“He left for the ‘love of his life,’ only to end up alone: How Helen stood strong and found true happiness.”
“Helen, remember how we promised to always be honest with each other? I need to tell you the truth—I’ve fallen in love. With someone else. Forgive me, but I’m leaving. She’s the one I want to grow old with. She’s special, she’s like… the stars. These feelings, they’re real, huge, like the universe itself.”
As Daniel spoke, his eyes shone with bliss, as if he’d lost his mind. Helen stood across from him, gripping the back of a chair to keep from falling.
“Have you lost your head, Dan? ‘Love of your life’? What am I, then? Have you forgotten we have a daughter? A year and a half, Dan. A year and a half. I’ve stayed home, not working, and now, at thirty-five, you’ve suddenly taken flight and decided to live for love?”
“Helen, I—” He faltered, then escaped reality by locking himself in the bathroom with his phone—probably texting his newfound ‘stars.’
That night, Helen sobbed, clutching little Emily as she slept. She didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, she hastily tied her hair, dressed Emily, and went to see her mother-in-law.
“Oh, Helen, really. You should’ve held on to your man tighter. Look at you—worn-out jumper, messy ponytail—no wonder he left. These days, everything’s fast-paced. Danny just recognised true love when he found it. You’re not the first wife left behind. Bring Emily by if you need help. Who knows, maybe you’ll find someone too,” Margaret dismissed, as if talking about a shop return rather than a family.
Walking home, Helen felt something inside her wither—hope, illusions, dreams—all dead.
She cried for three more days. Then she wiped her face and did what mattered: filed for child support, then divorce. Enough pretending things could go back. Let Daniel have the freedom he’d wanted.
Margaret helped occasionally, but it felt like charity—a pack of nappies handed down like a blessing, a few quid tossed her way with a self-important air. Helen’s own mum, living in another city, sent what little she could, lamenting over the phone about life’s unfairness. Helen clenched her teeth and carried on.
A year passed. Emily started nursery. Helen found work. The first months were hell—illnesses, coughs, sleepless nights—but eventually, life settled. In her new world, there was clarity, honesty, freedom. Watching other fathers at the nursery—irritable, half-drunk—she’d think, *Thank God I’m alone.*
Then one day, Margaret called.
“Helen! Wonderful news! Danny’s going to be a father, can you believe it?”
“Brilliant. Health to the mother and baby,” Helen muttered. To her surprise, she felt nothing. No sting. She’d healed.
A week later, another call—hysterical this time.
“Helen! Disaster! Danny’s had an accident! His BMW’s wrecked, he’s in intensive care! He’ll be disabled now—our poor boy!”
Helen went quiet. She pitied him—he was still Emily’s father—but pity didn’t erase the past. And it certainly wasn’t reason enough to step back into that life.
Two days later, Margaret rang again.
“You *must* take Danny in! Nurse him back. I’ll help where I can. He needs you, Helen!”
“Must I? Why?”
“You were practically still married! Just a piece of paper missing. You’ve got Emily! He always asked after her, always loved her. And you too. He just made a mistake. We all do.”
“A mistake? Fine. Then let the ‘love of his life’ take care of him. Not my problem.”
“She left him! Said she didn’t want a cripple. Visited *once*—that’s it. They’ve a baby coming, and she wants nothing to do with him!”
“Shame. Still not my burden. He left *us*, forgot we existed. Saw Emily *once*. Pays pennies in child support. Where was *his* duty then?”
“You’re heartless! Ruthless! I’ll tell Emily how you abandoned her father!”
“Go ahead, Margaret. Start with how *he* walked out. Where was he when Emily cried herself to sleep? I’m not afraid. Let her know the truth.”
In the end, Margaret took Daniel in. He survived, walking with a cane. Soon after, Helen ran into an old friend—one they’d once socialised with as couples.
“You know Margaret’s telling everyone *you* left Danny while he was in a coma? That there never was another woman—just you running off, divorcing him while he lay helpless?”
“*What?*”
“And that *you* keep Emily from him? That he’s the victim, and you’re the greedy witch? They’re even saying the crash was *your* fault—that he was heartbroken!”
Helen walked home in a daze. How could lies twist so easily? Worse—how could people believe them?
She picked Emily up from nursery. The little girl chattered away, swinging her hand, while Helen’s mind raced.
“Mummy, we’re home! Why so sad? Is it Granny? Daddy?”
Helen nodded, too raw to speak.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be good enough for both of them. I love you *so* much, Mummy.”
Hugging her, Helen suddenly felt lighter—as if a weight had lifted. The anger faded. Let them talk. Let them lie. The truth was here: small arms around her neck, eyes full of love.
*This* was happiness. Not fairy tales of forever. Not grand promises. Just this—a child’s pure love, and the certainty that, somehow, everything would be alright.
And it would.
