How Does The Protagonist Justify Cheating In 'Hi I'M Married But I'M Sleeping With My Boss'?

The protagonist in 'Hi I'm Married but I'm Sleeping with My Boss' frames their infidelity as a desperate bid for emotional survival rather than mere lust. They paint their marriage as a hollow shell—devoid of intimacy, riddled with neglect—while the boss becomes a beacon of validation, rekindling a sense of worth they’d thought lost. The boss listens where their spouse dismisses, admires where their spouse ignores. It’s less about betrayal and more about filling a void they insist was carved by their partner’s indifference.

The justification spirals into self-victimization: 'If they’d just paid attention, I wouldn’t have strayed.' They weaponize their spouse’s flaws to absolve themselves, casting the affair as an inevitable reaction, not a choice. Yet lurking beneath is a raw truth—they crave the thrill of secrecy, the power of being desired by someone 'unattainable.' The narrative twists guilt into a twisted form of empowerment, blurring lines between victim and villain.

The character rationalizes cheating by reducing it to transactional logic. Their boss offers career advancement—promotions, networking, financial security—things their spouse can’t provide. They argue that the affair isn’t just emotional; it’s pragmatic, a calculated move to secure a better future. The marriage, they claim, is stable but stagnant, while the boss represents growth. They frame infidelity as a sacrifice for long-term stability, even if it burns their present to the ground. It’s cold, almost clinical, but eerily persuasive in its selfishness.

In the story, the protagonist’s affair is draped in the language of fate. They describe an electric, uncontrollable connection with the boss—something they believe transcends moral boundaries. 'It’s bigger than us,' they insist, as if destiny ordained their betrayal. Their marriage is painted as a mistake, the boss as a soulmate discovered too late. This romanticized delusion lets them rewrite infidelity as a tragic love story, where cheating isn’t a sin but a cosmic correction.

They justify it through contrast. The boss remembers their coffee order, laughs at their jokes, texts back immediately—tiny things their spouse stopped doing years ago. The affair isn’t about sex; it’s about feeling seen again. Each small neglect from their partner becomes a brick in the wall of justification, until cheating seems less like a betrayal and more like reclaiming what was stolen: their right to be cherished.