The man of my dreams left his wife for me, but I had no idea what I was in for.
I had been infatuated with him since our college days when I was living in a small town near Birmingham. It was a blind, crazy love that makes you lose your head and forget everything else. When he finally noticed me, I completely lost my mind. It happened years after university—destiny brought us together at the same law firm. The same profession and shared interests made me think it was no coincidence but a sign from above, my fairy tale about to come true.
He seemed like the perfect man, a dream come to life. The fact that he was married didn’t bother my younger self—I didn’t understand the pain hidden behind such stories. I felt no guilt when Richard left his wife for me. Who could have predicted that this decision would turn into such sorrow for me? Wisdom tells us that you can’t build your happiness on someone else’s misery.
When he chose me, I was on cloud nine, ready to forgive him anything. But in everyday life, he turned out to be far from a prince. His scattered belongings filled the apartment, he flatly refused to do the dishes, and all the household chores fell on my shoulders like a heavy burden. At that time, I ignored all of it—love blinded me, making me soft, pliable, almost powerless.
He quickly forgot about his previous marriage, as if erasing it from memory. They didn’t have children, and he confessed that the wedding was at her parents’ insistence. “With you, everything is different; you are my destiny,” he whispered, and I melted. My happiness was as bright but short-lived as a flash of lightning. Everything changed when I became pregnant.
At first, Richard was over the moon—his child! We threw a big family celebration, inviting relatives and friends. Toasts, wishes for happiness and health for the little one—that evening remained a bright spot in my memory, an island of warmth in a sea of impending darkness. I don’t regret it, but after that night, my blind love started to fade like a candle in the wind.
As my bump grew, Richard was home less and less. I went on maternity leave, and our meetings dwindled to late evenings. He stayed late at work, vanished at corporate parties. At first, I endured it, but soon it became unbearable. Household life turned into torture: I, pregnant, could barely move, while his socks and shirts lay scattered around as silent reproaches to my naivety. I asked myself: did we rush things with the baby? Love fades over time, I knew that, but I didn’t expect it to vanish so quickly.
He still brought flowers and chocolates, but that wasn’t what I needed—I wanted him by my side, his support, his warmth. And then the truth came out. A casual chat with colleagues over coffee opened my eyes: a new, young, spirited employee had joined the team. The firm was already stretched thin, and my maternity leave made the situation critical. Coincidence? I didn’t know if it was her, but Richard clearly had someone else. His life now revolved around “work,” “meetings,” and “urgent matters.” One day, I found a note with unfamiliar initials in his jacket pocket. My heart sank, but I silently put it back, deciding to feign ignorance. The fear of being alone at seven months pregnant paralyzed me.
He began to complain that I was “always on edge,” and every argument ended with his tired sigh, as if I were a burden. I was afraid to confront the main issue—I knew it was the end. And it came. The most terrifying words I have ever heard were: “I’m not ready for kids. I have someone else.” How he said it—I don’t remember, my head was buzzing, my world was collapsing. I thought I’d go insane from the pain and humiliation.
But I found strength within myself. I filed for divorce, though every letter of the application felt like a stab to the heart. He didn’t expect me to have the resolve to throw his things out the next day. Thankfully, the flat was rented—we didn’t have to divide it.
“And the child? Think about the child! How will you raise him?” he threw back at me.
“I’ll manage. I’ll work from home. And my parents will help. Mum always said you were a womanizer; I should have listened,” I retorted, slamming the door.
The responsibility for my son gave me a backbone I never knew I had. I would never have left on my own, but for him, I could. Richard’s betrayal was so cowardly that I erased him from my life as if he never existed. My eyes opened, and I saw him for who he truly was.
The first months post-divorce, including giving birth, were hell. I moved back in with my parents in a nearby town—they welcomed me with open arms, especially delighted with their grandchild. I missed Richard but pushed the thoughts away. Deep down, I knew: I had done the right thing and would give my son everything I could.
Once I regained my strength, I started working again—translating legal documents from home. There were months without income, but my parents supported me until I had enough clients. My son grew, and the years flew by. I realized this when I saw he needed his own space. My parents didn’t want to let us go, but I dreamed of independence—a study for me, a room for him to do his homework. By then, I could afford to rent a place.
Life settled down. Nursery gave way to school, first grade to fifth, and for the first time in years, I felt freedom and peace. But then he reappeared. Our town is small, and everyone in the legal community knows each other. Richard found my office easily. How I regretted not moving further away! He declared that he’d “had his fun,” regretted the past, and claimed he was “young and foolish.” He begged me to introduce him to the son he had never seen.
Legally, he’s entitled to visits, and if he wants, he’ll get them. But the mere thought chills my blood. Several weeks have passed since that conversation. I said I’d think about it, but my mind is chaotic—I don’t trust him and don’t want him near my son. Is this my punishment? Retribution for taking him from his first wife? I’m seriously considering moving to another town to protect us from this past, which is knocking on my door again.
