A Slippery Slope of Temptation

I met Sarah at a divorce support group. My marriage had been falling apart for months, and finally hitting that rock bottom was the hardest thing I've ever done. We sat next to each other one evening, both in our mid-thirties, trying to find some semblance of hope amidst the wreckage of love. We talked about everything from custody battles to alimony and beyond. She had a sharp wit and an infectious laugh that was like a breath of fresh air on a stormy day. Over time, we began talking more outside of group sessions, sharing personal stories and dreams for what might come next in life. As weeks turned into months, I found myself constantly thinking about her, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed or how she'd twirl a strand of hair around her finger while contemplating something important. It wasn't just platonic interest; there was this undeniable pull between us that neither could ignore. We started texting more often than we talked in person, catching up on each other's lives and offering support whenever needed. That summer, we planned to spend a weekend together at the beach house I had inherited from my grandparents. It wasn't romantic initially, just two friends looking for solace away from their painful realities. But things shifted. On the third night of our trip, after some wine and late-night conversations filled with laughter and shared vulnerability, there was an unspoken agreement that lingered in the air like an electric charge. The room felt charged with a tension neither of us could ignore anymore. We kissed, or rather, we leaned in for comfort, but it grew into something more than just a simple gesture of support. It's hard to pinpoint exactly when our platonic bond crossed over to this new territory, but once it did, there was no turning back. We shared what I can only describe as a profound and deeply intimate connection that night, one rooted in understanding each other’s pain rather than superficial attraction. In the days following, we tried not to let our actions define us or overshadow all the work we still needed to do on ourselves individually. Yet, despite everything, there was an undeniable chemistry between us that wouldn't go away so easily. Now, I'm left wondering if what we did, how it started and where it could have gone, was wrong. Was this just a moment of desperate relief from the heartache, or is there something more genuine here? Either way, my marriage is over, but now I find myself grappling with another complicated relationship that's challenging in its own right. What do you think, am I the asshole for allowing things to go further than platonic friendship between us, knowing full well we both were struggling emotionally?