There is no device by which to judge a man. Apart from the man himself and his own measures. Who cheated on who? Did she, indeed, cheat on you? Or are you merely internalizing her deeds? If so, then towards what end?
She has cheated. That is the fact. Hasn't she cheated on herself primarily? Whom did she promise first to keep the marriage? Herself or you? If she has cheated herself, primarily then she must answer her own self prior to answering you. And if she has already answered herself then she need not ever answer you.
Somehow, someway, you let yourself go. You let the root point leave you and you must now try to grasp it again. The point being that a marriage is, afterall, an illusion - it isn't reality. Reality still binds you entirely and absolutely only to yourself. You can never live for another being. You can only live for yourself. Fact being, there is in reality nothing such as selflessness. Crude though this maybe, it is ultimately the reason for something like marriage to exist in the first place. And if marriage exists for it then so does separation, as well as longing. You forgot that you were, despite being married, only living for your own-self. You provided to yourself ideals which seemed to be grand for you. Ideals, such as those of responsibility and provided your ownself a purpose based on those ideals. You accepted the responsibility and the purpose but you negated yourself out of the whole picture. You must realize yourself within that picture again. Who you are is not at all linked to why she cheated on you. She cheated only on herself and could not have possibly cheated on you. For she too exists only for herself. The responsibility which you accepted, she was never obliged to also accept. You had wanted that. Every crude law of society expected her to, but in reality there was nothing that could have ever compelled her to do so. Nothing, except her own damned self. And she has left you, for another. You saw his face too. We have both seen his face. You, and absolutely you are entitled to the hatred you feel towards her right now. You are absolutely entitled to that. Yet, you may not mistaken her involvement with another as a cheating on you. You are no where in that picture. Your hatred, hence is also nowhere in that picture. Your hatred is also yours alone, just as your love was.

In evidence is found the virtuous end of all worthy mysteries, for truth then has finally been revealed, but truth which is all together so illusive can be revealed only if it, itself, chooses to reveal itself and therein lies the point of faith. For had faith not played its role, the objective concept of truth would remain forever illusive and it is indeed faith which eventually reveals the truth as itself. In evidence what we discover is the casing of truth but a casing which is not merely superficial, rather a casing which is inherently disclosing the hidden truth. In so far as it is disclosing it is simultaneously not entirely revealing the truth for the truth is still shrouded within layers of scrutiny, even while it is being revealed. Howsoever the unraveling takes place, it only ends at the point of faith when based on all that the evidence reveals the final inference is made so that the truth can, in all of its entirety, be comprehended. Truth never casually lay itself as if when a book rests on a table. If truth is anything it is much more vibrant and to say, lively, than the resting object. The reality of the object, itself, that is the truth of the object, which is only entirely comprehended at the point of faith. For to say that faith is an introduction of an unnecessary category by which to judge evidence is to suggest that truth by itself reveals itself but we simply do not possess the means by which to fully grasp what it is revealing, that is to suggest that if faith is unnecessary then so is truth in its entirety. Yet none so forlorn lover only seeks half truths, when it is in the evidence that the true picture of his betraying beloved comes to the surface. And a lover can bank on that evidence for the lover is never far ashore from the beach of faith, indeed the lover is merely always showering under the waterfall of faith such that to his very brim he is filled with it. And if there is anything that drains him it is merely the acceptance of half truths or truths whose evidence he accepts prematurely. To be a forlorn lover or whether to find better ways to entertain one's identity is not the immediate concern, but it is only by studying such a lover can a thorough examination of truth be undertaken. If he breaths it is because he is in faith and if he cries it is because he is in faith, and if he leaves it is also in faith just as much as he reconciles. For a forlorn lover, faith is the domain in which he regenerates and expires himself. He expends his days in that domain and returns at night to its solitary confines, yet the next day he remains certain of its profitability. The forlorn lover is the purest seeker of truth, of absolute truth, and of evidence so certain that when he finds it he is the first to recognize its potency, whereas passerby notice the evidence but they don't possess the premonition that could've warned them of its potency that isn't too far from exploding any minute. The weeping of the forlorn lover is a symptom of him acting at the point of faith, of him hailing its virtues, of him coming face to face with absolute truth.