'I thought my affair with my married boss was a secret. Then I got a devastating message.'

When I first met Carl* six years ago, he actually worked for me — I was heading up a small team in a large national company, and he was my second in command.

We got along well, and I always thought he was handsome, but there was no real romantic spark at the time.

I moved into another role shortly after Carl joined the team, and for years we forgot about each other's existence, until 18 months ago, when he was hired to head up the state division of my current company.

From the minute he walked in on his first day and winked at me across the meeting room, I knew I was in trouble.

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I'd been in a relationship the last time we'd worked together, and I know he'd been engaged.

Things had broken down with my ex the year prior, but I could see looking at his finger that Carl's engagement had progressed, and he was now married. 

Over the next couple of weeks, we ramped up the work flirting, and even though that shiny gold band would occasionally gleam up at me like a reprimand, I'm ashamed to say it only made things more forbidden. 

I told myself that nothing was actually going to happen, and at the same time, could think of nothing else. 

I started going to work drinks, when I'd never been keen to socialise with the team outside the office. I started fastidiously planning my work outfits, and every time I was around him in the office I felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room.

I remember being in the staff kitchen with him one lunchtime, and him leaning back against the counter beside me. It was as if I could feel the heat radiating off his body even though he wasn't touching me. 

It was bad. And really, really good. 

By the time we crossed the line, we'd been standing on it for so long it didn't really feel like a line anymore.

We were the last ones at work drinks. One second we were play-fighting about who would win at darts, the next we were kissing, right there in the pub. Anyone could have seen us. 

Over the next couple of months, we slept together another handful of times. We texted nearly constantly. We never, ever mentioned his wife. 

Other people in the office did, though. Every time someone would casually ask about his weekend plans, or what "the missus" thought about his new haircut, it was like being doused with cold water. 

I was so deep in lust that I preferred to live in denial that she even existed, I suppose. 

Of course, I knew she existed. 

Wracked with guilt after he'd leave my flat, I'd scroll through every post she shared on Instagram, torturing myself with images of her sitting on his knee in front of their lopsided Christmas tree, or a story of the two of them with their dog at the farmer's markets. 

I knew her face so well, that I used to see it when I closed my eyes. I'd try to demonise her, but I couldn't muster the animosity. I was guilt-ridden, and also in love. It was intoxicating, and also just plain toxic, but I couldn't stop it. 

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And then one innocuous Tuesday night, that face I'd spent so much time obsessing over appeared in my message requests. 

My stomach fell through the floor before I even opened it. There was only one possible reason his wife would be messaging me. 

"I know everything. Please leave us alone. I'm pregnant, after a year of IVF. Please delete his number."

I know it sounds dramatic, but I thought I was going to throw up then and there. I hurled myself into the bathroom, and it was a full 10 minutes before I stopped shaking. 

I called in sick the following day for work. When I turned up on Thursday, Carl wasn't there. I didn't dare text or call. 

He didn't come to work for a full week, and when he finally did, he didn't make eye contact with me. That afternoon we got an all-staff email announcing his resignation. It said he'd be taking two weeks of personal leave to support his wife through a "rough but exciting first trimester of pregnancy."

I soon realised he'd blocked me on every social media platform. I assume he also blocked my number, but I didn't dare try. 

It's been over a year, and we have never spoken since. 

And whatever you think about me — I promise you, I've thought it about myself too. 

I felt sick when I saw the viral footage from the Coldplay concert — not because they'd found out, but because now I'm removed from the situation, I pictured it from the wife's perspective. I wonder about her still — she would have her baby now. 

I wonder how much of the joy I stole from her first months as a mother by doing what I did. 

I wonder if he managed to make her trust him again.

And, more often than not, I also wonder if I'll ever trust myself again. 

*Names have been changed to protect privacy.

Feature Image: Getty (Stock photo for illustrative purposes only)