Fourteen years of marriage broke up when my husband dealt his family for his mistress, a nice looking woman with an effortless elegance.
It was the sound of her heels that affected my routine of preparing dinner. I got out of the kitchen and there they were. Stan and that woman.

She looked at me coldly and then turned to my husband and said, “Well, darling, you were right, she really let herself go. Nice bone structure, though.”

“Stan, who is this woman who gives herself the right to speak of me like that in my own house?” I demanded to know, feeling a rolercoaster of emotions.

“Not your house any longer,” Stan said, “I want divorce, and I want you out of here.”

He angrily said to me, as though all those years we have spent together didn’t mean anything to him.

I had no choice but to accept the reality that my husband traded his family, his own children, for his affair.

I packed my and my children’s bagages and moved to a tiny apartment.

Image for illustrative purpose only.
At the beginning, Stan was sending money, but after 3 months he stopped supporting us financially and lost every contact with his children. It was as though he never existed.

I struggled to balance caring for my children, working two jobs, and keeping the house functioning. But I discovered that I was far stronger than I had previously believed. My resilience became my strongest quality, and I was not about to disappoint my children.

Three years had passed since the night Stan brought his lover home and sought divorce.

I was thriving and in complete control of my life. I didn’t think about Stan anymore. And then, one day, I saw him and his new wife in a small coffee shop.

Neither he nor she resembled their former selves. My ex-husband appeared tired, and his mistress’ elegance was nowhere to be found.

Image for illustrative purpose only.
My ex-husband, the man who sacrificed his family for his aff:a:ir, rushed towards me as soon as he saw me. His eyes changed, as if he sensed hope. He urged me to see the children, the same ones he hadn’t seen or phoned in years.

I told him it wasn’t my decision, and that I would inform my now-adult children that their father wanted them back in their lives.

His wife walked out of the house and began arguing with him because he spoke to me.

I simply walked away, feeling satisfied. Not because of their failure, but because my future and life were more promising than the ones Stan left behind.