She left, abandoning me and our daughters for a wealthy man… And then I met her at the supermarket.
Sometimes life cuts into your heart as if with a knife. It hurts. It’s intense. And you’re left wondering—why? What did I do to deserve this?
I spent ten years with Laura. We met when we were students in Birmingham, then moved to London where we began our adult lives. Our two daughters, Sophie and Amelia, were born there, just a year apart. I worked for a construction company; my earnings were steady. We didn’t live extravagantly, but we managed comfortably: we took family holidays a couple of times a year, rented a spacious flat, could afford childcare, and even the occasional treat like a new dress or toys.
Laura stayed home, working remotely on writing projects and managing a few online shops. I always helped out: did the dishes, took the girls out, made crafts with them, and helped with their educational games.
I thought we were doing well. But one day, she just said:
— I’m leaving.
I didn’t immediately grasp what she meant. I thought she was going on a trip, a business journey, or a short absence. But then she added:
— I’ve found myself. I want something different. More.
She didn’t just leave me. She left her daughters, Sophie and Amelia—five and four years old—without a second thought, without tears. A week later, I saw her Instagram: a diamond ring, a yacht trip in the Mediterranean, champagne in a luxury suite, designer dresses, and a caption reading, “a new life begins here.”
I struggled to comprehend. How could she choose this? Glamour and luxury—without a single call to her daughters?
The hardest part was seeing the girls ask day after day:
— Daddy, is Mum coming back?
And I didn’t know how to reply. How do you explain to a little one that their mum chose money over their small hands?
Two years passed. I managed. It was hard—very hard. Some nights I felt overwhelmed, at times I had to take sick leave to care for my ill daughters. But we made it through. Sophie started primary school, and Amelia was in preschool. We became a team. I was their rock, they were my reason to live.
Then one evening, just a regular weekday, I went to the local supermarket for milk and bread. Standing in line at the till, I froze. In front of me was her. Laura.
Gone was the dazzling woman from Instagram. Standing there was a worn-out woman in a shabby coat, with dull eyes and trembling hands. Her purse held only coins, and her basket contained bread, a pack of pasta, and the cheapest ham.
Our eyes met. She turned pale as if seeing a ghost.
— It’s you… — she whispered.
I said nothing. At that moment, I didn’t know what I felt more: anger, resentment, or emptiness.
— How are the girls? — her voice trembled.
I clenched my fists.
— Wonderful. Because they have me.
She looked away. Her lips began to quiver.
— I… I’d like to see them.
— After two years? — I felt my blood boil. — Did you ever ask how they are? Send a postcard, at least?
She lowered her gaze.
— I made a mistake…
I gave a bitter smile:
— A mistake is forgetting your umbrella in the rain. You abandoned your children for a flashy life. Did you really think yachts and dresses would replace your conscience?
— He left… — she murmured. — Once he realized I was no longer needed. I was left with nothing. No apartment, no money. Not even rights to my children, because I gave them up.
I looked at her hands—there was no ring on her finger anymore.
— And the girls? Were they just a temporary inconvenience for you?
— No… — she sobbed. — I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. But please… let me at least 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, a hollow shell of the one who once swore to love forever.
— They don’t remember you, Laura. They’ve stopped asking when you’re coming back long ago. They’ve learned to live without you.
— I don’t want anything… Just to look at them. To hear their voices…
I turned away, my heart aching. I didn’t know if I could ever forgive.
But I knew one thing: Sophie and Amelia were everything to me. And no one had the right to hurt them again.
— I’ll think about it, — I said, and walked away.
She stayed—there in the supermarket, among strangers, with tears in her eyes and emptiness in her soul.
I don’t know how this will all end. Maybe one day I’ll let her talk to the girls. But I will never let them feel abandoned again.
