Location tracking ruined my 10-year relationship

Yahoo

a day ago

My girlfriend, Anna*, and I had been together for almost a decade. We'd met online and she was my first proper, grown-up girlfriend. She'd crossed the Atlantic to come and live with me in Birmingham, we adopted a cat together, I was under the assumption we'd spend the rest of our lives together. We were – as far as I was concerned – happy.
Nine years into our relationship, Anna started a new job in London. Obviously, in a new job you meet new people, and she's always been outgoing, friendly and chatty. Throughout our time together, I'd been used to hearing about her latest office dramas and the characters she interacted with at work.
But in this new job, there was one particular character that came up a lot. Let's call him Jack. She'd tell me about the fun they'd had at the latest work do, recalling things he'd said that had made her laugh. In the run-up to Christmas, she spoke to me about her gift for Jack. She seemed especially keen to get it right – telling me about how she had planned to get him some merchandise from his favourite band. Clearly, she cared.
I'm not sure why she told me so much. Maybe this was her way of soft-launching her emotional affair. Maybe her transparency was just a means to alleviate her guilt. Regardless of her intentions, I didn't think much of it. It's nice to be in a relationship with someone who's so thoughtful and generous, right? Even when you're not directly the benefactor of such seasonal goodwill.
Looking back, there were signs of the betrayal to come. Big, billboard-sized signs. When I went to her office Christmas party as a plus-one, Jack was there. It was good to put a face to the name. After a few drinks, he got a bit touchy with her – arm around her waist, pulling her in to talk.
I didn't – and still don't – consider myself a jealous person. Besides, I trusted Anna. Why would I revoke my trust over some band merch and light petting?
Then, one day, she told me she was going away for a few days to stay with a friend in Gloucester, and asked whether she could take my car. Five minutes after she took off, my phone pinged: 'Anna is no longer sharing their location.'
We'd always shared our location via Find My Friends (the iPhone app) but until now, I'd never really paid it much attention. I always trusted that she was where she said she was. I contemplated texting her, in case she'd inadvertently stopped sharing her location – like there was a glitch or a bug or something – but I didn't want to be that guy, obsessively checking her Instagram story to ensure she was wherever she'd told me.
I'd heard about couples whose relationships had fallen apart as a direct result of apps such as Find My Friends, with partners becoming addicted to compulsively tracking their partner's every movement. I didn't want to fall into that trap. But Anna clearly didn't realise that other people get notified when you turn off a location tracker.
A week after she'd been to 'Gloucester', I received a £100 driving fine through the post, supported by photographic evidence. This wasn't a glitch or a bug in the system; the image was undoubtedly my car. But I hadn't been to London recently. And whenever I do, I get the train. I started to connect the dots. The big, billboard-sized signs finally came into focus.
When she got home, I casually mentioned that I'd been fined for driving down a bus lane in central London. She immediately knew what I knew. (Note to readers: if you're planning a trip to the city for an extramarital jolly with a side of driving violations, maybe don't take your partner's car.)
A few hours later, she sheepishly sat me down and said, 'I might as well tell you now.' She admitted she'd gone to see Jack and that they had booked a hotel room together. While she claimed they only kissed, I'm pretty sure a kiss doesn't warrant a hotel room.
I didn't push for details; the boundary had already been crossed. Sometimes, you don't need to know all the gory details. The worst part was how calm she was when telling me – there were no signs of heartache. She'd clearly checked out long before she'd driven my car down a bus lane in central London. At this point, I brought up the second clue she'd left: the location-sharing notification. She admitted she hadn't realised it would notify me, that I'd be tipped off by Find My Friends about her lack of whereabouts.
I was devastated, and yet she showed little to no emotion.
Post-confession, she stuck around for a couple of weeks while we figured out the next steps. I thought we had something worth salvaging, but one Sunday morning, it became apparent that my sentiment wasn't shared. In bed, we lay next to one another, in loaded silence. 'It's not going to work,' she said. And that was that.
There is a silver lining: I've learnt and grown a lot since then. I did a lot of reflecting afterwards and I blamed myself for a lot of what had happened, for becoming complacent and perhaps taking her and the relationship for granted. I didn't date anyone for two years afterwards; I wanted to make sure I could be my best self in any future relationships. I learnt, regardless of how secure you feel in your relationship, to treat your partner with the same energy you felt when you first met.
I also learnt that location sharing won't necessarily ruin your relationship, but it might just tip you off when something is wrong.
Oh, and she paid the £100 fine – she's not a monster. And I got to keep the cat.
*Name has been changed
As told to Alice Garnett
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