I realized the mistake I’d made and wanted to go back to my ex-wife after 30 years, but it was too late…
My name is Michael Collins, and I live in a small town in the heart of England. I’m 52, and I have nothing—not a wife, not a family, no job—just emptiness, like the chill wind sweeping through an abandoned house. I ruined everything I had, and now I stand among the ruins of my life, staring into the abyss I dug with my own hands.
I spent 30 years with my wife, Helen. I was the breadwinner, working constantly to support the family while she tended to our home. I liked that she was there, that I didn’t have to share her with the outside world. But over time, her caring nature, her habits, her voice began to irritate me. Love faded, dissolved into the mundane. I thought it was normal, that it was how things should be. I was comfortable in this dull routine. Then fate threw a test my way, one I failed miserably.
One evening at a pub, I met Julia. She was 32, 20 years younger than me—beautiful, vibrant, with a spark in her eyes. She seemed to be the embodiment of a dream, a breath of fresh air in my stagnant life. We started seeing each other, and soon she became my mistress. For two months, I led a double life until I realized I didn’t want to go back home to Helen. I thought I loved Julia—so it seemed to me. I wanted her to be my wife, my new future.
Summoning my courage, I confessed to Helen. She neither yelled nor broke dishes—just looked at me with empty eyes and nodded. I assumed she didn’t care anymore, that her feelings had long died. Only now do I see how deeply I wounded her. We divorced. We sold the house where our sons grew up, where every corner held memories of the past. Julia insisted I leave Helen with nothing. I complied, took my share, and bought Julia a spacious flat. Helen took a tiny apartment, and I didn’t even help her financially. I knew she had nothing to live on, no job, but I didn’t care. My sons, Tom and David, turned away from me—calling me a traitor and cutting off all ties. At the time, I dismissed them: I had Julia, a new life, and that was enough.
Julia became pregnant, and I awaited our child with anticipation. But when my son was born, I noticed he resembled neither of us. Friends whispered, my brother warned me, but I ignored them. Life with Julia became a nightmare. I worked tirelessly, supported the house and child, while she demanded money, stayed out late, and came home drunk. The house was a mess, there was no food, and we argued over trivial things. I lost my job, worn down by exhaustion and rage. For three years, I lived in this hell until my brother convinced me to take a DNA test. The result hit like a hammer: the child wasn’t mine.
I divorced Julia the day I learned the truth. She disappeared, taking everything she could. I was left alone—no wife, no sons, no strength. I decided to go back to Helen. I bought flowers, wine, a cake, and went to her like a beaten dog. But another man answered the door—he gave me her new address. I went there, shaking with hope. It was opened by a man. Helen had found a job, married a colleague, and looked more alive and happy than I had ever seen her. She had built a new life without me.
Later, I saw her at a café. I fell to my knees, begging her to take me back. She looked at me like I was a pathetic fool and left without a word. Now I see what a fool I have been. Why did I leave my wife of 30 years? What did I trade my family for—some young woman who drained me dry and left me? For the illusion of love I blindly believed in? I’m 52, and I’m a hollow shell. My sons don’t answer my calls, and work has slipped through my fingers like sand. I lost everything dear to me, and it’s all my fault.
Every night I dream of Helen—her calm eyes, her voice, her warmth. I wake up alone and cold, realizing I pushed her out of my life. She’s not waiting for me, and she’ll never forgive me. My mistake is a brand on my soul. I wish I could turn back time, but it’s too late. Far too late. Now I wander the streets like a ghost, searching for what I destroyed myself. I have nothing left—only regret that will stay with me till the end of my days. I destroyed my family, my life, and I bear this burden alone, knowing nothing can be fixed.
