I cheated on my girlfriend. I know I'm wrong. But I... it might sound arrogant to say this, but I couldn't control myself. It's like an invisible force was pulling me, controlling me, with a power beyond fate and destiny.
We've been together for ten years. She's a few years older than me. She's not conventionally beautiful, but she's intelligent and kind.
I remember in the first few years, the feeling I had for her was more admiration and reverence than love. It was deep, profound, and indescribable. It was a strange mix of happiness and pain.
I used to... agree with everything she said. Whether she loved or hated someone, whether she liked or disliked something, whether she pointed a finger or not, my emotions flowed along with hers.
Then one day, without any reason, without any warning signs, we weren't distant, we weren't upset, we weren't fighting, and suddenly I started wanting to cheat.
I started lying and enjoyed getting away with it. Sometimes it was even more fun to leave a little trail of suspicion, just enough to make her wonder. I felt a thrill when she almost caught me, but she never quite got there.
I started talking to other women. It started with one, then two, then three, four, five. They all knew I had a girlfriend. They were all complicit and shared in the guilt.
I told each woman that I was about to break up with my girlfriend. I said I had been out of love for a long time and felt like she was more like a sister. I said I was still with her because I felt sorry for her and worried she wouldn't be able to cope without me. She doesn't have many friends and doesn't have any adults she trusts enough to confide in. Basically, she has almost no one in her life... except me. Each woman was ready to understand and sympathize.
The infidelity would have continued endlessly if I hadn't noticed something strange one day.
It seems... she's known for a long time. She has all the evidence: our chats, details of our meetings. She even has a short note on her phone summarizing the names and details of the relationships, the stories from beginning to end, between me and each of my mistresses.
She might have hired a detective to follow me. And if she knew so much, why did she stay silent for years? Why did she just pretend to be suspicious, jealous, insecure, cry, be sad, hopeless sometimes? But in the end, she endured. She claimed she couldn't catch me red-handed, claimed there was no evidence, even though it was all there. ... It's like she was just pretending to be jealous while actually enjoying it.
What is her plan?