the worst.
Is it the truth? I don’t think it is, don’t want you to think it could be. After all this time together, how could it be? You are my love, my life. I can’t imagine, can I, ever being separated from you, from “us”. And yet, it happened.
The night, the party of four, the dinner, the dancing, the too-close dancing. I didn’t mean anything by it, at least I don’t think I did. Was I pulling her too close? Was it some kind of male driven instinct when she brushed me? Or was her move intended? Was my response deliberate?
Of course it was a mistake to dance with her, she was the flirtatious friend we all have. The one that supposedly innocently looks at you while your wife is turned away. That look, that secretive smile that she steals when your spouses aren’t watching.
But it’s still my fault. I should have refused to dance, especially after that look. Something made me ask her to dance. I want to tell you I didn’t mean any of it, but can I honestly say that?