Karma?

For the next couple of months, things between us quietly simmered. Life moved—separately, distantly—but the connection lingered like the warmth of a whisper just out of reach. August came, and with it, travel. We were in different places, different time zones, but still managed to find each other in passing moments—brief messages, subtle glances through a screen.

I remember the moment vividly—my husband noticed I wasn’t wearing my wedding ring. I had slipped it off in June, after his most recent online affair. I had made myself a promise: I would never wear it again. That day, he asked about it as we stepped off an elevator, his voice low but laced with suspicion. I sidestepped the confrontation, knowing full well he wouldn’t forget. But the truth was already buried deep in my silence.

When we returned from our trip, he left the country again—three whole weeks. And in that space, anticipation grew. The man who had lit a spark inside me and I had finally made plans to meet. Just one night. One breathless night I had been imagining for weeks. I was a mess of nerves, desire, and self-doubt. What if he didn’t like what he saw? I was in my mid-fifties—seasoned, not flawless. What if the reality of me fell short of his fantasy?

He told me he felt the same way, though I couldn’t quite believe it. He was magnetic—confident, captivating. A man who seemed to float between worlds, as stunning inside as he was outside. A literal model, both in appearance and presence. And then—just days before we were to meet—life intervened. A sudden family tragedy pulled him away. Our moment slipped through my fingers before it even began. I told myself it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. But the ache? That was real. Deep. Crippling.

Was this karma? Fate stepping in before I made a choice I couldn’t take back?

Now, as I lie in bed, alone with my thoughts, I wonder if not meeting was a hidden mercy. Because saying goodbye without the memory of his touch… that’s already hard enough. It hasn’t even been a week, and his absence still lingers in places I didn’t know he touched. I ache to reach out—but I won’t. Not yet. I need clarity, space.

My marriage has been unraveling for years, slowly, painfully, due to choices that weren’t mine. And I can’t allow the intoxication of another man’s presence to be the reason I walk away. If I leave, it has to be because I chose myself—not because I needed someone else to fill the void.

But as I close my eyes tonight, I can’t help but long for him… and wonder if that longing will ever disappear.