“You’re never happy with anything!” I snapped at my mother-in-law. The next day, she took her revenge in the cruelest way possible.
My name is Edward. These days, I live in Manchester, married for the second time, with a wonderful family and a young son. But the scar from my first marriage still aches—because my daughter was left behind there. Left behind, and not by my choice.
I met my first wife, Emily, during our second year at university. We grew close quickly, dating for months. Then I began to realise my feelings were fading—just as she told me she was pregnant. We were far too young, and I knew right then things were going off track. But I didn’t shirk responsibility. I married her. Her parents gifted us a one-bed flat as a wedding present; mine paid for a holiday by the seaside.
A few months later, our daughter Charlotte was born. I loved her from the moment I saw her. But if I’m honest, there was no harmony in our marriage. The biggest problem? My mother-in-law, Margaret. She lived in the next building over and practically camped in our flat. Everything was wrong—how I held the baby, how I spoke to my wife, how little I earned. I bit my tongue. For months. I swallowed it all for Emily and Charlotte.
Then one evening, I came home exhausted from work to yet another scene. Margaret was dissatisfied, as usual. And that’s when I lost it.
“For God’s sake! Why is nothing ever good enough for you? Have you ever smiled in your life? Ever said one kind word?”
She didn’t answer. Just turned and walked out. I thought—finally. Maybe she’ll reflect. But I had no idea what horror waited for me the next day.
When I returned home after work, my key wouldn’t turn in the lock. Two suitcases sat beside the door. It took me a moment to process. I knocked, rang the bell, shouted. Then Margaret’s voice came through the door:
“Take your things and go wherever you like. You won’t be seeing your wife or daughter again.”
I thought it was a joke. It wasn’t. Emily never even came to the door. A week later, she filed for divorce. No discussion. No chance to explain. I was left with nothing—no family, no answers, no Charlotte.
Years passed. I married again. My second wife, Sophie, gave me a son. I’m happy—I love them, cherish every moment. But my heart still aches for Charlotte. Every month, without fail, I pay child support. Emily takes the money but won’t let me see our daughter. No photos, no calls, not a single meeting.
Why? I don’t know. I never cheated. Never raised a hand. All I did was tell her mother the truth.
And for that—I was erased from my own child’s life. The lesson I’ve learned? Some grudges run deeper than blood, and not every mistake gets a second chance.
