I am Natalie Green, living in the charming town of Maidenhead, by the banks of the Thames in Berkshire. I often hear men blaming us women, saying we’ve used and betrayed them, painting us in all sorts of colors. Why don’t they take a good look at themselves? Who are these men if not pitiful and worthless beings? I’m writing this to release the pain that burns in my heart like a scorching ember.
Andrew and I shared 27 blissful years together. We built our home and raised our children—two sons who have given us grandchildren. We always understood and respected each other, sharing joys and troubles alike. But when he turned 53, he became unrecognizable. Andrew started staying late after work, spending hours preening in front of the mirror, and on weekends, he was nowhere to be found. Soon enough, the truth came out: he’d lost his head over a young lover. I was willing to forgive him if only he’d come to his senses and returned to us. But no—he sneered, saying I’d aged and couldn’t understand him. He claimed he was in love with her, yearning for her youth and passion. But what does she want from him? His tired body, his wrinkled skin? She’s only interested in his money, and when that runs dry, she’ll toss him aside like rubbish.
Our sons, Alex and Jim, tried reasoning with their father. They told him to his face that he was embarrassing them, that they were ashamed of him. Yet he didn’t listen, gazing at them blankly as if they were strangers. I was desperate—I threatened divorce, hoping it would wake him up. Instead, he agreed without hesitation, as if he’d been waiting for it. So in our later years, we parted ways. He now lives with this young woman, taking care of her child instead of cherishing our grandchildren and their laughter. I am alone in our home, steeped in memories of the past, while he lives in the illusion of a new life with her.
I don’t blame her, the young woman. She’s cunning, weaving her web to secure a bigger slice for herself. My ex-husband is simply a fool, blinded by a midlife crisis. Does he really think, at his age, he can start a new family? That this young woman will bear him children, care for him? Let him dream on! I’m not searching for a new man—I’ve had enough of their lies and betrayals. I don’t need your pity, nor the tears of strangers. Don’t send advice or reproaches—I won’t read them. Yes, I’ve been through hell; despair consumed me, and my anger towards him nearly choked me like a noose. He shattered my life when I least expected it. But I survived, stood strong, and let the pain go.
Now I have my children and grandchildren—they are my light and support. What does he have? He’ll soon realize his mistake. That young woman won’t check if he’s taken his medication or wash his socks or make him a hot meal when he returns. She lives for herself, and he is merely a walking wallet. And when he comes knocking on my door again—and I know that day will come—he’ll find a cold reception. Neither I nor the boys will forgive his betrayal. He left us for fleeting thrills and cheap passion, but we remained a family—without him. Let him go off with his lover to wherever they will!
I dream of him sometimes—of the young man he once was, with a smile that could warm my soul. Then I wake up and remember the man he’s become: an egoist who traded his family for an illusion. It hurts, but I’ve not broken down. Every day I look at my grandchildren and think: they make life worth living. And what about him? He’ll reap the fruits of his foolishness—loneliness, emptiness, and the contempt of those who once loved him. He thought youth could be bought, but love is not for sale. When she’s drained him of every penny, he’ll be left with nothing—a pathetic, abandoned old man, waiting for no one. Meanwhile, we will live on without him, but together. And that is my revenge—not bitterness, but the strength he couldn’t take from me.
