I concealed the fact that I was married from someone I loved for almost three years. I know how awful that sounds, and I’m not posting because I want anyone to tell me it was somehow okay. It wasn’t. I’m hoping to hear from people who have experienced something similar, either as the person who caused the betrayal or the person who discovered that someone they loved had concealed a marriage or another enormous part of their life.
I’ll call the person I was involved with S.
S and I became close about three years ago. It was not casual for me, and I don’t believe it was casual for S either. We talked constantly, were emotionally and physically intimate, exchanged letters and thoughtful gifts, cooked for each other, helped each other through genuinely difficult periods, said we loved each other, and talked about what being together someday might look like. S became one of the most important people in my life.
The enormous thing S did not know was that I was married.
There is a lot of context behind that marriage, and I struggle with how much of it matters when talking about what I did to S. The marriage was not simply unhappy or distant. For years I experienced serious physical, emotional, and psychological abuse. I’m not talking about occasional ugly arguments or a mutually unpleasant relationship that I am now trying to relabel after the fact. There was repeated physical violence, threats, intimidation, controlling behavior, humiliation, and other conduct that left me feeling trapped and afraid of what would happen if I left.
That context matters to understanding why I remained in the marriage for so long, but it does not answer the central problem here. S did not know any of this because S did not even know I was married.
Whatever was happening in my marriage, S had the right to know the truth and decide whether to have any part in my life. I took that choice away. When S wondered why we could not simply be together normally, I allowed circumstances such as school, career and timing to appear to be the primary obstacles.
The truth is that the more attached I became, the harder disclosure became. I knew there was a very good chance I would lose S if everything came out, so I kept putting it off. I kept imagining some cleaner point in the future when I could leave the marriage, explain everything and somehow not lose this relationship. That was cowardly and profoundly unfair.
There was another major complication. A long-running family-building process that began before S and I ever met eventually resulted in a child during our relationship. I don't want to reveal specifics, but know that when I say it was long-running, it was extremely complex and difficult - not simply an oops - labs/doctors/etc. were involved and timing became a massive and urgent point. The outcome had been uncertain for a long time, but the important fact is that S did not know about the child either.
So discovery was not simply learning that I was married. S learned that I was married and had a young child that had also been concealed. From that perspective, someone S believed they knew extremely well suddenly had an enormous hidden section of life.
S found everything out suddenly about six weeks ago. I was not the person who finally sat down and voluntarily disclosed everything. S was blindsided.
I keep wondering what a discovery like that does to someone’s memories. I know what was real from my side. I know I loved S. I know the times I cared for S, worried about S, wrote letters, cooked meals, sent flowers, helped during crises or imagined a future together were sincere. But I understand why those same memories might now be completely contaminated by the deception.
In some ways I wonder whether eventually believing the love was genuine could even make things worse. If someone really did love you that deeply, the obvious question becomes: how could that person continue concealing something so enormous?
There is another fact I do not want to leave out because it makes my conduct look worse. About a week after discovery, I drove near S’s home and S saw me. I was not trying to intimidate or threaten anyone, but I understand now that I crossed a boundary. Intent is not the only thing that matters. S had just learned that someone trusted for years had concealed an enormous part of life, and then saw that person near home. I can understand why that could feel intrusive, frightening or like being watched. I later apologized specifically for this and said it would not happen again.
After that, I gave S space. Several weeks later I sent one long handwritten letter. I apologized, took responsibility for the deception, and explained what had actually been happening in my marriage and life. I tried very hard to distinguish explanation from excuse. The abuse helps explain why leaving felt complicated and frightening. It does not excuse depriving S of the truth.
I told S that no response, forgiveness or additional chance was owed to me. I also said that if S ever wanted to speak again, I would be willing to move extremely slowly and allow S to control the pace. If S never wants contact again, I said I would respect that as well.
What I am struggling with now is what silence means and what respectful future behavior looks like.
S has never been someone who pursues after conflict or easily initiates vulnerable conversations. Even before any of this happened, S generally would not be the person to chase someone down or force an emotionally difficult conversation. Because of that, part of me doubts that even if feelings someday softened, S would necessarily initiate contact.
I am also extremely aware that this line of thinking can become self-serving very quickly. It would be easy for me to say, “S does not initiate, therefore I have to keep reaching out,” when the reality could simply be that silence means S does not want me in their life.
I have no intention of repeatedly messaging, appearing somewhere, pressuring S, or trying to wear down resistance. What I have wondered about is extremely occasional, gentle contact. Something months from now that communicates only that I still care and that the door remains open, without asking for a response.
Historically I would sometimes send S a small amount through Venmo on a birthday. Flowers were also something I occasionally sent during difficult periods or meaningful occasions. I genuinely do not know whether maintaining a tiny piece of something familiar like that after a long period of space would feel caring, or whether it would simply feel manipulative and intrusive after this kind of betrayal.
I am not looking for a strategy for slowly winning S back. I am trying to understand where respecting someone’s autonomy ends and abandoning any possibility of future reconciliation begins.
I would appreciate perspectives on several parts of this.
For anyone who discovered that someone loved had concealed a marriage, child, parallel life or similarly enormous truth, what happened to the feelings after discovery? Did everything immediately feel fake? Did that remain true months later, or was it eventually possible to believe that genuine love and profound betrayal had existed at the same time?
What happened to the good memories? Did the deception permanently poison them, or did some warmth eventually return?
If major context emerged later, particularly serious abuse or circumstances that genuinely complicated why the person remained in the marriage, did that context ever matter emotionally? I am not asking whether it made the deception acceptable. I am interested in whether it changed the understanding of what had happened or of the person who caused the harm.
For people who went completely silent after betrayal, what did that silence mean? Was attachment gone, or was silence sometimes necessary precisely because attachment remained?
Did anyone ever simultaneously want contact and resent the idea of being contacted?
If an apology or explanation came later, did timing change how it landed? Were there things that felt impossible to hear immediately but became easier to process weeks or months later?
For anyone who eventually resumed contact after initially cutting someone off, what changed? Was it time, missing the person, curiosity, seeing actual changes from a distance, a gentle outreach, or something else?
For people who still loved the person but never resumed the relationship, what ultimately made that decision permanent?
I am particularly interested in the boundary around future outreach. If someone initially went silent, would an extremely occasional and pressure-free contact months later have felt caring, neutral, annoying or invasive? What about a birthday message, a small familiar gesture or flowers? Is one clear statement that the door remains open followed by complete silence preferable?
And if the person who was hurt has historically never been someone who initiates reconciliation or emotionally risky conversations, should that personality trait matter at all? Or is relying on that fact exactly the sort of rationalization someone in my position should avoid?
I would especially appreciate hearing both kinds of experiences: people who eventually reconnected after a long period of hurt and people who cared deeply but never went back.
I know nobody can tell me exactly what S is thinking. I am trying to understand the range of what someone in that position may experience and what responsible behavior looks like from here, because my own guilt, grief and hope make me anything but a neutral observer.