Free The Comfort of Lies by Randy Susan Meyers Page A

fifty-fifty, and did she know this was also painful for the cheater and his lover? That they suffered from depression and contemplated suicide? Further into the site, she learned she could affair-proof her marriage, but only by sending $79.99 for the books and tapes. Sent in discreet packaging.
    After the panic elicited by that site, she found one promising that many couples emerged from their affairs stronger than ever, but, it warned, they had to assess their relationship: Were they committed to healing? Were they willing to talk to each other? Then she wondered if she should be going to therapy with Nathan.
    At times she’d felt as though she did only two things: care for the children and read about infidelity online. During one sleepless three-o’clock-in-the-morning session, she read that marriages were “far less likely to recover from serial cheating than a single affair.” Juliette marched into the bedroom demanding to know if there had been anyone else. If she’d had a flashlight, she would have shined it in Nathan’s eyes.
    Even after he swore to his fidelity to his one secret lover, intent on his claim that he’d never been with any other woman during their marriage—as though he should get a medal—Juliette studied the characteristics of cheaters, finding an online test that promised to determine how likely a spouse was to cheat. She flipped out when Nathan’s score showed moderate risk. She wanted him to test at an impossible zero. Of the seven indicators of likelihood for cheating, Nathan had three risk factors: he was attractive , he had opportunity —wasn’t a college simply fishing grounds for affairs?—and he had a high sex drive . Thankfully, she could truthfully mark “No” for his being a risk taker , being entitled , seeing love as a game , and having relationship problems .
    Except, of course, that he slept with someone for a year.
    Juliette took her cold comfort from the fact that they were under the 50 percent mark for “Yes” answers.
    After searching for solutions in books, online, and couples therapy, and finding no respite from pain in her rush to bludgeonherself into recovering, she finally discovered her own best answers. Three things were true: She loved Nathan and didn’t want to leave him. The thought of raising her sons alone terrified her, and it would hurt them. And as with any grief, she needed time to pass before she could find her way back to her marriage.
    Juliette held closely to the belief that it wasn’t her fault. Nathan assured her repeatedly that it wasn’t her fault, apparently doing his own online searches. He printed out a consoling list of why men and women had affairs:
•  For the ego stroking you get when someone pays attention
•  For the selfish desire of a temporary pleasure
•  For confirmation of your attractiveness or worth
•  To get adoration
    Juliette’s volcano of righteous anger churned with hurt until the day it miraculously began receding a bit at a time, and then shrank into a small lump sitting on her chest, eventually hardened, and became a tiny but sharp pebble that she could tuck away until a reminder tripped her up.
    Now he’d brought that rock right back up to the surface, and once again she could barely breathe without feeling that goddamned so-called buried pain.
     • • • 
    Once in her office, a cool-blue-and-white escape from the ubiquitous pansy and black throughout the shop, Juliette turned on her computer, readying to Google “Caroline Hollister Fitzgerald.” Like Juliette Silver Soros, Caroline used her maiden name as a middle name. Already Juliette knew something about her.
    She needed facts. There was no way Juliette would be left out—the proverbial last one to know—again. If knowledge were power, then she’d get her strength from learning exactly what was going on.
    She found Caroline’s image on the Web site of Cabot Hospital in Boston, where she was a pathologist specializing in pediatric