My dad cheated on my mom
Jane Henders, 21

I grew up on the Upper East Side in the ideal family of four. My father was the teddy bear—affectionate, charming and kind—whom we could go to for a hug. Mom was the organizer and made sure my sister and I did all our schoolwork. I always thought my father was unhappy in the marriage and felt neglected. When I’d fight with my mom about her perfectionist attitude, I thought, I have to stay with her because she’s my mom, but he’s married to her and half the country is getting divorced every day. I didn’t understand why he was still with her. From an outsider’s perspective, we lived a charmed life. We were always having family dinners, my sister and I were driven and had lots of social graces, and all arguments happened behind closed doors. Everything was neatly tied up.

Three years ago, the four of us were on vacation. We were sitting around having breakfast in this gorgeous resort. My dad was in the kitchen and his BlackBerry started vibrating. I called to him to tell him but he didn’t hear me. So I picked it up and hit the side of it to make it stop vibrating, and it opened an e-mail. It was from a woman. It was completely…it wasn’t innuendos, it was just blatantly sexual. It was someone I’d met before—I recognized her name. The e-mail was really gross: It was clear that it wasn’t something I could brush off. I locked myself in the bathroom and listened to “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right,” like, five times and cried on the bathroom floor for a while. The rest of the vacation—and the next several months—felt really awkward. I tried to read his e-mail when he left his BlackBerry unattended. I started to feel like I was stalking him.

I was leaving for college in nine months and was hoping it would work itself out or he would tell my mom. At that point I had a lot of sympathy for him in his marriage and sort of understood why he’d have an affair. It made sense to me and I felt like what was meant to happen would happen. I didn’t want to be the intermediary. It made being home a weird experience. That fall they dropped me off at school, and apparently on the drive home was the first time that my dad told my mom he was unhappy.

Thanksgiving that year at my aunt’s was the most awkward, awful thing. My parents sat at opposite ends of the big family table. I was going in and out of the bathroom crying. When we got home afterward, my dad made a speech about how it was time for him to be happy and how he’d done so much for all of us. It was really a B.S. speech. Until he opened his mouth about the situation, I had so much compassion for him. But when I heard what he had to say about why he was leaving, I was like, This is so obviously a midlife crisis. He had really convinced himself that he was the victim in this situation, and that this was just something between my parents and wouldn’t affect my sister and me. “Family is the most important thing” had always been his mantra. But he chose himself over it.

In the months that followed, my mom would tell me about everything going on between them. I was really conflicted—is that good parenting? Am I old enough to be hearing all this? Should there be more boundaries? I want to be a friend to my mom, but I don’t want to feel too burdened. I went back and forth between feeling like I knew too much and feeling kept in the dark. She was always so stable and rational; I’d only seen her cry twice, and suddenly she was chain-smoking, honest about what she was feeling whenever she was feeling it and weepier—more real. Ironically, I think that it was a side my dad would have loved to have seen.

It was difficult to see my dad. Every time we had dinner it was a heavy conversation that ended in both of us crying. Those were not dinners I looked forward to. When I was younger he was a rock, someone who could offer consolation. Now I see him as an insecure, confused man. It’s hard for me to look to him for any sense of security. He’s a really likable guy—our senses of humor are compatible; we can have silly banter and enjoy each other’s company and listen to music together. But I don’t feel that same sense of unconditional love toward him anymore. I will always love him—he’s my father—but I see him as a hypocrite now.

—As told to Kate Lowenstein