On that fateful day, I wish I had known. I wish I would have been prepared; that someone would have stopped me in the street and said “It’s better not to go”.

For on that day, I met the man of my dreams. Unsuspecting at first, his beauty was revealed as we sat and chatted about this that or the other.

He had heavenly eyes, loving eyes. Eyes that said he wanted me, too. I didn’t think to check his ring finger. I was enraptured with our connection and the way my body tingled when his hand brushed against mine.

A friends wedding. It was fun. We danced, and laughed, and retreated to the back of the venue and shared a cigarette.

It wasn’t long, before his lips were pressed against mine. It felt like a magnetic unstoppable force that brought us together. I felt powerless against it, and delighted in how deeply I surrendered to his touch.

No one seemed to notice when we returned to the party. Though I noticed him becoming a bit more distant, compared to how free and open our connection was before our encounter.

By the end of the night, I awkwardly asked for his number, not quite sure where the awkwardness was coming from. We exchanged pleasant social media contacts, which was another flag now that I think of it.

A few days had passed, and I had not heard from the man at the wedding. I contacted him, and asked to meet at a cozy bar uptown.

No reply.

Seen.

No reply.

Flustered, I did some more digging and found out he was-

…Married.

My heart sunk to my knees, and my gut churned both with regret and disgust.

I never would have fallen. I never would have kissed him. I never would have allowed this to happen had I known.

Feeling humiliated, I sent an angry text that could only make things worse. But what could be worse? I had unknowingly committed adultery with someone who was fine with ghosting me.

Well fuck.