**A Shadow from the Past**
I’m so weary of my husband’s ex-wife. She’s never moved on since their divorce, though she’s barely in her thirties—obsessed with revenge instead. They share two children, and she uses them to torment us. She insists I stole her family and does everything to drive us apart. How? Through the kids. She calls my husband daily: “The children are crying, begging for their dad!” Her jealousy poisons everything.
But I didn’t take Andrew from her. We met in Manchester, working at the same firm. I knew he was married, and we kept things strictly professional. Back then, I was with a boyfriend who was always away on business. I remember that office party we attended with our partners. His ex, Charlotte, was unbearable—drunk, flirting with other men, causing scenes. I was mortified.
Andrew left her soon after. Around the same time, I rebuilt my own life: ended things with my ex, switched jobs, got a promotion. Andrew had his own flat, but he drifted between rentals while Charlotte assumed he’d “come crawling back.” He never did. We started dating, then married.
Three years have passed, yet Charlotte won’t let go. She drags the children into her schemes—their daughter, Lily, is nine; their son, Oliver, seven. They’re starting to understand. Once, Lily admitted Charlotte made her cry down the phone, begging for her dad to visit.
Charlotte insists Andrew only sees them at her place—never outdoors, never at ours. She parades in skimpy dresses, fussing with her hair, desperate to win him back. It’s pointless. Andrew says the kids, supposedly “missing him,” scatter the moment he arrives—Oliver bolts outside, Lily locks herself away with her phone. Meanwhile, Charlotte invents reasons to keep him longer: fixing the sink, moving the wardrobe. She refuses to let them visit us, calling our home a “den of sin.”
Once, after a night shift, Andrew was asleep when his phone rang relentlessly. Charlotte’s name flashed. I answered but stayed silent. Then a child’s voice: “Daddy, when are you coming?” I said, “Hello?” Lily faltered, handing the phone over: “Mum, there’s a woman.” Charlotte snarled, “Oi, put my husband on!” Stunned, I replied, *Your* husband? Don’t know him.” Later, she complained to Andrew, accusing me of insults.
Then the oddities began. My manager was harassed by debt collectors—claims I owed thousands, though I’ve never taken loans. A fake dating profile with my photos appeared, followed by messages from a “secret admirer.” Andrew and I knew exactly who was behind it. Charlotte will stop at nothing to tear us apart.
I don’t resent Andrew seeing his children—just not like this. They shouldn’t be pawns in her games. How do we make Charlotte leave us alone?
