Andrew and I had been married for over ten years. We shared joy, hardships, and a steady life without ever betraying each other. We have two children—our older son and our little girl, who had just turned three. I truly believed our marriage was solid. Ten faithful years together felt like something rare, something worth holding on to.
Then I found out about the other woman. It was so typical, so cliché, that it made the betrayal feel even more painful. All the love, trust, and hope I had poured into our life together was crushed in a moment. I didn’t scream or argue. I simply filed for divorce. I knew there was no repairing the kind of hurt he had caused.
At first, Andrew tried to stop me. He begged me to reconsider, said it was a mistake, that we could fix it. But I was done. A heart once broken doesn’t go back to what it was. Then he said something that caught me off guard. He told me, “Fine. Get the divorce. But I’m keeping the kids.” At first, I didn’t take him seriously. But he meant it. He insisted he could give them a better life—that I couldn’t provide what they needed.
And maybe, at that moment, he wasn’t entirely wrong. He had an apartment from his mother, a steady income, a car. I had just returned to work, with a tiny paycheck, a rental, and overdue bills. I knew I couldn’t give them the kind of life he could—not then. I didn’t walk away. I made a hard choice for their well-being.
We went through the divorce quickly. He declined child support, saying he didn’t need it. I promised I’d help however I could. Our son struggled with the changes. Caroline, still so little, didn’t fully understand why I wasn’t there every morning. I visited every weekend, tried to give them all the love I had.
At first, Andrew called constantly—asking about their routines, meals, bedtimes. He sounded overwhelmed. Then the calls slowed, and eventually stopped. During that time, I found a new place to live, started a new job, and slowly began rebuilding my life.
Then came the call. He said he couldn’t do it anymore. The children were too much. They interrupted his life. He was tired, and now he wanted me to take them back. Just like that.
I was stunned. The same man who had insisted he could handle everything, who claimed I was unfit, was now trying to hand them back like an unwanted burden. He even had the nerve to say I had abandoned them. But I hadn’t. I’d made a painful, rational decision.
He broke the family. He made the first betrayal. I won’t carry the full weight of that alone. I love my children more than anything, but I’m also just a woman trying to survive, trying to stay whole. And they have a father. Let him carry his part of the responsibility.
Maybe people will judge me. Maybe not everyone will understand. But I have no regrets. I didn’t leave them behind. I gave them a real chance at something stable. And time will show who truly made the right choice.