Newton once said that every action has a reaction. Sometimes the reaction recoil is swift and overcompensating, sometimes it takes time to engage. Often it involves an essentially Mediterranean flair — hands will be thrown up in disbelief, as she who was scorned grabs the nearest object d'art, while he screams, 'Il vaso, no' and she hurls the item towards his cheating face. The scene from that old Panache perfume ad on the telly, yes.

I believed, having Mediterranean roots that tend to rear their ugly heads once in a while, and because Frenchman is just as flamboyant as I am, (if not more), that the 'you-cheated-on-me-you-philandering-infidel' conversation would be of a similar nature.

But it wasn't. And for this I am rather chuffed with myself. The humiliation of the cheating itself (not to mention the fact that I'd need to grill him on whether he used a condom), means the least I could do for myself was keep that last millionth piece of dignity he'd been so kind to leave me with intact.

Taking the blame

Fellow cheatees I have spoken to over the last weeks — men and women — have said that although they were cheated on, and although it should be their partners who are morally questionable, a cheatee always blames themselves.

And in reality, we shouldn't feel any humiliation at all. After all, I wasn't the one buying skimpy negligee for another woman and carelessly not bothering to cover my tracks. Like how he left the evidencing La Senza bill on his nightstand. I'm not the one who received 1 x Zesty Lace Thong (Black), was I? So why do we feel like we were completely responsible for their infidelities?

Perhaps it comes down to watching my parents' divorce unfold — also thanks to a mistress, naturally.

I could see things weren't right between them for ages, and while I blame my father for his dishonesty and blatant disregard for his marriage vows, it does take two to tango.

Perhaps my mother was denying him all sorts of pleasures… and I shudder to think, but there is always more than meets the eye. It's how he dealt with his marital problems, and cheating isn't the sociably acceptable answer. Even if you were, say, French.

Oblivious to the fact?

Here's the rub though: If the cheating comes as a complete surprise, and things seemed to be fantastic, what more can you do?

Perhaps you asked your partner whether he or she was in the 'same place as you' and they enthusiastically insisted they were. Perhaps you even wore a nurse's outfit to bed because you knew it was his favourite. Next thing, out of the blue, he's buying lacy garments for someone else.

I could defragment the cheating and the leading up to the cheating as much as my analytical mind could bear, but I won't.

All I can do now is be completely dignified. I won't throw china ornaments at him, or wail, clinging onto his ankles as he exits my door for the final time, 'But why? Please don't leeeeaaaave me…' Or even slash his tyres. The best revenge, they say, is to live well.

In that moment, you may want to do any of these things. Anger is a rash emotion, and you almost always regret it later when you view this person only with complete indifference months down the line.

I'm feeling raw, and don't fully comprehend the situation, but how I deal with my anger and sadness is within my control. I won't even send him an email reeking with rage, or phone him after too many cocktails at Gin.

Some may call this the high road; I believe it's just common sense. Because all this man deserves is my silence, and I deserve my dignity.