She left me and our daughters for a wealthy man… Then I encountered her at the supermarket.
Sometimes life cuts into your heart as if with the edge of a knife. It’s painful. Scalding. And you don’t understand—why? For what reason? What did you do to deserve it?
I spent ten years with Olivia. We met as students in Cambridge and then moved to London, where our adult lives truly began. Our two daughters were born—Sophie and Millie. Only a year apart. I worked steadily for a construction firm; we weren’t living in luxury, but we managed: took family holidays a couple of times a year, rented a spacious flat, could afford childcare, and even small pleasures—like new dresses or toys.
Olivia stayed at home, working remotely—writing texts and running a couple of online shops. I never shirked from helping: I washed the dishes, walked the girls, made crafts with them, and helped with educational games.
I thought we were doing well. But one day she simply said:
— I’m leaving.
At first, I didn’t grasp what she meant. I thought it was about a holiday, a business trip, a temporary leave. But then she said:
— I’ve found myself. I want something different, more.
She didn’t just leave me. She left the daughters too. She left Millie and Sophie—five and four years old—with me. Without a trace of regret, without tears. A week later, I saw her Instagram account: a diamond ring, a yacht trip around the Mediterranean, champagne in a luxury hotel, designer dresses, and the caption—“a new life begins here.”
I couldn’t comprehend how it happened. She chose that? The glitz, the glamour—and not a single call to her daughters?
The hardest part was watching the girls ask day after day:
— Dad, is mum coming back?
And I didn’t know how to respond. How to explain to a little one that mum didn’t just leave—she chose wealth over their tiny hands?
Two years passed. I was managing. It was difficult—extremely so. Sometimes, at night, it felt like giving up; sometimes I had to take sick leave because I was caring for the girls when they fell ill. But we made it through. Sophie started the first grade, Millie went to nursery. We became a team. I was their support; they were my reason to live.
And then, one ordinary evening, I went to the local supermarket for milk and bread. I was standing in line—and froze. In front of me, there she was. Olivia.
The dazzling woman from Instagram was gone. In front of me stood a worn-down woman in a shabby coat, with a dull gaze and trembling hands. In her purse, she had a few coins; in her basket, there was bread, a pack of noodles, and the cheapest sausage.
Our eyes met. She turned pale as if seeing a ghost.
— It’s you… — she whispered.
I remained silent. Because at that moment, I didn’t know what I felt more: anger, resentment, or emptiness.
— How are the girls? — her voice shook.
I clenched my fists.
— Fantastic. Because they have me.
She looked away. Her lips trembled.
— I… I would like to see them.
— After two years? — I felt my blood boil. — Did you ever wonder how they were? Even sent a postcard?
She dropped her gaze.
— I made a mistake…
I let out a bitter laugh:
— A mistake is forgetting an umbrella in the rain. But you—left your children for a glamorous life. Did you really think yachts and dresses would replace your conscience?
— He left… — she whispered. — When he realized I was no longer of use. I have nothing now. No flat, no money. Even no rights to the child because I gave them up myself.
I looked at her hands—the ring on her finger was gone.
— And the girls? Were they just a temporary inconvenience for you?
— No… — she cried. — I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. But please… let me at least see them.
I took a deep breath. In front of me wasn’t the woman who left our home with her head held high. This was a broken person, a hollow shadow of the one who once promised to love forever.
— They don’t remember you, Olivia. They stopped asking a long time ago when you’d return. They learned to live without you.
— I don’t want anything… Just to look. To hear their voices…
I turned away. My heart ached. I didn’t know if I could ever forgive.
But I did know one thing: Sophie and Millie are my everything. And no one has the right to hurt them again.
— I’ll think about it, — I said and walked away.
And she was left—standing in the middle of the supermarket, amongst strangers, with tears in her eyes and emptiness in her soul.
I don’t know how this will end. Maybe one day I’ll let her talk to the girls. But I’ll never let them feel abandoned again.
