I found out my wife abandoned her kids for a new marriage
I met Catherine at a company party shortly after I started working there. We worked in different departments, and I didn’t know much about her. She immediately caught my eye—tall, slender, with a gentle smile that was hard to ignore. We spent the entire evening together, dancing until we were exhausted, laughing, and chatting about everything under the sun. After the party, I called a cab and accompanied her to her home in a suburban area of Birmingham. The next morning, I was floating into work, eager to see her again.
On my way, I stopped by a florist’s, picked up a bouquet of roses and a box of her favorite chocolates. Catherine greeted me with a radiant smile, and from that day on, we were inseparable. We were both in our thirties, so we didn’t waste time on long courtships. I asked her to move in with me, and she agreed without hesitation. Living with her was a fairy tale: Catherine was a wonderful homemaker, cheerful and lively. No worries, no storm clouds on the horizon—just happiness and harmony.
I decided it was time to take the next step. I bought a ring with a small diamond, got down on one knee, and proposed to her. She said “yes,” and we dived into wedding preparations. But when it came to the guest list, something odd caught my attention: Catherine didn’t have many relatives. She explained that she only had distant relatives with whom she had lost contact long ago. I shrugged it off—everyone has their family stories.
The day before the wedding, she went to a beauty salon with her friends to prepare for the big day. She left her phone at home on the kitchen table. I picked it up, intending to take it to her, as I knew the salon’s address. But as I sat in the car, the phone rang. “Mum” appeared on the screen. I hesitated, but I answered in case it was urgent. A weary, trembling voice of an older woman accused, “Cathy has lost all shame! She dumped her kids on us, the old folks, stopped sending money, and now she’s vanished! They’re sick, there’s no medicine, how are we supposed to care for them?”
I introduced myself, feeling my hands turn cold. “What happened?” I asked, and the truth hit me like a cold wave. Catherine had two children whom she had left with her parents in a village near Birmingham, moving to the city for a “better life.” Initially, she sent money but then stopped. The old folks were struggling on a small pension, while the kids needed clothes, food, and medical care. I asked for an account number and transferred what I could—for medicine and groceries. Then, I turned the car around and headed home. The beauty salon was left behind, along with my illusions.
At home, I packed her belongings into suitcases—carefully, but with a heavy heart. When she came back—looking polished, with a new hairstyle and shiny manicure—I silently handed her the luggage. She was confused and started asking what happened. I threw her the phone without saying a word. Her eyes widened—she understood everything. She started to explain, to justify herself, but her voice seemed like noise in an empty space. I didn’t want to listen. After that call with her mother, she was dead to me as a woman, as a person.
You can deceive men, scheme, and wriggle—none of us are saints. But to abandon your children to elderly parents, forget them, not support them, and lie to me about having no family? It was beyond comprehension. She stood before me—beautiful, yet empty, like a burnt-out shell. At that moment, I saw her true self—and it was unbearable.
The wedding didn’t happen. I cut all ties with her, erasing her from my life like a bad dream. But questions remained. Do you think Catherine can be understood? Can a woman who betrays her loved ones be a faithful wife? Should I believe her words of love, her vows that things would be different with me? I look to the future and see nothing but the shadow of her lies. Perhaps I’m too harsh, but to me, a mother who abandons her children for a new life isn’t a woman, but a specter, one I never want by my side.
