The Shadow of the Past Still Lingers
I’ve grown so weary of my husband’s ex-wife. She never moved on after their divorce. Barely in her thirties, she’s consumed by spite. They share two children, and she uses them to ruin our lives. She claims I stole her family and does everything to drive us apart—through the kids! She calls my husband daily, wailing, “The children are crying, they want their dad home!” Her jealousy poisons everything.
But I didn’t take Andrew from her. We met in Manchester, working for the same firm. I knew he was married, and there was nothing between us beyond professional talk. Back then, I was with a boyfriend who was always away on business. I remember the office party where we both brought our partners. His ex, Amelia, behaved horribly—getting drunk, flirting with other men, causing scenes. I was stunned.
Andrew left her soon after. Around that time, I changed my life too—ended things with my boyfriend, switched jobs, got a promotion. Andrew, who owned a flat, bounced between rentals while Amelia assumed he’d “come to his senses.” He never did. We started dating, then married.
Three years into our marriage, Amelia still won’t let go. She drags the children into her schemes. Their daughter is nine, their son seven—old enough to understand. Once, the girl confessed to Andrew that Amelia made her cry into the phone, begging him to come home.
Amelia insists visits happen only at her place—never outdoors, never at ours. She parades in revealing outfits, putting on full makeup, hoping to lure him back. Useless. Andrew says the kids, supposedly “missing him,” scatter when he arrives—the boy runs outside, the girl locks herself away with her phone. Meanwhile, Amelia invents excuses to keep him longer: fix the sink, move a cabinet. She refuses to let them come to ours, calling our home a “den of sin.”
Once, after a night shift, Andrew was asleep when his phone rang nonstop. It was Amelia. I answered but stayed silent. Then a child’s voice: “Daddy, when are you coming?” I said, “Hello?” The girl hesitated, passing the phone to her mother. “Mum, some woman’s there.” Amelia snapped, “Oi, put my husband on!” I was stunned but replied, “Your husband? Never heard of him.” Later, she whined to Andrew, saying I’d insulted her.
Then came the sabotage. My boss was bombarded by debt collectors claiming I owed thousands—I’ve never taken a loan. A fake dating profile popped up with my photos. Messages from a “secret admirer” started flooding in. Andrew and I knew exactly who was behind it. Amelia will stop at nothing to tear us apart.
I don’t begrudge Andrew seeing his kids—but not like this. They shouldn’t be pawns in her games. How do we make Amelia leave us be?
