Tears Are Useless: My Husband Betrayed Me with a Girl Young Enough to Be His Daughter
Hello to everyone reading this. I never thought I’d find myself in a situation where the pain would be so overwhelming that breathing becomes difficult. I just need to talk about it. Maybe someone among you will understand. Or perhaps my story might serve as a lesson for someone.
My name is Helen, and I’m 45 years old. I’ve spent almost a quarter of a century with my husband George—twenty-four years filled, I believed, with love, respect, and mutual support. We’ve been through a great deal together: the challenges of early married life, sleepless nights with the children, a mortgage, and our parents’ illnesses. We conquered it all together. I truly believed he was my rock, my destiny.
During all this time, George never gave me any reason to doubt him or myself. He wasn’t perfect, but I loved him just the way he was. I never checked his phone or asked unnecessary questions. I was sure our marriage was built on trust. How mistaken I was…
About a month ago, we planned a visit to George’s parents in the countryside for a couple of days, just to get away. Last minute, he backed out, claiming urgent work commitments. I didn’t press him. I packed up the kids, and off we went. But by Sunday, my daughter got bored and insisted on returning early. We set out in the morning. Little did I know, this decision would turn my world upside down.
When we entered the house, I didn’t initially grasp what was happening. The bedroom door was slightly open, with strange noises coming from inside. I pushed the door and… Oh, God. In our bed—the very one where our children were conceived, where we fell asleep holding hands—he wasn’t alone. Beside him was a girl. A real girl, about eighteen years old. I still don’t know how I didn’t faint. She jumped up, pulled on some clothes, and dashed out without uttering a word. George stood there stunned, not even trying to explain.
Our twenty-year-old son lunged at his father in anger. It took all we had to hold him back. Our daughter, a twenty-two-year-old college student, shouted that he was no longer her father. They pushed him out the door. Later, I learned he checked into some hotel. I… I just sat in the kitchen, unable to believe this was happening to me.
That very day, I filed for divorce. I couldn’t and wouldn’t share the same air with him, let alone a home. How could he bring another woman—a child!—into our home? Into our bed? I felt disgusted. Dirty. Betrayed. And not just me—the children too. He shattered our family in an instant.
Later I found out this girl was younger than our daughter. Can you imagine? George is forty-four. What happened to him? Midlife crisis? Loss of sanity? Or was it always there, and I was just blind to it?
I replay the last few years in my mind over and over. Wasn’t he happy? We traveled, spent weekends together, watched movies, cooked dinners for one another. He always said he loved me. And I believed him. Now I see: words mean nothing if a person can commit such betrayal.
Every night I fall asleep with a lump in my throat. Sometimes I start trembling when I recall that scene in the bedroom. Neither tears nor talks with the kids or friends help. This wound refuses to heal.
The kids have refused any contact with him. They’ve become my only support. But I can see—it’s painful for them too. They can’t understand how their father could do this, not just to me but to them as well. He robbed them of their family. And for what? A fleeting affair with a girl who might not even remember his name in a few months?
I don’t know how to go on. Everything that seemed solid has crumbled. I feel lost, drained. I never thought I’d be among those women whose husbands run off with someone younger. I always thought what we had was special. But, alas, in this life, as bitter as it sounds, nothing can be considered eternal.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and ask myself: where did I go wrong? Why did fate strike me in this way? I tried to be a good wife, mother, homemaker. I gave everything to my family, my home, him. And this is what I got in return.
I don’t know if I will ever forgive him. Most likely not. But I do know one thing: I will survive. For myself. For my children. To prove that, while it’s easy to break a woman, breaking her spirit is impossible. And tears really don’t help. But they do cleanse the soul. And someday I will learn to smile again.
Let this be the beginning of a new life. A life without lies, without betrayal. A life where I am the main character.
