He betrayed us, and now he wants to come back, but I don’t need that kind of happiness.
I met Oliver at my first job in a small office in Manchester. Fresh out of university, I was young, naive, completely green. Oliver took me under his wing straight away—helped me navigate tasks, explained the finer details, supported me. I was endlessly grateful, and my heart melted under his attention.
Soon, he started inviting me to lunch, giving me lifts home. The older colleagues whispered, “Watch yourself, Emily—Oliver’s a real charmer.” But I brushed it off. I thought they were just jealous. To me, he was perfect—kind, caring, the best man I’d ever known. I fell in love, and by the way he looked at me, I thought he felt the same. A year later, Oliver proposed. Without hesitation, I said yes. We married and moved into my flat—a gift from my parents before the wedding.
At first, it was like a fairy tale. Then I got pregnant and went on maternity leave. Soon after, a second pregnancy. Two children, sleepless nights, endless responsibilities. I changed—gained weight, swapped heels for slippers, traded bright dresses for cosy pyjamas. Who would see me at home, anyway? Oliver barely helped with the kids. I didn’t want to burden him—he worked hard, he was tired. I managed alone as best I could.
He started staying late, disappearing at weekends—business trips, “urgent matters.” He said it was all for us, and I believed him. Until a friend told me she’d seen Oliver in a restaurant with a young brunette—his new colleague. The daughter of some wealthy businessman, with a posh flat in Kensington and a luxury car. Oliver didn’t deny it. He admitted they’d been having an affair for six months, and he was leaving me for her. “This is your fault,” he spat. “You stopped being a woman. All you care about are nappies, baby food, and neighbourly gossip. She’s the real deal.”
I was shattered. “And what about me being the mother of your children? Carrying this house on my back, sleepless nights when they’re ill?” I screamed. But he didn’t care. She hadn’t given birth, hadn’t “ruined” her figure—she slept with a face mask while I rocked the pram. Oliver packed his things and left, abandoning me with two babies and a broken heart.
It was a betrayal that nearly broke me. I didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, didn’t want to live. Thank God for my mother—she took the children while I pieced myself back together. I realised: for my sons, I had to stand up. Oliver wasn’t worth my tears.
Time passed. I got the boys into nursery, found a new job—I couldn’t return to the old office, where every corner reminded me of him. I lost weight, grew stronger, started living again. Then, like a bolt from the blue, Oliver reappeared.
Not once had he called, not once asked about the boys. He sent pitiful child support—that was it. His mother, Margaret, barely reached out, only checking in occasionally. My parents were my only support. Without them, I’d have drowned. And now, just as my life finally settled, he turned up.
I decided: for the boys, he could visit—he was their father. But the moment he arrived, it was clear he didn’t care about them. He asked about *me*—was I seeing someone, how was my life. Then the charm switched on, the smirks, the flirting. I was stunned. “If you want to see your sons, come,” I snapped. “But I don’t need your idea of ‘happiness’.” I lied, said I had someone new, that life was wonderful. And guess what? Oliver vanished, as if he’d never been here. The boys stopped mattering again.
Now his mother calls. Daily lectures: “He’s changed, he wanted to fix things, and you ruined it, deprived your sons of their father!” I learned the truth—his “love” had dumped him for someone richer. Nowhere left to go. Margaret didn’t want him back—she had “her own life.” So, they remembered us, thought they’d “fix the family.”
But I’m not a fool. That kind of “happiness” isn’t for me. I’ve already stepped on that rake—I won’t do it again. My sons deserve better than a father who’d betray them. What would you do? Forgive him for their sake? Or agree—better no father than one like him?
