I found out that my wife abandoned her children for a new marriage.
I met Catherine at a company party where I had just started working. We were in different departments, and I hardly knew anything about her. She caught my eye instantly—tall, elegant, with a captivating smile that was hard to ignore. We spent the entire evening together, dancing until we dropped, laughing, and chatting about everything under the sun. After the party, I called a taxi and saw her home to a suburb in Manchester. The next day, I felt like I was flying on my way to work—I was eager to see her again.
On my way, I stopped by a florist, bought a bouquet of roses and a box of her favorite chocolates. Catherine greeted me with a radiant smile, and from that day on, we were inseparable. Being in our thirties, we didn’t drag out the romance—too mature for long courtships. I asked her to move in with me, and she agreed without hesitation. Life with her was like a fairy tale: Catherine was a fantastic homemaker, cheerful and spontaneous. No worries, no clouds on the horizon, just happiness and harmony.
I decided it was time to take the next step. I bought a ring with a small diamond, got down on one knee, and proposed to her. She said yes, and we dived into wedding preparations. But when it came to the guest list, something seemed odd: Catherine had very few relatives. She explained they were distant relatives she had lost contact with long ago. I shrugged—it’s not unusual, everyone has their own family stories.
The day before the wedding, she left to visit a beauty salon with her friends—to get ready for the big day. She forgot her phone at home on the kitchen table. I picked it up, planning to take it to her since I knew the salon’s address. But just as I was about to leave, a call came through. It was labeled “Mum.” I hesitated, but decided to answer—it could be urgent. A weary, trembling voice of an elderly woman came on, immediately launching into accusations: “Cathy’s lost all sense! Left her kids with us, doesn’t send money, and now she’s vanished! They’re sick, there’s no medicine, how are we supposed to care for them?”
I introduced myself, feeling a chill run through my hands. “What happened?” I asked, and the truth poured out like an icy flood. It turned out Catherine had two children she had left in the care of her parents in a village outside of Manchester to chase a “better life” in the city. She sent money at first but then stopped. The elderly couple struggled to make ends meet on a meager pension, while the children needed clothes, food, and doctors. I asked for their bank details and sent what I could—for medicine and groceries. Then I turned the car around and headed home. The beauty salon was left behind, along with my illusions.
At home, I packed her belongings into suitcases—carefully, but with a heavy heart. When she returned—fresh from the salon with a new hairstyle and a gleaming manicure—I wordlessly handed her the luggage. She was confused, asking what was wrong. I tossed her the phone without saying a word. Her eyes widened—she understood everything. She began to explain, to justify, but her voice was just noise in the empty space. I didn’t want to listen. After speaking with her mother, she died to me as a woman, as a person.
You can deceive men, be cunning, manipulate—we’re not saints. But to leave your children in the care of elderly parents, forget them, not help, and lie to my face that there is no family? It was incomprehensible to me. She stood before me—beautiful, but hollow, like an empty shell. In that moment, I saw her true self, and it was unbearable.
The wedding didn’t happen. I severed all ties with her, erased her from my life like a bad dream. But questions remain. Do you think Catherine can be understood? Can a woman who betrays those closest to her be a faithful wife? Is it worth believing her words of love, her vows that with me, it would be different? I look to the future and see nothing but the shadow of her lies. Perhaps I am too harsh, but to me, a mother who abandons her children for a new life is not a woman, but a specter I never want by my side.
