In life, everything comes back around… My husband filed for divorce and returned to his ex!
I thought I was a master of the game called love. But life taught me a harsh lesson: every action has consequences, and sooner or later, you have to pay the price.
I got married at 25—not too early, but not late either. The desire to avoid returning to my small hometown, where every move is scrutinized, pushed me to stay in London. Here, I could enjoy the anonymity I had long dreamed of.
My friend’s boyfriend…
I’m talking about Simon. Tall and brown-eyed, he was the boyfriend of my school friend, Claire. But that only fueled my excitement to win him over. Simon didn’t seem to mind flirting behind Claire’s back, either.
So, playfully, we started dating while he was still with Claire. I didn’t restrict myself from meeting others and made no secret of that. Simon knew he wasn’t the only one in my life, but he wasn’t single either, right?
One day, Simon saw me getting out of another man’s car. Waiting for the car to leave, he approached me and said we needed to talk. He stated that he didn’t want to share me with others, that he couldn’t see himself with anyone else but me. He suggested breaking up with Claire and starting a life with me. The idea appealed to me, especially since it solved the housing issue and allowed me to get back at the haughty Claire.
We moved in together, but within weeks, I got bored; I craved variety and excitement. I realized this when I unexpectedly ran into Jake—one of my former flings, with whom I had a lot of fun. We went for a coffee, relaxed, and ended up at his place. It was fun and refreshing. Two weeks later, it happened again, and we started meeting for fun, without any obligations.
Gradually, I resumed my former lifestyle, seeing different men. In the end, I left Simon, leaving a note: “I don’t want to live together anymore.” Simple and without explanations.
An unexpected turn…
A month later, I found out I was pregnant. Scared, I returned to Simon. When he learned about the pregnancy, he proposed. I agreed, not feeling madly in love, but thinking it was the right and easiest solution. Besides, it meant I could avoid returning to a dull small town.
A year after our son was born, I was pregnant again—another boy. Looking after two small children and running the household took all my time. Simon worked a lot, was ambitious, and often stayed late. Perhaps he simply wasn’t in a hurry to come home to a grumpy wife and noisy kids. I wasn’t good company: tired, irritable, without a moment to spare. I waited for Simon to return just to start complaining.
But… I had to face the music.
You may wonder who the father of my eldest son is. Simon or one of my exes? To me, it seemed unimportant. Maybe it was Simon, maybe not. I would tell myself, “Everyone makes mistakes, I was young, it wasn’t intentional…”
To this day, I don’t know who my eldest son’s father is, and I doubt I ever will. Everyone believes it’s Simon—he does, our son does, and so do our close ones.
But does it matter if Simon stopped caring about the kids anyway? Not because he doubted if they were his. One evening, when the kids were 4 and 2, I came home to find a note: “I’ve filed for divorce. Things aren’t working between us.”
We got divorced. Now, I’m raising the kids on my own. Simon pays child support, which barely covers the expenses. At least he left us the flat—to live in it until the kids are grown up.
As for Simon, he married… Claire. And now they’re expecting their first child.
