Three years after my divorce from the man who left me for my school friend, we bumped into each other at a petrol station, and I couldnt stop smiling.
My husband left me for my school friend after my miscarriageand three years later, I saw them at that petrol station, grinning like a fool.
When my husband first started pulling away, I confided in my best friend. She told me I was overreacting. Turns out, I wasnt. But fate let me see the consequences of their betrayal firsthand. I used to think infidelity only happened to other peoplesomething you read about in dramatic online stories or heard whispered over family dinners. Not to me. Certainly not to us. For five years, James and I had built a life together. It wasnt lavish, but it was ourscosy film nights on the sofa, Sunday mornings café-hopping, inside jokes no one else understood. And through it all, there was Emilymy best friend since school, my sister in everything but blood. Shed been there for every milestone, even standing beside me as my maid of honour at my wedding, squeezing my hand and crying happy tears.
When I got pregnant, I thought it was just another chapter in our perfect life. Then James changed. At first, it was little thingslonger hours at work, his smile never quite reaching his eyes. Then it got worse. He barely looked at me. Conversations turned hollow. At night, hed turn his back as if I didnt exist. I didnt understand. I was exhausted, trying to fix whatever had broken between us while carrying the weight of the pregnancy. So I turned to Emily.
“I dont know whats happening,” I whispered into the phone in the dark while James slept soundly beside me. “It feels like hes already gone.”
“Lucy, youre being dramatic,” she said softly. “He loves you. Hes just stressed.”
I wanted to believe her.
But the constant tensionsleepless nights, the gnawing loneliness despite being marriedwas tearing me apart. Then one morning, I woke to a dull ache in my stomach. By evening, I was in hospital, watching the doctors lips move but hearing nothing. No heartbeat. No baby. They say grief comes in waves. Mine hit like an avalanche. The miscarriage crushed me, but James? He was already lost. He sat beside my hospital bed, cold and silent, never taking my hand, never offering a word of comfort. Just sitting there like a man waiting for a bus, not mourning the child wed lost. A month later, he finally spoke the words I think hed rehearsed for weeks.
“Im not happy anymore, Lucy.”
And that was it. No explanation, no emotion. Empty words.
The day James left, there was no anger, no sobbing. Just icy silence.
“Im not happy anymore, Lucy.”
I blinked at him across the kitchen table. His words sat like a stone on my chest.
“What?” My voice shook.
He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples like I was the problem.
“Its just I feel nothing. Havent for a while.”
For a while.
I swallowed back tears.
“Since we lost the baby?”
His jaw tensed.
“Its not about that.”
The lie was almost laughable.
I searched his face, desperate to see somethingremorse, guilt, any flicker of feeling. But he just sat there, staring at the table.
“So thats it? Five years, and you just walk away?” My hands clenched under the table.
He sighed again, this time with irritation.
“I dont want to argue, Lucy.”
I gave a sharp, brittle laughthe kind that spills out when youre on the edge.
“Oh, you dont want to argue? Funny, because I never got a choice.”
He stood, grabbed his keys. Before I could speak, the door slammed behind him.
Emily, my best friend, followed soon after. Shed been my anchor, my lifeline. Then she just vanished. No calls returned. Messages ignored. Eventuallyblocked everywhere.
I didnt understand until I did.
Mum found out first. She called one evening, her voice tight.
“Lucy, love look at this.”
She sent me a link to Emilys Instagram.
And there they were.
James and Emily. Arm in arm on a beach, laughing like theyd been in love for years. I scrolled further, hands shaking. Picture after picture, week after week. Fancy restaurants, ski resorts, cosy nights by the fireplace. Shed posted them freely, openlywhile I was still his wife. The betrayal burned like acid. But if they thought Id break, they were wrong. I took my pain and turned it into steel. James had been careless, too wrapped up in his fantasy to cover his tracks. In court, his infidelity was my leverage. In the end, I took the house, half his savings, and the satisfaction of watching him start from scratch. He stole my trust. I took what was mine.
Starting over wasnt easy. But life rewards the stubborn.
A year later, I met Daniel.
He wasnt just different from Jameshe was everything James wasnt. Kind. Present. He never acted like my feelings were too much.
We built a real lifenot a show for social media. And soon, our daughter arrivedmy mirror image with his smile.
Then fate handed me the perfect ending.
One evening, I stopped at a petrol station. And there they were.
James and Emily.
But now, no designer clothes, no happy photos. Their cara rusted old thing, an argument spilling into the shop, a crying child, an empty bank account.
“You knew money was tight,” James snapped.
Emily scoffed.
“Honestly, Lucy dodged a bullet.”
I started the car and drove hometo my real happiness.
