For months Peter, my husband of 12 years, had been moody and withdrawn. I'd put it down to work stress - he'd been overseeing a big project in his high-profile public service job - and booked us a holiday, where I hoped we'd have a chance to reconnect.
It worked. We spent a happy week snorkelling, cycling and reminiscing over the last time we'd been in the Caribbean - our first ever holiday together, in 1997. Over balmy evenings fuelled by rosé, we agreed that on our return home Peter would focus less on work and we'd both make our marriage more of a priority. We came back happier than we'd been in a long time. Or so I thought.
![I was furious that it had taken a photo to shake me out of my naivety.](/web/20160830111013im_/http://www.watoday.com.au/content/dam/images/g/r/0/l/p/k/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gr14zs.png/1472435764135.jpg)
On our first weekend back, we went for a walk in a lavender field near our home. The light was so perfect that I grabbed my phone and took a series of selfies. Later that afternoon, I downloaded the photos to my computer. One of them jolted me.
In the picture, the sun was blazing and Peter was looking directly at me with an expression unlike any I'd seen before.
It can only be described as thinly-veiled contempt - there was a sneer on his lips and a strange look in his eyes, as though he hated me. I was smiling at the camera in my sundress, unaware. In that moment, I knew our marriage was over.
Five years earlier, Peter had confessed to an affair with a colleague; I'd forgiven him and we'd moved on. Suddenly I recalled how he'd been snappy and impatient around that time, and it hit me that he might be cheating again.
That night, while he was in the bathroom, I had a look at his work phone. There I found a text message, sent the previous week, arranging to meet the same colleague he'd had the affair with all those years ago.
I stood silently outside the bathroom for 10 minutes and, when Peter came out, I told him I knew. He immediately got defensive; saying he'd heard this woman had cancer and he'd wanted to see how she was. The fact he could lie so swiftly and easily stung almost as much as the infidelity.
That night I was numb. But two days later I felt calmer and asked him to move out. He finally broke down and admitted the affair.
I was furious that it had taken a photo to shake me out of my naivety. But mostly I felt desperately angry that I'd given up having children for this man.
Peter was nine years older than me and already had a grown-up daughter when we got together; he told me he didn't want more children. Reluctantly, I'd agreed - telling myself that just the two of us would be enough.
After he left I felt my life was over. I couldn't get out of bed, barely ate or slept, and my hair began falling out. I started seeing a counsellor.
After a few months, I realised how unhappy I'd been with Peter. Since the first affair, my self-esteem had been eroded.
Gradually I began doing things alone; I went to the theatre, took a spa holiday and started considering my future.
Two years on, I've set up my own social-media business and learnt to scuba dive. I've also sold our home and furniture and bought my own house - a real fresh start.
I've come to terms with the fact that, at 50, I can't have children. And though I'd like to find a partner, I'm in no hurry. I'm enjoying being "me". And yes, that photo has been deleted forever.
This story was originally published in Sunday Life magazine. *Erin is not her real name.