He left everything to his ex-wife when they divorced—even his own mum.
“He showed up at my place with just a backpack,” Anna’s voice trembled as she told her friend about her partner, sitting in their tiny rented flat in Manchester. “Everything he had, he left for his family. And every month, without fail, he pays child support. But me… I just don’t know how we’re supposed to keep going like this.”
Ten years ago, Anna—just 19 and a uni student at the time—fell hard for Alex. He was 34, married, with kids. The age gap didn’t stop them. Their passion burned everything else away: Alex walked out on his wife and children for Anna. They’re still together now, living in Manchester in a common-law marriage, but the weight of the past drags them down like an anchor.
When Alex left his family, his sons were just 6 and 9. Now they’re teenagers, but back then, they were little boys needing their dad. Walking away, Alex left his ex-wife, Marie, everything—the house, the car, the savings. But along with all that, she got stuck with his mother, Vera, who became more of a burden than a help.
Their family’s story started in Marie’s tiny one-bed flat, inherited from her nan. Once the kids came, space was tight. Then Vera, fresh into retirement, offered a solution—she had a small place in a nearby town. She sold it, and Marie and Alex found a buyer for her flat. Pooling the money, they bought a proper three-bed house where Vera lived as an equal—not just a guest.
At first, it worked. Vera helped with the kids, cooked, and Marie got back to work quickly. Money wasn’t an issue—they went on holidays, bought a nice car, furnished the place. Sure, they argued sometimes, but mostly, it was warm, happy. Vera was like a second mum to the boys and a rock for Marie.
Then Anna came along. Alex fell for her like a lovesick schoolboy and left without looking back. He walked away, leaving Marie the house—but also his mum. Vera had nowhere else to go. At first, they tried to keep things civil for the kids’ sake. But without Alex holding them together, it all fell apart.
The house, once full of warmth, turned into a tense, icy space. Marie, barely 40, raised two teenage boys alone. Vera, with her bad knees and tired eyes, stayed in one of the rooms. They barely spoke, dodging each other in the halls. The woman who’d once been like a mother to Marie was now just a painful reminder of betrayal.
Marie kept asking Alex to help sort the house—Vera begged him, too, desperate for her own place. But Alex, now juggling rent on his flat with Anna and child support, just shrugged. “I’m doing all I can,” he’d say. “The payments go out on time—what else do you want from me?”
Listening to him, Anna felt a stab of guilt. She knew his family was in this mess because of her, but there was nothing she could do. It hurt seeing him torn between his kids and their new life.
Back in that Manchester house, the silent war dragged on. Marie, stretched thin between work and raising the boys, looked at Vera and saw nothing but the wreckage of her marriage. Vera, lonely and unwell, felt like a burden but had nowhere to go. The boys, caught in the middle, grew quieter, shutting themselves away.
They lived under the same roof, but each was alone. The close-knit family that once laughed over tea and baked pies was just a ghost now. Marie dreamed of freedom, Vera of peace, and Alex—who’d chased love—had left nothing but ruin behind. None of them knew how to get back what they’d lost.
