I finally saw what I’d done. I wanted to go back to my ex-wife, the woman I’d spent thirty years withbut it was already too late.
Im fifty-two now. And I have nothing. No wife, no family, no children, no jobnothing at all.
My name is Vincent. I lived three decades with my wife. I worked hard to provide for us, while she took care of the home. I never wanted her to work. I liked her being there, waiting for me. But as time passed, she started to grate on my nerves.
We lived together, civil, respectful, but the love had faded. I thought it was normal. I was fine with it. Then everything changed. One night, in a pub, I met Emily. Twenty years younger than me. Beautiful, sweet, funny. Like a dream come true.
We started seeing each other, and soon, she became my mistress. After two months, I couldnt lie to my wife anymore. I dreaded going home. I realised I loved EmilyI wanted her to be my wife.
Days later, I told my wife the truth. She didnt scream. Didnt cry. Just stayed silent. I assumed she didnt love me eitherthats why she took it so calmly. But now I see how deeply I hurt Margaret.
We divorced. Sold the house where wed built our life. Emily insisted I didnt let Margaret keep it. So I didnt. Margaret moved into a tiny flat. With my savings, I bought a two-bedroom for Emily.
I didnt help my ex-wifenot a single pound. I knew she had no money, no way to find work easily. Back then, I didnt care. Our sons refused to speak to me. They knew Id betrayed their mother.
At the time, it didnt bother me. Emily was pregnant. We were expecting our child. When our son was born, he looked nothing like me. Friends whispered doubts. I ignored them.
Life with Emily was hell. I worked long hours, came home to chaosno food, no order. She was always out, demanding money, coming home drunk at dawn, picking fights over nothing.
Then I lost my job. Exhausted, bitter, my work slipped. Three years passed like this. Then my brotherwho never trusted Emilyforced me to take a DNA test. The boy wasnt mine.
We divorced the moment the truth came out. By then, I had no contact with Margaret or my sons. After the divorce, I decided to go back to my first wife. I bought flowers, wine, a cake, went to her old address. The new owner gave me her new one.
When I arrived, a man opened the door. Margaret had found a good job, remarried a colleague. She was happy.
Weeks later, I saw her in a café. I begged her to take me back. She looked at me like I was a fool and walked away. Now I understand the mistake I made. What did I want? What did I gain? Why did I leave my wife for a younger woman?
Im fifty-two now. And I have nothing. No wife, no job, not even my sons will speak to me. I lost everything that ever mattered. And its entirely my fault. Some mistakes can never be undone.
