In life, everything comes full circle… My husband filed for divorce and went back to his ex!
I thought I was a master in the game called love. But life taught me a harsh lesson: every action has consequences, and sooner or later, you have to pay the price.
I got married at 25—not too early, but not too late either. The desire to avoid returning to my small hometown, where everyone knows everyone else’s business, pushed me to stay in London. Here, I could enjoy the anonymity I had long dreamed of.
My friend’s boyfriend…
His name was Michael. Tall, with brown eyes, he was dating my childhood friend Emily. But that only fueled my desire to win him over. Michael, it seemed, wasn’t opposed to flirting behind Emily’s back.
And so, playfully, we started going out while he was still with Emily. I didn’t limit myself and didn’t hide it either. Michael knew he wasn’t the only man in my life, but he wasn’t available himself, right?
One day, Michael saw me stepping out of another man’s car. Waiting until the car drove off, he approached me and said we needed to talk. He declared that he didn’t want to share me with others, that he couldn’t imagine being with anyone else but me. He suggested breaking up with Emily and starting a life together with me. The idea appealed to me, especially since it solved my housing issue and annoyed the arrogant Emily.
We moved in together, but a few weeks later, I got bored and craved excitement. I realized this when I ran into Ian—one of my exes, with whom I’d had a lot of fun. We went for coffee, relaxed, and ended up at his place. It was exciting and refreshing. Two weeks later, we did it again, meeting up for fun, no strings attached.
Gradually, I returned to my old lifestyle, seeing different men. Eventually, I left Michael, letting him know with a note: “I don’t want to live together anymore.” Simple and unexplained.
An unexpected turn…
A month later, I found out I was pregnant. Terrified, I went back to Michael. When he learned about the pregnancy, he proposed. I agreed, not out of mad love but because it seemed the easiest and most logical decision. Plus, it prevented a return to the dull hometown life.
A year after having a son, I was pregnant again—another boy. Caring for two little ones and managing the house took all my time. Michael worked a lot, was ambitious, and often stayed late. Perhaps he just didn’t hurry home to a grumpy wife and noisy kids. I wasn’t great company: tired, irritated, with no free moments. I waited for Michael to return just to start complaining.
But… there was a price to pay.
You might be wondering who fathered my eldest son. Michael or one of my exes? I didn’t think it mattered. Could be Michael, maybe not. I told myself: “Everyone makes mistakes, I was young, it wasn’t on purpose…”
I still don’t know who my eldest son’s father is, and I doubt I ever will. Everyone believes it’s Michael—him, our son, and our families.
But does it matter since Michael stopped caring for the children anyway? Not because he doubted their parentage. One evening, when the kids were 4 and 2, I came home to find a note: “I’ve filed for divorce. It’s not working out between us.”
We got divorced. Now, I’m raising the kids alone. Michael pays child support, which barely covers expenses. At least he left us the apartment—to stay in until the kids come of age.
And Michael did marry… Emily. Now they are expecting their first child.
