He betrayed us, and now he wants to come back, but I want no part of that happiness.
I first met Edward at my very first job in an office in Manchester. Fresh out of university, I was young, naïve, and green as grass. Edward 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 began inviting me to lunch, giving me lifts home. The older colleagues whispered warnings: “Be careful, Eleanor, Edward’s quite the charmer.” But I brushed them off, thinking they were just jealous. To me, he was perfect—kind, caring, the finest man alive. I fell for him, and by the way he looked at me, I thought he felt the same. A year later, Edward 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 soon by a second child. Two babies, sleepless nights, endless chores. I changed—gained weight, swapped heels for slippers, bright dresses for cosy pyjamas. Who was going to see me at home, after all? Edward hardly lifted a finger with the children. I didn’t want to burden him—he worked, he was tired. I managed alone as best I could.
He started staying late at work, disappearing on weekends—business trips, “urgent matters.” He claimed it was all for us, and I believed him. Until a friend told me she’d seen Edward in a restaurant with a young brunette—his new colleague. The daughter of some wealthy man, with a posh flat in the city centre and an expensive car. Edward didn’t deny it. He confessed they’d been having an affair for six months and that he was leaving me for her. “It’s your fault,” he spat. “You stopped being a woman. All you care about are nappies, baby food, and the neighbours’ gossip. She’s the real deal.”
I was shattered. “And what about me being the mother of your children? Carrying this house on my back, staying up nights when they’re ill?” 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. Edward packed his things and left, abandoning me with two babies and a shattered heart.
It was a betrayal that nearly broke me. I stopped eating, sleeping, wanting to live. Thank goodness for my mother—she took the children while I pieced myself back together. I realised: for my sons, I had to stand up. Edward wasn’t worth my tears.
Time passed. I enrolled the boys in nursery, found a new job—going back to the old office, full of memories of him, was impossible. I lost weight, took care of myself, started anew. Then, out of the blue, like a bolt from the heavens, Edward reappeared.
All that time, he never once called, never asked after the boys. He sent pitiful maintenance payments—that was it. His mother, Margaret, never rushed to see her grandsons either, only ringing occasionally to check in. My parents were my sole support. Without them, I’d have been lost. And now, just as my life had finally settled, he turned up.
I decided: for the children’s sake, he could visit—he was their father. But on his very first visit, it was clear he didn’t care about them. He asked about me—had I met someone, how was I living. Then he turned on the charm, flirting like old times. I was stunned. “If you want, come for the boys,” I cut in. “But I don’t need your ‘happiness.’” I lied, saying I had a man now and life was wonderful. And what do you know? Edward vanished again, as if he’d never existed. Once more, the boys didn’t matter to him.
Now his mother calls daily, lecturing me: “He’s come to his senses, wanted to save the family, and you ruined it, depriving the boys of their father!” I learned the truth: his “love” had thrown him out, finding someone richer. He had nowhere to go. Margaret didn’t want him back—she had “her own life.” So they thought to “save the family,” suddenly remembering us.
But I’m no fool. That kind of “happiness” isn’t for me. I’ve already learned my lesson—no second chances. My boys deserve better than a father who betrays them. What would you do? Forgive him for the children’s sake? Or agree that it’s better without a father like that than with one?
