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THE AFFAIR

It started with the secret conversations in the bathroom while he was fast asleep. It was the only place I could think of at home that I would not be intruded upon and caught praying. And even as I kneeled in front of the tub with head lowered and hands folded night after night, I spent a good proportion of the time asking not to be found out but knowing full well that this cannot go on.

How was I meant to tell the most cynical atheist I have ever met and my live-in boyfriend for the past two years that I had recently seen the light and Christ was back in my life? It seemed much easier to hide it from him. And weren't they always going on about how it is your personal relationship with God? Well, I guess I just believe very strongly in it being personal then. Nobody gets to judge me for it either.

Why then do I have this voice in my head that tells me that I should share this new and exciting thing with everybody I care about, including the one person I really don't want to disclose it to? I ignored that voice for a while since things were going well as it was. Or so I thought

Little did I know that there was a little voice in his head as well; a voice that was telling him that something was not right. There had to be a plausible explanation for the mystery outings every Sunday and the sudden insistence on personal space. And who was I whispering to in the wee hours every night when I was meant to be curled up in bed with him? It was all quite clear to him. I had to be cheating on him. What else could it be?

Then it became a waiting game. Who was going to crack first? Every moment spent at home seemed like an imminent eruption. The underlying tension was driving was driving the both of us crazy. And I chose to cope the only way I knew how; spending more time at church, seeking fellowship with my friends. Here I was at peace, although that voice continued to nag at me.

And he found a way to deal with his troubles as well. Alcohol was the answer to his prayers. Not that he actually prayed. That was the whole problem, you understand. He also found companionship with his drinking buddies and at least his senses were numb while under the influence. After that, he would crawl into bed close to dawn, timed so that I was done with my daily bathroom conversations.

But even if there were none of the usual social problems associated with alcoholism, not yet anyway, that did not stop me from feeling immense guilt for not doing more to help. I knew that he might find

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