He betrayed us, and now he wants to come back, but I don’t need that kind of happiness.
I met Alexander at my first job in an office in Manchester. Fresh out of university, I was young, naive, and green as grass. Alexander took me under his wing straight away—helping me with tasks, explaining the nitty-gritty, offering support. I was endlessly grateful, and my heart melted under his attention.
Soon, he started inviting me to lunch and giving me lifts home. Older colleagues whispered warnings: “Watch yourself, Emily—Alexander’s still a charmer.” But I brushed them off, convinced they were just jealous. To me, he was perfect—kind, caring, the best man alive. I fell for him, and judging by his looks, he felt the same. A year later, Alexander 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. But then I got pregnant and went on maternity leave. Soon after, a second baby came along. Two children, sleepless nights, endless chores. I changed—gained weight, swapped heels for slippers, bright dresses for cozy pajamas. Who was going to see me at home, anyway? Alexander hardly lifted a finger with the kids. I didn’t want to burden him—he had work, he was tired. I handled it all as best I could.
Then he started staying late at the office, disappearing on weekends—business trips, “urgent matters.” He said it was all for us, and I believed him. Until a friend told me she’d seen him in a restaurant with a young brunette—his new colleague. Some wealthy man’s daughter, with a posh flat in the city and a flashy car. Alexander didn’t deny it. He admitted they’d been having an affair for six months, and he was leaving me for her. “It’s your fault,” he said. “You stopped being a woman. All you care about now is nappies, baby food, and neighbor gossip. She’s the real deal.”
I was crushed. “What about me being the mother of your children? Carrying this house on my back, staying up nights when they’re ill?” I shouted. But he didn’t care. She hadn’t given birth, hadn’t “ruined” her figure, slept with a face mask while I rocked the pram. Alexander packed his things and left, abandoning me with two little ones and a shattered heart.
It was a betrayal that nearly broke me. I barely ate, barely slept, didn’t want to live. Thank God for my mum—she took the kids while I pulled myself together. I realized: for my sons, I had to stand up. Alexander wasn’t worth my tears.
Time passed. I got the boys into nursery, started a new job—there was no way I’d go back to the old office, where every corner reminded me of him. I lost weight, regained my confidence, began living again. Then, out of the blue, Alexander reappeared like a bolt from the sky.
All that time, he never once called, never asked about the boys. Sent measly child support payments—that was it. His mother, Margaret, hardly bothered with her grandsons, just the occasional phone call. My parents were my only support. Without them, I couldn’t have made it. And now, just as my life was finally steady, he showed up.
I decided: for the children’s sake, he could visit—he was their father. But on his first visit, it was clear he didn’t care about them. He asked about me—had I found someone? How was I doing? Then he turned on the charm, flirting like nothing had happened. I was stunned. “If you want to see the kids, fine,” I snapped. “But I don’t need your ‘happiness.’” I lied, said I had someone new and life was wonderful. And what do you know? Alexander vanished as if he’d never been here. The boys stopped mattering again.
Now his mother calls every day, lecturing me: “He’s had a change of heart, wanted to save the family, and you ruined it, depriving the boys of their father!” I found out the truth—his “love” kicked him out when she found someone richer. Nowhere else to go. Margaret doesn’t want him back—she’s got “her own life.” So they decided to “save the family,” suddenly remembering us.
But I’m not stupid. That kind of “happiness” isn’t for me. I’ve already been burned once—no chance I’ll let it happen again. My boys deserve better than a father who betrays them. What would you do? Forgive him for the children’s sake? Or agree it’s better off without a father like that?
