She left us, me and our daughters, for a wealthy man… And then I ran into her at the supermarket.
Sometimes life cuts through the heart as if with a sharp knife. It hurts. It’s burning. And you just don’t understand — why? What was my mistake? What did I do to deserve this?
I spent ten years with Olivia. We met as students in Newcastle, then moved to London together, where our adult lives began. Two daughters were born — Sophie and Mia. Just a year apart. I worked at a construction company, and my income was steady. We didn’t live lavishly, but we managed: took family vacations twice a year, rented a spacious flat, could afford childcare and even small joys — like new dresses or toys.
Olivia worked from home, dabbled in writing, ran a couple of online stores. I never hesitated to help: dishes, walks with the girls, crafts together, assisting with educational games.
I believed everything was fine with us. But one day, she simply said:
— I’m leaving.
I didn’t understand at first. Thought she meant a trip, a work assignment, a temporary departure. But then she said:
— I’ve found myself. I want more. Something different.
She didn’t just leave me. She left our daughters. Abandoned Mia and Sophie — five and four years old — with me. Without a hint of regret, no tears. A week later, her Instagram appeared: a diamond ring, yacht trips in the Mediterranean, champagne in luxury suites, designer dresses with a caption — “a new life begins here.”
I couldn’t fathom it. She chose this? The glamour, the luxury — and not a single call to her daughters?
The hardest part was seeing the girls ask every day:
— Dad, will Mum come back?
I didn’t know how to answer. How do you explain to a child that their mum didn’t just leave — she chose money over their little hands?
Two years passed. I coped. It was hard — very. Some nights brought despair, sometimes I took sick leave to care for the girls when they were ill. But we soldiered on. Sophie started school, Mia began pre-school. We became a team. I was their rock, and they were my reason to keep going.
And so, one ordinary weekday evening, I went to the local supermarket for milk and bread. Standing at the checkout — there she was. Olivia.
Gone was the dazzling woman from Instagram. Before me stood a worn-out woman in a shabby coat, with dull eyes and trembling hands. Her wallet contained only coins, her basket: bread, a pack of noodles, and the cheapest sausage.
Our eyes met. She turned pale, like she’d seen a ghost.
— It’s you… — she whispered.
I stayed silent. Because I didn’t know what was stronger in me at that moment: anger, hurt, or emptiness.
— How are the girls? — her voice trembled.
I clenched my fists.
— Wonderful. Because they have me.
She looked away. Her lips quivered.
— I… I’d like to see them.
— After two years? — I felt my blood boil. — Did you even once care about them? Send a card, at least?
She lowered her eyes.
— I made a mistake…
I chuckled bitterly:
— A mistake is forgetting an umbrella in the rain. You abandoned your children for a glamorous life. Did you really think yachts and dresses would replace your conscience?
— He left… — she whispered. — When he realized he didn’t need me anymore. I was left with nothing. No flat, no money. Not even rights to the kids, because I gave them up myself.
I looked at her hands — no ring on her finger now.
— And the girls? Were they just an inconvenience to you?
— No… — she cried. — I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. But please… let me see them.
I took a deep breath. Before me wasn’t the woman who left our home with her head held high. This was a broken person, an empty shadow of the one who once promised to love forever.
— They don’t remember you, Olivia. They stopped asking long ago when you’d return. They’ve learned to live without you.
— I don’t want anything… Just to look. Hear their voices…
I turned away. My heart ached. I didn’t know if I could ever forgive.
But I knew one thing: Sophie and Mia — they are my everything. And no one has the right to hurt them again.
— I’ll think about it, — I said and left.
And she remained — in the middle of the supermarket, among strangers, with tears in her eyes and emptiness in her soul.
I don’t know how this will end. Perhaps one day I’ll let her talk to the daughters. But I will never allow them to feel abandoned again.
