I always thought if my marriage ended, it would be because of something obvious. An affair. A betrayal I could point to and say, there, that’s the moment everything cracked.

What I never imagined was sitting on my couch, kids finally asleep, staring at our joint bank statement and realising the man I had built my life with was paying strangers online to do God-knows-what for him.

At first, I thought it had to be a mistake, even hoped it was really some random subscription I had forgotten to cancel.

But there was no way around it, it was there in black and white. OnlyFans.

Except it didn’t say OnlyFans. It was Fenix. Or Fenix International. Or Fenix Internet. Or Fenix something. I don’t remember exactly, but the word seemed unfamiliar to me so I googled it, out of fear I’d been scammed.

OnlyFans’ parent company is Fenix International. My stomach turned.*

We have three kids. We are juggling groceries, mortgage repayments, school fees and the never-ending list that comes with family life. I have been pinching pennies, buying home-brand cereal, saying no to the good skincare because money is tight. And all the while, he was sneaking off to spend money on this.

I felt sick. Not just because of the money. It was the picture that hit me hardest. Him, in our house, maybe while I was folding washing or reading bedtime stories, watching other women and paying for the privilege.

‘That night I couldn’t sleep. My head and my heart were locked in a battle that made me feel like I was going mad’ (stock image posed by model)

When I confronted him, I expected at least some shame. Maybe an apology. Part of me thought he’d try to deny it. But instead, he waved me off. 

‘All men do it,’ he said, as if it were nothing. 

I stood there stunned. His words landed heavy, like a punch I had not braced for. If it was so normal, why did it feel like my whole world had just shifted?

That night, I could not sleep. My head and my heart were locked in a battle that made me feel like I was going mad. Technically, he had not ‘cheated.’ There was no woman in his bed, no lipstick on his collar. But why did it feel exactly the same?

When I was in Year 9, my boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend. I remember the hollow thud in my chest when I found out, the way it broke something in me I didn’t know could break.

Lying awake beside my husband that night, I realised this felt exactly the same. The same sting of betrayal. The same humiliation.

It made me question everything. In a world where cheating is no longer confined to a physical act, where phones and screens blur the lines, what actually counts as infidelity?

Was I being dramatic? Was I losing my grip?

When I confronted him for a second time, he said four words that hit me like a slap, ‘All men do it’ (stock image posed by models)

Over the next few days, I tested the waters with friends. I did not go into too much detail, but I told them what I found and asked them what they thought about men subscribing to sites like OnlyFans. Their reactions were split straight down the middle. 

One shrugged and said it was basically the modern version of porn. Not worth blowing up a marriage over. Another told me the real betrayal wasn’t the content but the secrecy. ‘If he wanted that, why didn’t he talk to you about it first?’ she asked. 

That one stung. Because she was right. If this was so normal, why hide it? Why make me feel like a fool combing through our bank account to stumble across the truth?

Another friend admitted she would feel just as crushed, while another insisted she would not care at all. Listening to them only added to the storm inside my head. I started to wonder if maybe I should have been cooler about it. Was I making too much out of something harmless? Should I have laughed it off instead of letting it eat me alive?

By the end of the week, I was exhausted. The whole thing consumed me. I would find myself zoning out while packing school lunches or sitting in the car waiting for footy training to finish, replaying his words. ‘All men do it.’

Maybe I was broken for not being able to move on. But every time I tried to brush it aside, my gut screamed at me. This was more than just ‘every guy does it.’

So I confronted him again.

This time, I told him I could not let it go. That it was not just about the money or the secrecy, but about how it made me feel. Less than. Invisible.

And that is when he said it. Annoyed at my pestering, he snapped: ‘You are not adventurous enough.’

Four words that landed like a slap.

He did not stop there. He told me I never wanted sex anymore. That when we did, it was quick and boring. That he could live with our ‘vanilla sex life’ if he had a way to get some excitement online.

I do not think I have ever felt so gutted.

Because suddenly it was not about his choices. It was about me. My body. My libido. My worth as a woman. I stood there listening to the man I had loved for years compare me to strangers on a screen and decide I came up short.

The days that followed were filled with silence that felt louder than any argument. We went through the motions of family life, dinners and homework and bedtime routines, but underneath it all there was a rawness I could not shake. Every time he brushed past me in the kitchen or sat beside me on the couch, I felt the words hanging between us. Not adventurous enough.

I have carried three children. I have held our family together through sleepless nights, postpartum exhaustion, school runs, tantrums and the constant mental load of keeping everything afloat. I have given everything I have to this marriage and to our family. And now, after all of that, I was being told I was not enough.

I began to doubt myself in ways I never had before. I found myself standing in front of the mirror longer, pulling at the soft skin around my stomach, noticing every line and mark that motherhood had left behind. I started to question whether he was right. 

Had I stopped trying? Had I let myself fade into the background of my own marriage?

But it was not just about sex. It was about being valued. About being seen. The man who once told me I was the most beautiful woman he had ever met was now telling me I was boring. That I was something he had to put up with.

For days, I could not look at him without feeling my stomach twist. I could not even look at myself without hearing his words echoing in my head.

We have since started counselling. Some days I feel like there is hope, tiny steps forward. Other days, I wonder if what is broken can ever be repaired. How was I supposed to be intimate with him again?

He has moments where he admits the damage, moments where he looks at me with something like regret. But then there are times where he seems to think I should be the one to just ‘get over it.’

The truth is, I do not know what our future looks like. I want to believe in repair. I want to believe people can change. But what I have learned is this. Betrayal does not always come in the form you expect.

Because what really gutted me was not the subscriptions, not even the secrecy. It was being told that who I am, the woman who has given everything to this marriage and this family, was just not adventurous enough to keep his interest.

And no matter what happens from here, I doubt I will ever forget how that felt.

• Note: How OnlyFans appears on customers’ bank statements can vary. While some report seeing variations of ‘Fenix Internet LLC’ on their statements, many others are billed by ‘Onlyfans.Com London’ or similar company names.