My Husband Left Me for My Sister and Moved in With Her—Then, Three Years Later, He Abandoned Her Too for Her Best Friend

Author Emily TaylorReading 3 minViews 2

My husband has left me for my sister. Hes moved in with her. And, three years later, he abandons her as well this time for her best friend.

We were married for seven years. Our marriage wasnt perfect, but it wasnt terrible either. We lived a fairly normal life jobs, a home, family. Sundays were for family lunches. My sister was around a lot. She always seemed close by. I never noticed anything odd between them. In fact, it seemed perfectly natural that they got along. Sometimes she stayed for lunch, other times Id ring her for a bit of help since I worked all day. It never even crossed my mind that anything was happening.

Then, one entirely ordinary Thursday, he left early, saying he had to be at work. He didnt come home for lunch. He didnt come home that night, or the next day. On the third day, when he finally answered his phone, there was no apology, no explanation. He simply said, Im not coming back. I need space. I thought he was having some sort of crisis, maybe staying with a mate. But by the end of that week, someone in my family told me what no one else dared: hed moved in with my sister.

The rumour became fact almost immediately. My parents found out, then my uncles, the neighbours. My sister stopped picking up my calls. He didnt come by the house at all. A few days later, she came and took her clothes while I was out. No one said a word or tried to explain. Everyone acted as if there was simply nothing more to discuss.

They started living together in a different part of town. Eventually, they even began attending family gatherings the ones I no longer went to. My sister would say that you cant choose who you fall in love with, and insisted these things just happened. He claimed hed stopped being happy with me long ago. I was left on my own, with nothing but shame and heartache. Thank goodness we didnt have children that would have made it all even harder.

Three years have passed. I managed to pick myself up and carry on, as best I could. As far as I knew, they were still together. That was, until once again, through whispers and gossip I learnt theyd split up. Hed left her. And, of course, he hadnt gone alone: this time, hed moved in with my sisters best friend. The very same woman whod been in the picture from the start someone whod known the entire story, playing confidant, support, and witness to it all.

My sister was devastated. He changed houses and stories again, blaming her this time for being confused, for making him unhappy. But nobody believed him anymore.

Our family is still fractured. I dont speak to my sister. She isnt on speaking terms with her former best friend. As for him hes never said sorry. Hes never taken responsibility.

Is this fate, I wonder?

I’m 46, and if you looked at my life from the outside, you’d probably say everything is fine. I married young—at 24—to a hardworking, responsible Englishman. I had two children in quick succession—at 26 and 28. I left university because the schedules didn’t fit, the kids were small, and I thought “there’s time for all that later.” There were never any big dramas or rows. Everything went the way it was “meant to.” For years, my routine never changed. I’d wake before everyone, make breakfast, leave the house tidy, and head off to work. I’d come back in time to handle the chores, cook, wash, tidy up. Weekends were all about family gatherings, birthday parties, endless obligations. I was always there; I always took care of things. If something was missing, I fixed it. If anyone needed anything, I was always there. It never occurred to me to ask if I wanted something else. My husband has never been a bad person. We’d have dinner, watch TV, and head to bed. He wasn’t especially affectionate, but he wasn’t unkind either. He never asked for much, but he didn’t complain. Our conversations were about bills, the children, jobs to do. Then, on an ordinary Tuesday evening, I sat quietly in the living room and realised I had nothing to do—not because everything was perfect, but because, in that moment, nobody needed me. I looked around and understood that for years I’d kept this household running, but now I had no idea what to do with myself inside it. That day, I opened a drawer of old documents and found diplomas, unfinished courses, ideas scribbled in notebooks, projects put aside “for later.” I looked at photos from when I was young—before I was a wife, before I was a mother, before I became the one who made everything right. I didn’t feel nostalgic. I felt something worse: I realised I’d achieved everything without ever asking if it was what I truly wanted. I started to notice things I used to accept as normal: That nobody asks how I am. That even when I come home exhausted, it’s still me who sorts everything out. If my husband says he doesn’t fancy a family gathering, that’s fine, but if I’m reluctant, it’s still expected I’ll go. My opinion exists, but it doesn’t carry weight. There were no arguments or shouting matches, but there was never any real space for me. One evening at dinner, I mentioned I wanted to restart my education or try something different. My husband looked at me, surprised, and said, “But why now?” He didn’t mean any harm. He just didn’t understand why something that had always worked should change. The children were silent. There was no argument. Nobody forbade me from anything. Yet I realised that my role was so clearly defined that stepping outside it was uncomfortable. I’m still married. I haven’t left, I haven’t packed my bags, I haven’t made any dramatic decisions. But I’ve stopped pretending. I know that for more than twenty years, I’ve kept a family together in a structure where I was essential, but never the main character. How Do You Rebuild Yourself After Living a Life Where You’re Needed—But Never the Main Character?

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I’m 41 and the house I live in once belonged to my grandparents. After they passed, my mum stayed here, and when she was gone, the home was left in my name. It’s always been a quiet, tidy, and peaceful place. I work all day and come home alone. Never did I imagine that all of this could be turned upside down by a decision I made “just to help someone.” Two years ago, a distant cousin rang me in tears. She was splitting up, had a little boy, and nowhere else to go. She asked if she could stay with me “just for a few months” until she got on her feet. I agreed—she was family, and I thought it wouldn’t really affect me. At first, it was fine—she took one room, chipped in a bit towards bills, headed out early for work. Her son stayed with a neighbour during the day. Everything was OK. After three months she quit her job, saying it was temporary and that she was looking for something better. She started staying home all day. The little boy didn’t go to the neighbour anymore—he was always here. The house began to change: toys everywhere, noise, unexpected guests. I’d come home exhausted only to find strangers sitting in my living room. When I asked her to give me a heads-up, she said I was overreacting and that “this is her home too, now.” Soon she stopped contributing to bills—first, she said, she couldn’t manage, then she’d “catch up later.” I paid for everything: bills, food, repairs. One day I came back to find she’d rearranged all the furniture to make it “cosier”—without asking. When I protested, she was offended and said I was cold and didn’t know what it meant to live as a family. It got even more tense when she started inviting her ex round—the very man she claimed she was escaping. He’d come by in the evening, stay the night, use the bathroom, eat our food. One day I caught him coming out of my room, having “just grabbed his jacket” without asking. That’s when I said things couldn’t go on like this—there had to be boundaries. She started crying, shouting, reminding me I took her in when she had nowhere to go. Six months ago, I tried to set a deadline for her to move out. She said she couldn’t—she had no money, her son was at school nearby, and how could I throw her out? Now I feel trapped. My home isn’t mine any more. I sneak in quietly so I don’t wake the child, eat dinner in my room to avoid arguments, and spend more time outside than in. I still live here, but it no longer feels like home. She acts like she owns the place—I pay for everything, yet I’m called selfish if I ask for some order. I really need advice.

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📌 Useful Social Services & Contacts in the U.S.

Stay informed and get help when you need it. Below are key national services with direct contacts that may support you or your loved ones:
🏥 Health & Mental Support

SAMHSA – Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

What they do: Free and confidential help with substance use and mental health disorders.

Hotline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – 24/7, anonymous support

Website: samhsa.gov

🧒 Support for Children & Families

WIC – Women, Infants, and Children Program

What they do: Nutritional and healthcare support for pregnant women, new mothers, and young children.

Federal Info Line: 1-800-522-5006

Find local WIC office: fns.usda.gov/wic

My Husband Left Me for My Sister and Moved in With Her—Then, Three Years Later, He Abandoned Her Too for Her Best Friend