DEAR EMILY,

My husband and I have been married close to 45 years now. We got pregnant immediately and had three children, all born within a year of each other.

Everybody thought we had an ideal marriage. We're a good-looking couple (they say), our children are beautiful, and our parents on both sides who were friends in school are prominent in their own right.

We belong to this rarefied orbit of like-minded people who went to the same universities, work in the same corporate atmosphere, are members of the same select clubs that would meet on weekends for fun and games. Ideal, right?

Anyone looking at us from the outside would think so. They'd probably even give an arm or leg to take our place. Then again, probably not.

Despite our very comfortable and charmed life, I knew something was remiss. It was almost surreal, like driving down a road with no bumps at all. My husband and I never had any screaming matches, much less argued about anything. We were always affectionate toward each other. There was no question that when one is around, the other won't be far behind.

But I found myself becoming more and more alone. A wife develops that gut feeling-and discovered my husband was having an affair. Not with a woman, but with a man! This tall, attractive and successful corporate hound whose body and soul I thought I knew was leading a double life!

He didn't deny anything. We behaved like very civilized people and our confrontation was so devoid of emotion, it sounded like we were just planning a dinner party. No screaming matches. No histrionics.

He said I could do anything-even have affairs myself, if I wanted to. He just asked that we maintain a semblance of family and not do anything embarrassing. Neither he nor I moved out of the family home despite the turmoil.

After a few affairs and countless trips abroad for long periods of time to escape the scrutiny of friends, I finally accepted my fate and settled quietly back to our old marital routine. I couldn't stay away from him. I truly loved him, despite everything. He was a wonderful man, honest, generous and kind-and I couldn't begrudge him for the way he was.

We've remained the "ideal" couple everyone thinks we are. It's not so bad. -True Love

Answer:

I don't know whether to applaud you and have you canonized, or just slap you outright for being a martyr.

But it is uplifting and sobering to read a letter that dripped with class and civility.

You did not seek to be a martyr. You just knew in your heart that you loved your husband, and went back after much soul-searching to take him for what he is, warts and all. You took your marriage vows seriously when you promised to hold and to cherish each other, in sickness and in pain, and all that jazz-till death!

And if you yourself played around, it was more as a balm to soothe your wounds, or sought a momentary lifeline to save you from drowning.

You will not win a Nobel Prize for coming around and embracing your fate. There will be no songs sang for your tenacity and resolve in staying on in this marriage. But the heavens, with all its magnanimity, will look kindly on you for not making judgments and accepting that your husband himself couldn't get away from the call of his own fate.

You were dealt lemons in the area of love, but you were given so much more in other ways. In hindsight, you'd probably choose love over wealth. It was possibly in your most agonizing moments that you understood-you really can't have it all.

And in seeing the total perspective clearly, you found your strength.