At long last, the end of the affair

It was hard for him to know it was over.

After all, the relationship had existed for more than 20 years. On his part at least, 20 faithful years with only a few nights spent apart. On balance it hadn’t been a complete and total drag. There were certain perks; sometimes he didn’t know how he could have gotten along without it.

While it was true that there were others who might have performed just as well or even (he’s heard rumors) better, there was a certain comfort in familiarity. He instinctively knew which buttons to push. He had a sense he could fix most things. He might swear and gnash his teeth, but in the end he’d figure it out.

But he knew he deserved better. Most of his reasons for staying had more to do with the fear of establishing a new relationship than any comfort the old one still provided. At his age, starting over sometimes seemed inconceivable. It was easier to forgive not only the naturally occurring petty slights and minor abuses that attend any long relationship, but also those incidents that might have struck a dispassionate, rational observer as outrages. Several times he had vainly waited hours for appointments ultimately unkept.

Communication was a problem. He got perfunctory apologies but no explanations. Pressing the subject elicited would-be soothing neutral words delivered in a tone suggestive of script-reading. When he managed to draw a reaction, he got nothing stronger than flippant suggestions he was at least partially “the problem”—a phrase pronounced in such a manner as to suggest its roots in hallucination.

His passion met with by cool gaslighting logic, he couldn’t help but feel foolish and ashamed. Then, understanding his righteousness, he felt doubly foolish for having entertained the question of his own madness. But he was the one shouting, wasn’t he? He was the one slamming down the phone then calling back a few minutes later, wheedling and bargaining and hoping for some restorative miracle.

He understood all he had invested in the relationship was what economists call “sunk costs.” The more he pursued what the relationship so obviously could no longer provide, the deeper the emotional and—though he didn’t like to think of it in these terms—financial depression he’d find himself.

He had no illusions. He understood, in less sentimental moments, it was a purely transactional deal—what evolution had brought us to, a way of satisfying certain human needs. Anyone who thought it deeper than that was kidding themselves.

Still, he wished there was at least respect at the relationship’s core. He was told he was “valued,” that his “experience” was important. But he couldn’t shake the idea that he was actually viewed as an exploitable resource.

For years he’d felt like he was being strung along. They’d bump along for a while, lovelessly but at least meeting the other’s needs. Then things would start to slide sideways, misunderstandings and glitches would slip in, what would start as cordial conversations would grow tense. Something weird and inexplicable would occur and his inquiries would be met with evasions and mildly condescending promises to perform better in the future. But no improvement would manifest.

He’d feel cheated. Ready to walk away. He’d even say the words out loud. He’d practice in the mirror, tuning his voice into an affectless baritone, the defeated drone of a zombie (if zombies could talk).

And he’d be coaxed back by promises of special treats. By sweet assurances. Little bargains would be cut, but in the end they only made him feel cheap.

And his friends were little help. They either boasted about how great their relationships were or commiserated. Some said he was lucky. None offered any concrete, actionable advice that wasn’t contradicted immediately. He understood it was his lot to be confused. Sometimes it seemed that the only people who were genuinely happy were the ones brave and strong enough to live without any relationship at all. Others balked at exclusivity, piecing together a life from found moments and transient assignations.

He wasn’t that strong. He knew what he needed, even if he doubted it was possible to achieve it.

And then the balance shifted. A string of indiscretions and insults evoked promises that were so definitely broken that he could not accept himself as someone who could live with them. And so he boxed up some items and made a call.

They say—or at least he’d heard it said—that every divorce needs to be sealed by some ugly act of cruelty that forecloses forever the possibility of reconciliation. He thought about making such a gesture, and then decided it was childish. He left the door to eventual reconciliation open just a crack. But he was done. He fired his cable and broadband provider.