On the night of our tenth wedding anniversary, I thought my husband was going to give me a sentimental speech about everything we’d survived together.
Instead, he asked me to open our marriage.
I was sitting across from Dave at an expensive restaurant he’d insisted on choosing for the occasion. There were candles flickering between us, soft music playing somewhere in the background, and the kind of atmosphere that seemed designed for romantic confessions.
Ten years of marriage.
Two children.
A home we’d built together.
A life that, from the outside, probably looked stable and ordinary.
Then Dave leaned across the table and dropped a bombshell that changed the entire mood of the evening.
“Felicity,” he began, using that overly casual tone he always used when he knew he was about to say something ridiculous, “I’ve been thinking…”
Now, I’d learned something about Dave over the years.
Whenever he said, “I’ve been thinking,” trouble usually wasn’t far behind.
This was the same man who once decided it would be a brilliant idea to put up our Christmas lights in July because, in his words, “it would save time later.”
So naturally, my guard went up.
“Uh-huh?” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
My heart, however, had already started racing.
Dave leaned back.
“You always say you’re tired, and I get it. Taking care of the kids and everything else… it’s a lot. So I was thinking maybe we should open up our relationship.”
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then a third time, just to make sure I hadn’t somehow misunderstood him.
“Come again?”
He leaned forward, his eyes wide with what I could only describe as completely misguided enthusiasm.
“Yeah. You know. If I go out and have fun with real women, you can focus on the kids and won’t have to worry about me. It’s a win-win.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
I could almost feel the exact second something inside me cracked.
“Real women?” I repeated quietly.
“Yeah, you know what I mean.”
He waved his hand as though he were explaining something incredibly reasonable.
“It would actually be like a favor to you. Less pressure, right?”
A favor.
That’s what he called it.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to throw my wine directly into his face.
I wanted to stand up and make a scene so dramatic that everyone in the restaurant would remember us long after we’d left.
But then, in the middle of all that anger and hurt, another thought entered my mind.
A much better one.
I leaned back in my chair and forced a smile.
“You know what, Dave?”
He looked at me expectantly.
“You’re right.”
His face immediately lit up.
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
I took a slow sip of my wine.
“As long as I get to date other people too.”
For just a second, I saw uncertainty flash across his face.
It was there.
Briefly.
But then Dave did what Dave always did.
He brushed it aside.
He laughed.
“Sure. Why not?”
Oh, Dave.
Sweet, oblivious Dave.
He had absolutely no idea what he’d just agreed to.
A week later, he was drowning in the modern dating scene.
I’d see him sitting on our couch with his phone in his hand, swiping left and right through dating apps as if his entire future depended on finding someone.
Spoiler alert:
It wasn’t going well.
One evening, he dropped onto the couch beside me with a defeated sigh.
“Another one canceled.”
I was folding laundry and doing everything I could to pretend I wasn’t enjoying his misery.
It was difficult to keep the smile off my face.
“She said she’s ‘taking a break from men,'” he complained.
He looked at me with genuine confusion.
“What does that even mean?”
I raised an eyebrow.
He was looking at me as though I were supposed to be some kind of expert translator for modern dating.
I shrugged.
“Maybe she sensed your desperation through the app?”
He frowned.
“You’re not helping.”
I smiled innocently.
“No, I don’t suppose I am.”
The truth was, I was beginning to feel something I hadn’t expected.
Relief.
Before agreeing to Dave’s little experiment, part of me had been terrified that he’d immediately find someone else.
