I would like to preface this post with an apology. I know it has been nearly three weeks since I last posted. To be honest, in no world did I ever imagine people would continue to show so much interest in my situation. I've been online long enough to know that a few weeks here is like an eternity in the real world. Not to make excuses, but since my life just fell into the gutter, rolled into a drainage grate, took a trip through the sewer system, and then got eaten by that random ass giant spider from the original It, I have legitimately not had the time or the heart to update you. For that, I am sorry.
For the people who are legitimately concerned about me, thank you. It is encouraging to know that thousands of people are thinking about me.
For the people who wanted to see my situation go about as bad as possible and play out like a Greek tragedy, I apologize that it is probably not nearly as interesting as you are hoping for.
Now to start where things left off.
After making my original post, I combed through all of the comments to find reasons as to why she might have torn up a Plan B box and thrown it into the garbage. A lot of them made sense. My greatest hope was that it might have just been old. Maybe it was before we even met. Clinging to that, I hand wrote a flow chart of all of the routes our conversation might take. I'm awful with confrontation and considered every possibility before bringing it up, what I would say in response, and what I would do. I memorized them all.
On the evening after I made my original post, I called her into the living room when she got home from the gym. As I had practiced, I asked her the following question:
Hey, I'm not accusing you of anything, but could you tell me why there was a torn up Plan B box in the garbage?
The second the words "Plan B" left my mouth, she immediately looked like she had been punched in the stomach. She was completely lost for words. I already knew at that point. I retained eye contact and repeated my question.
Why was there a torn up Plan B box in the garbage? You know I had a vasectomy.
She just mouth breathed, looking at me horrified. Then she looked to the floor. Then she started weakly sobbing.
This was not on the flowchart. I had no idea how to respond. I thought if I let her cry it out a bit she might give me a real answer, but she just kept sobbing. Finally I prompted her with another question:
Are you crying because you did something you regret?
She shook her head violently. I was so concerned because I thought something horrendous might have happened.
She abruptly shrieked "I'm crying because my fukking husband doesn't even trust me." I have literally never seen a person that angry, let alone my wife.
So I prompted her again.
Just tell me why it was there. You don't have to hide anything from me.
She yelled at me again. Repeatedly. "If you don't trust me, this marriage is hopeless." "fukk you for not trusting me."
This line of questioning repeated itself until she told me to get out of the house. I refused and said that until she was upfront with me about why the box was there, I wasn't budging an inch. She then informed me that either I had to leave or she would leave. Since I doubted she had anywhere to stay (her parents don't live anywhere near us), I agreed to go to let us cool down and have a rational conversation like adults later. I went to my best friend's house, the guy who was best man at my wedding, and we got drunk and talked about everything but her.
The following night, I texted her asking if she was ready to talk. She was not. Instead, she gave me an ultimatum: I had to [1] apologize, [2] promise to never bring it up again, and [3] learn to trust her completely. Only then would she allow me back home. If I couldn't do all three of the above, she was done with me.
I have not returned home and we have now been no contact for over two weeks. I am wearing out my welcome at my best friend's house, who has been nothing short of amazing. I currently have a consultation with a lawyer arranged this afternoon. The lawyer will probably tell me I'm an idiot for leaving the house, and she'll probably be right, but the idea of ever stepping foot in that house again makes me sick to my stomach.
There is legitimately nothing my wife could say to salvage this marriage. I am entirely numb to her, what she's doing, who she's with, or anything else even tangentially related to her. None of my family members know what happened and as far as they're concerned we're still the happy newlyweds. I'm holding off on saying anything until I'm calm and rational and won't do something I'll regret in the future.
tl;dr yes, she cheated, yes, the marriage is over, and yes, I feel awful about it.
"nikka HOW DARE YOU..." 
