Everything in life comes full circle… My husband filed for divorce and returned to his ex!
I thought I was a master at the game called love. But life has taught me a harsh lesson: every action has consequences, and sooner or later, you have to pay the price.
I got married at 25—not too early, nor too late. The desire to avoid returning to my provincial hometown, where everyone knows everyone else’s business, pushed me to stay in London. Here, I could enjoy the anonymity I had long wished for.
A friend’s boyfriend…
Let’s talk about Mark. Tall with brown eyes, he was the boyfriend of my high school friend Alice. But that just fueled the thrill of winning him over. Mark apparently didn’t mind a bit of flirting behind Alice’s back either.
So, playfully, we started dating while he was still with Alice. I didn’t limit myself to meeting new people and made no secret of it. Mark knew he wasn’t the only one in my life, but he wasn’t exactly single himself, was he?
One day, Mark saw me getting out of another guy’s car. After the man drove away, Mark came up to me and said we needed to talk. He stated that he didn’t want to share me with others and couldn’t imagine himself with anyone else besides me. He suggested breaking up with Alice and starting a life together. The idea appealed to me, especially since it solved my housing situation and would upset the haughty Alice.
We began living together, but within a few weeks, I got bored; I longed for variety and excitement. I realized this after I ran into David—one of my old flames with whom I had a lot of fun times. We went for coffee, relaxed, and ended up at his apartment. It was fun and refreshing. Two weeks later, we repeated the experience, and we started meeting for fun with no strings attached.
Gradually, I returned to my old lifestyle, meeting different men. Eventually, I left Mark a note saying, “I don’t want to live together anymore.” Plain and without explanations.
An unexpected twist…
A month later, I found out I was pregnant. Scared, I went back to Mark. Upon learning about the pregnancy, he proposed marriage. I agreed, not out of overwhelming love, but because it seemed like the right and easiest solution. Plus, it saved me from returning to my dull, small-town life.
A year after our first son was born, I got pregnant again—another boy. Taking care of two little kids and running a household took all my time. Mark worked long hours, was career-driven, and often stayed late. Perhaps he just wasn’t in a hurry to come home to a stressed wife and noisy children. I wasn’t pleasant company: tired, irritable, never having a moment to myself. I waited for Mark to come home to start complaining.
But… I had to pay the price.
You might wonder, who is the father of my eldest son? Mark or one of my exes? I considered it unimportant. It could be Mark, or maybe not. I told myself, “Everyone makes mistakes, I was young, it wasn’t intentional…”
To this day, I don’t know who my eldest son’s father is, and I probably never will. Everyone believes it’s Mark—he does, our son does, our friends and family do.
But does it matter if Mark stopped caring for the kids anyway? Not because he doubted his paternity. One evening, when the kids were 4 and 2, I came home to find a note: “I’ve filed for divorce. It’s not working between us.”
We divorced. Now I’m raising the children alone. Mark pays child support, which is barely enough. At least he left us the apartment—to live in until the children come of age.
And Mark did marry after all… Alice. And now they’re expecting their first child.
