I wanted to go back to my ex-wife—we’d been together for 30 years—but it was already too late.
In a small town near York, where old houses hold memories of the past, my life at 54 had become an emptiness of my own making. My name is James, and I’d lost everything: my wife, my family, my job. After three decades of marriage to my wife, Margaret, I left her for a younger mistress, convinced I’d found happiness. Now I was alone—no family, no purpose—realising I’d made an irreversible mistake.
### The Family That Was My Home
I met Margaret when we were just past twenty. We married, had two sons, and I was proud to provide for them. I worked as a lorry driver, bringing home money while Margaret kept the house and raised the boys. I liked the steadiness of it—her at home, everything calm. But over time, the love faded. I told myself that was normal—we still respected each other, lived peacefully, and I was content. Until Victoria came along.
Three years ago, in a pub, I met Victoria—she was 34, I was 51. She was beautiful, lively, full of energy. With her, I felt young again. We started seeing each other, and soon, she became my mistress. I fell for her like a schoolboy, dreaming of a new life. After two months, I didn’t want to go back home to Margaret. I didn’t want to lie anymore. I convinced myself Victoria was my destiny and told Margaret everything.
### The Divorce That Shattered Everything
Margaret listened quietly—no tears, no shouting. I thought maybe she’d fallen out of love too, and that made the divorce easier. Now I see how deeply I hurt her. We sold our house, the one where we’d lived for decades. Victoria insisted I shouldn’t leave it to Margaret, and I agreed. Margaret bought a small flat, and I never offered help—no money, no support—even though I knew she struggled without a job. Back then, I didn’t care. I was blinded by Victoria.
We bought a two-bed flat with my savings. When my sons found out about the divorce, they refused to speak to me, calling me a traitor to their mother. But I shrugged it off—Victoria was pregnant, and I was thrilled about our son. I thought I was starting a better life.
### The Betrayal That Opened My Eyes
Our son was born, but life with Victoria was hell. I worked, cleaned, cooked, looked after the baby, while she demanded money and disappeared at night. She’d come home drunk, screaming, starting fights. The house was a mess, no food, no peace. I lost my job—I kept falling asleep on shifts, grew irritable, couldn’t keep up. Friends whispered that the boy didn’t look like me, but I ignored them.
Three years I lived like that. My brother, who’d never liked Victoria, pressured me into a DNA test. The result shattered me: the boy wasn’t mine. I filed for divorce, and Victoria left without a word of regret. I was alone—no job, an empty flat, a broken heart. That’s when I decided to go back to Margaret, the woman who’d been my home for 30 years.
### Too Late
I bought flowers, wine, a cake, and drove to Margaret’s flat—but she’d sold it. The new owner gave me her address, and I went there, hoping to make things right. A man answered—her new husband, a colleague from work. Margaret had found a good job, remarried, and was happy. Later, I saw her in a café and begged her to come back. She looked at me with pure contempt, turned, and walked away. I knew then I’d lost her for good.
Now I’m 54, with nothing. My sons won’t speak to me, I’ve no job, my savings are gone. I rent a room, scraping by on odd jobs. Every day I wonder: Why did I leave? How could I think a younger woman would replace the family I’d built for 30 years? My stupidity destroyed everything, and that’s a weight I carry every day.
### What Now?
I don’t know how to move forward. Try to reconnect with my sons? But they won’t forgive me for betraying their mother. Look for work? At my age, it’s near impossible. Beg Margaret’s forgiveness? She’s happy without me, and I’ve no right to interfere. Or just accept it and live with the pain? My old mates say, *”James, you did this to yourself—start over.”* But how do you start over when everything that mattered is gone?
At 54, I wish I could turn back time, but I can’t. I want my sons to forgive me. I want Margaret to look at me without hatred. I want to make things right. But I know some mistakes can’t be undone.
### A Plea for Forgiveness
This story is my plea for a forgiveness I may never get. Maybe Margaret was right to move on without me. Maybe my sons were right to cut me off. I want my life to mean something again—to look in the mirror without shame, to not be defined by my mistakes. At 54, I deserve a chance to start again, even if it’s lonely.
I’m James, and I lost everything because of my own foolishness. Let this pain be my lesson—but I won’t give up until I find a way to live with myself.
