“I’m really sorry,” Bruce Springsteen said softly, the words hanging heavy in the quiet room.

After decades of silence, the rock legend finally opened up about the affair that destroyed his marriage and nearly tore his world apart.

For years, fans saw him as The Boss — strong, loyal, larger than life.

But behind the stage lights and roaring crowds, there was a man haunted by regret and guilt.

In a rare and emotional interview, Springsteen revealed the truth he had buried deep inside, a truth that cost him not only love but also the peace he once found in music.

“It started when I was lost,” he began. “I was touring nonstop, living in hotels, surrounded by noise but feeling completely alone.”

At the height of his fame, Springsteen was admired by millions.

Every song he wrote seemed to connect with people’s hearts, yet he confessed that he couldn’t find that same connection in his own life.

“I was running away from something,” he said. “I didn’t even know what at the time — maybe myself.”

That was when he met someone new.

She wasn’t a celebrity, just someone who listened, someone who made him feel seen again.

At first, it was friendship, he said.

Then came the long phone calls, the secret letters, the moments that blurred the line between comfort and temptation.

“I told myself it didn’t mean anything,” he admitted. “But deep down, I knew I was crossing a line I could never uncross.”

As the affair grew, the weight of his double life began to crush him.

He would go on stage and sing about loyalty, about love, about redemption, while inside he was living a lie.

“I’d look out at the audience and feel like a fraud,” Springsteen said. “They saw strength, but I was falling apart.”

His wife, who had stood by him through fame, pressure, and personal struggles, began to sense something was wrong.

“She knew before I ever told her,” he whispered. “There’s a certain silence that creeps in when trust is dying.”

When the truth finally came out, everything collapsed.

The house that once felt like home turned cold.

He remembered packing a suitcase in the middle of the night, leaving behind not just a marriage but a life he no longer recognized.

“She didn’t yell. She just looked at me,” he said. “That was worse than any words she could’ve spoken.”

For a time, Springsteen threw himself deeper into his music, thinking maybe he could sing away the guilt.

But no matter how loud the crowd cheered, he said he felt hollow.

“Music had always been my salvation,” he explained. “But this time, it couldn’t save me. Because the pain wasn’t in the songs — it was in me.”

He described waking up one morning, looking in the mirror, and barely recognizing the man staring back.

“I had everything — success, respect, love — and I still managed to destroy it all,” he said. “That’s when I realized I couldn’t hide behind fame anymore.”

It took years for him to find the courage to face what he had done.

He reached out to his ex-wife, not to win her back, but to apologize — truly, deeply, without excuses.

“I told her, ‘I’m sorry for everything,’” he recalled. “And she said something that changed me. She said, ‘I hope one day you forgive yourself.’”

Springsteen paused then, eyes glistening, as if those words still echoed in his mind.

“I didn’t understand forgiveness back then,” he admitted. “I thought it meant forgetting. But forgiveness is remembering and choosing to live differently.”

Over time, he began rebuilding his life — piece by piece, note by note.

He poured his pain into his songs, writing not as The Boss, but as Bruce — the man behind the legend, the flawed human being trying to find redemption.

His music grew quieter, more reflective, tinged with the wisdom of someone who had walked through fire and come out scarred but still standing.

Today, when asked what he would say to the man he was back then, Springsteen didn’t hesitate.

“I’d tell him to stop running,” he said. “To listen. To love better. And to remember that no amount of applause can fill an empty heart.”

As the interview ended, there was a long silence — not awkward, but heavy with truth.

Bruce leaned back, took a deep breath, and smiled faintly.

“I’m not proud of what I did,” he said. “But maybe sharing it helps someone else avoid the same mistake. Maybe that’s how you turn pain into purpose.”

The confession was raw, unexpected, and heartbreakingly human.

For a man who had spent his life singing about redemption, it seemed he had finally found his own.

And in that quiet moment, Bruce Springsteen — the rock icon, the poet of working-class America — wasn’t a legend or a superstar.

He was simply a man saying sorry, still learning how to heal.