I realized the mistakes I made and longed to return to my ex-wife, with whom I spent 30 years, but it was too late…
My name is Michael Chapman, and I reside in Little Chalfont, a place where Buckinghamshire extends its monotonous days along quiet lanes. I’m 52, and I have nothing. No wife, no family, no children, no job—just emptiness, like a cold wind in an abandoned house. I destroyed everything I had and now stand amidst the ruins of my life, peering into the abyss I dug with my own hands.
Elena and I shared 30 years together. I was the breadwinner, working to support our family while she kept the home fires burning. I liked that she remained at home, free from the outside world. But over time, her care, her habits, her voice began to irritate me. Love faded, dissolved into routine. I thought it was normal, that it was how things were meant to be. I found comfort in this dull stability. Then fate threw a challenge at me, one I failed to meet.
One evening, I met Julia in a pub. She was 32, twenty years my junior—beautiful, vibrant, with a spark in her eyes. She seemed like a dream, a breath of fresh air in my stale life. We began seeing each other, and soon she became my lover. For two months, I led a double life until I realized I didn’t want to go back to Elena. I thought I had fallen in love with Julia and wanted her to be my new wife, my new future.
I gathered my courage and confessed to Elena. She didn’t shout or break objects—just looked at me with empty eyes and nodded. I assumed she didn’t care anymore, that her feelings had died long ago. Only now do I see how deeply I wounded her. We divorced. We sold our home where our sons grew up, a place filled with memories of our past. Julia insisted I leave Elena with nothing. I followed her advice, took my share, and bought Julia a spacious flat. Elena ended up with a tiny one-bedroom apartment, and I didn’t offer her any financial support. I knew she had no income, no job, but I didn’t care. Our sons, Ethan and Daniel, turned their backs on me, calling me a traitor and severing all ties. At the time, I brushed it off—I had Julia, a new life, and that seemed enough.
Julia became pregnant, and I awaited our child with anticipation. But when the boy was born, I noticed he didn’t resemble either of us. Friends whispered, and my brother warned me, but I dismissed their concerns. Life with Julia turned into chaos. I worked myself to exhaustion supporting the household, yet she constantly demanded money, vanished at night, returning drunk. The house was a mess, there was no food, and arguments erupted over trivial matters. I lost my job—fatigue and anger took their toll. For three years, I lived in this nightmare until my brother pushed me to do a DNA test. The result hit me like a hammer: the child wasn’t mine.
I divorced Julia the day I learned the truth. She vanished, taking everything she could. I was left alone—no wife, no sons, no strength. Then, I decided to reach out to Elena. I bought flowers, wine, a cake, and went to her like a beaten dog. But another man occupied her flat—her new partner gave me her new address. I went there, fueled by hope. A man answered the door. Elena had found a job, remarried a colleague, and looked happier than I had ever seen her. She had rebuilt her life without me.
Later, I saw her in a cafe. I fell to my knees, begging her to return. She looked at me as one would at a pitiful fool and left without a word. Now I see the fool I was. Why did I abandon the wife I spent 30 years with? Why trade my family for a young woman who drained me dry and left? For an illusion, mistaking it for love? I’m 52 and an empty shell. My sons don’t answer my calls, and work slipped away like sand through fingers. I lost everything I held dear, and it’s all my fault.
Every night, I dream of Elena—her calm eyes, her voice, her warmth. I wake in cold solitude and realize: I drove her away. She won’t wait for me or forgive me, and I don’t deserve forgiveness. My mistake brands my soul with a searing mark. I wish I could turn back time, but it’s too late. Far too late. Now I wander the streets of Little Chalfont like a ghost, searching for what I destroyed myself. I have nothing—only regret, which will follow me to my dying days. I destroyed my family, my life, and I carry this burden alone, knowing nothing can be made right.
