He betrayed us, and now he wants to come back, but I don’t need that kind of happiness.
I met James at my first job in an office in Manchester. Fresh out of university, I was young, naive, and completely green. James took me under his wing straight away—helping me understand tasks, explaining the finer details, offering support. I was endlessly grateful, and my heart melted under his attention.
Soon, he started inviting me to lunches and giving me lifts home. Older colleagues whispered, “Be careful, Emma, James is quite the charmer.” But I brushed it off, thinking they were just jealous. To me, he was perfect—kind, caring, the best man in the world. I fell in love, and by the look in his eyes, he felt the same. A year later, James proposed. Without hesitation, I said yes. We married and moved into my flat—a gift from my parents before the wedding.
At first, it was like a fairy tale. But then I got pregnant and went on maternity leave, followed by a second pregnancy. Two children, sleepless nights, endless chores. I changed—gained weight, swapped heels for slippers, traded stylish dresses for comfy pyjamas. Who was going to see me at home, anyway? James hardly helped with the kids. I didn’t want to burden him—he had a job, he was tired. I managed alone as best I could.
He started staying late at work, disappearing on weekends—business trips, “urgent matters.” He said it was all for us, and I believed him. Until a friend told me she’d seen James in a restaurant with a young brunette—his new colleague. Some rich man’s daughter, with a posh flat in the city centre and an expensive car. James didn’t deny it. He admitted they’d been having an affair for six months and that he was leaving me for her. “It’s your fault,” he said. “You stopped being a woman. All you care about is nappies, baby food, and neighbour gossip. She’s the real deal.”
I was crushed. “What about the fact I’m the mother of your children? That I’ve carried this house on my back, stayed up nights when they were sick?” I screamed. But he didn’t care. She hadn’t given birth, hadn’t “ruined” her figure, slept with a face mask while I rocked the pram. James packed his things and left me with two little ones and a shattered heart.
It was a betrayal that nearly broke me. I didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, didn’t want to live. Thank goodness for my mum—she took the kids while I pieced myself back together. I realised: for my sons, I had to stand tall. James wasn’t worth my tears.
Time passed. I enrolled the children in nursery, started a new job—I couldn’t face returning to the old office, haunted by memories. I lost weight, regained my confidence, began living again. Then, out of the blue, James reappeared like a bolt from the blue.
In all that time, he hadn’t once called or asked about the kids. Sent the bare minimum in child support—that was it. His mother, Margaret, showed little interest in her grandchildren, only phoning occasionally for updates. My parents were my only support—without them, I’d have drowned. And now, just as my life was finally steady, he turned up.
For the children’s sake, I let him visit. But it was clear from the first meeting he didn’t care about them. He asked about *me*—was I seeing anyone, how was my life? Then he turned on the charm, flirting shamelessly. I was stunned. “If you want to see the kids, fine,” I snapped. “But I don’t need your ‘happiness’.” I lied, saying I had a new man and life was wonderful. Guess what? James vanished again, as if he’d never existed. The children were no longer his priority.
Now his mother calls daily, lecturing me: “He’s come to his senses, wanted to save the family, and you’ve ruined it, deprived the children of their father!” I found out the truth—his “love” had thrown him out after finding someone richer. He had nowhere to go. Margaret didn’t want him back—she had “her own life.” So they decided to “save the family” by remembering us.
But I’m no fool. That kind of “happiness” isn’t for me. I’ve already stepped on that rake—I won’t do it again. My children deserve better than a father who’d betray them. What would you do? Forgive him for the kids’ sake? Or agree that no father is better than one like him?
