I’ve been sleeping with my colleague for 12 years, but I’ll never leave my husband

Around one in five British adults admit to having cheated on a partner, according to research by YouGov. Coworkers are one of the most common choices for affairs, cited by 38 percent of unfaithful individuals. Anna*, 48, is one of them. She has been married to Dave* for 16 years, but for 12 of them, she has been having an affair with Mike*, whom she met at work. Here, she explains how she’s managed to live a double life for so long, and why she has no plans to leave her husband. If you saw me out with my husband, you would think we’re pretty happily married. Despite being married for 16 years, we are still incredibly affectionate, make each other laugh and have great sex, but I also harbour a dirty secret. I have been having an affair with a former work colleague for almost 13 years and have no intention of stopping. It all started with a drunken kiss in a quiet corner of our office Christmas party in 2013. There was an instant attraction between Mike and I when we’d started working together that summer. We flirted in that way married people sometimes convince themselves is harmless, and joked about being each other’s work spouse. It felt almost inevitable something would happen between us. Shorts The kiss was amazing, but I pulled back. This was wrong; we’d crossed a line. Mike said he understood, and I got a taxi home to my sleeping husband. I spent the weekend feeling sick, a combination of a hangover and guilt over what I’d done. But there was also a flicker of something else, excited butterflies, when I remembered the kiss. I loved Dave; we’d been married for three years at this point, and were still in the honeymoon phase. I told myself it was a silly mistake, and when I spoke to Mike that Monday in the office, we resolved never to be alone again outside of work. The attraction was so strong we’d not be able to resist each other. That resolution lasted three whole weeks. Dave was away on a work trip, and I was at a loose end. I messaged Mike, “Are you free tonight? Fancy a drink?” He told his wife he was going to meet some friends at the pub, but instead, took a taxi to my house, and within minutes, we were naked, rolling around in my marital bed. The sex was incredible. But when he left, I felt a massive wave of remorse, and vowed that it would be a one-off. But inevitably, Mike and I found excuses to meet up for sex. Dave was working away a lot, and I’ll admit, I was lonely. Mike was great company, and we started sharing much more about our lives and childhoods, developing a deeper bond. By opening up to each other, I realised what we had was much more than sex; this was becoming a relationship. We quickly set some ground rules to avoid being found out. There’s no messaging each other when we know our spouses will be around and may see a phone notification pop up. We don’t buy each other extravagant presents that would arouse suspicion on a bank statement. We don’t have any photographs together, which is one thing that makes me sad, because I know how happy I look when I’m with Mike. It all sounds very cold and pragmatic, but it works for us. Meetups normally happen at my place when Dave is away. I live remotely with no neighbours nearby, which is ideal if you want to keep a secret affair going. Mike and I said “I love you” to each other a year after we first kissed. Which sounds romantic, until you remember we were both cheating on our spouses. A few months later, I accepted a job at another company because, as much as I enjoyed working with Mike, I needed a new challenge. We decided that maybe the new job would be a good time to end things between us, and reluctantly agreed to part ways. We didn’t see each other for six months, but I thought about Mike every day. I missed our conversations, the way he looked at me and, of course, the sex. Eventually I sent him a message asking if he wanted to meet up. Within days, we were back where we’d started. There’s an assumption most people make about infidelity: there must be a problem at home. There isn’t. I love Dave, and the life we’ve built together. When something wonderful or terrible happens, he is still the first person I want to tell. Mike occupies a completely different space. With him, I get excitement, anticipation and a version of myself that doesn’t exist in my “ordinary” life. For a few hours, there are no household chores, no work deadlines, no discussions about the boiler or what we’re doing at the weekend. But we’ve always been very clear. Mike and I are not destined to end up together. We’re not star-crossed lovers; we’re two consenting adults who love each other, but love who we are married to more. Mike also has children, and they are one of the biggest reasons I have never fantasised about us ending up together. I’ve never wanted kids, and I certainly don’t want to become a stepmother. If Mike announced that he had left his wife for me, I would be horrified. Because I don’t want his whole life, I want the small part of it that he gives me. Yes, the sneaking around adds to the thrill of it all, but it’s also a lot of admin to keep up with. Meeting up means navigating four people’s calendars, with two in the dark about why their spouses are so interested in whether they are going to Pilates or rugby as planned. There have been close calls. A message appearing at the wrong moment, a question about where I’ve been that I didn’t answer quickly enough, or plans changing unexpectedly. Each time my stomach has dropped, but I’ve still managed to get away with it. Of course, there is still guilt. People might imagine that someone capable of maintaining an affair for this long must have no conscience whatsoever. There are moments when I look at Dave and feel like the worst person in the world. Sometimes he’ll do something as simple as make me a cup of tea after an awful day, and I’ll think: “I don’t deserve you.” I’ve become great at compartmentalising both relationships, and part of that includes not thinking about Mike’s wife very much. I have met her a handful of times over the years, and we got on well, but I’ve felt deeply uncomfortable. If I allow myself to dwell on the damage that the affair being discovered would cause, the whole arrangement becomes much harder to justify. The strangest thing is that I can feel genuine guilt and still not want to stop. I can betray my husband and still love him, and feel sorry for his wife while continuing to participate in something that would devastate her. Those contradictions have existed inside me for over a decade. I’ve never told anyone about the affair. Once, while out for drinks with friends, I raised a hypothetical question: “Would you consider a drunken kiss cheating?” thinking back to that Christmas party. All of my friends screamed, “Yes!” and got very judgemental about the kind of woman that kisses another woman’s husband. I knew then that I wouldn’t have an ally if I revealed all. I am certain that Dave would leave me if he found out about the affair, and that terrifies me. If I were forced to choose between them tomorrow, I would choose my husband. I realise how ridiculous that sounds. Why risk the person you value most for someone you wouldn’t even choose? I’ve asked myself that question hundreds of times and I don’t have an answer. Perhaps after so many years, I’ve simply become arrogant. We’ve got away with it for so long that it no longer has the same sense of danger as the early days. I’m now in my late forties, and I don’t know whether we’ll still be doing this at 60. Maybe one of us will eventually decide we’ve had enough. Perhaps age will make the secrecy exhausting rather than exciting. Who knows, but I will continue to enjoy it while it lasts.