The Shadow of the Past Still Lingers
How weary I’ve grown of my husband’s former wife! Even now, she’s found no one else since their divorce. Barely into her thirties, she seems consumed by spite. They share two children, and she wields them like weapons to unravel our lives. She claims I stole her family, doing everything to drive us apart. How? Through the children! She calls my husband daily: “The children are crying, begging for their father to come home!” Her jealousy poisons the air.
But I never tore Andrew from his family. We met in Manchester, working at the same firm. I knew he was married, and between us lay nothing but office talk. At the time, I was with a man who was always away on business. I remember that company party where we brought our partners. His ex, Emily, behaved disgracefully—drunk, flirting with other men, causing scenes. I was appalled.
Andrew left her soon after. By then, I’d turned my own life around: ended things with my boyfriend, changed jobs, earned a promotion. Andrew, though he owned a flat, drifted between rented rooms while Emily assumed he’d “come to his senses and return.” He never did. We began seeing each other, and later, we married.
Three years have passed since our wedding, yet Emily won’t relent. Not only does she refuse to accept it, but she drags the children into her schemes. Their daughter is nine, their son seven—old enough to understand. Once, the girl confessed to Andrew that her mother made her sob into the phone, pleading for him to come home.
Emily insists their visits happen only at her house. Never outdoors, never at ours—absolutely not. Meanwhile, she parades in revealing clothes, primping and preening before Andrew, trying to win him back. Futile. Andrew once told me how the “heartbroken” children scatter the moment he arrives: the boy bolts to play outside, the girl locks herself away with her phone. And Emily? She invents reasons to keep him longer—a leaky tap, a cupboard to move. She forbids the children from visiting us, calling our home a “den of vice.”
Once, Andrew slept after a night shift. His phone rang relentlessly. I glanced—Emily. I answered but stayed silent. Then a child’s voice: “Daddy, when are you coming?” I said, “Hello?” The girl faltered, handing the phone to her mother: “Mum, there’s a woman.” Emily snapped, “Hey, put my husband on!” Stunned, I replied, “Your husband? I don’t know him—he isn’t here!” Later, she whined to Andrew that I’d insulted her.
After that, odd things happened. My manager was bombarded by debt collectors claiming I owed vast sums, though I’d never taken loans. Then a fake dating profile appeared with my photos. Messages from a supposed “admirer” flooded in. Andrew and I knew at once whose work this was. Emily would stop at nothing to divide us.
I don’t oppose Andrew seeing his children—but not like this! They shouldn’t be pawns in her games. How can we make Emily leave us in peace?
