Jealousy Ruined Me: When I Saw My Wife Step Out of Another Mans Car, I Lost Control and Destroyed My Life
I stood by the window, fists clenched, my heart pounding so violently I thought it might burst. The room was silent, but inside my head, one question roared: *Why is she so late?*
The clock on the wall ticked deafeningly.
It was late. Far too late.
Then, headlights cut through the dark.
A sleek black car pulled up outside the house. My breath caught. A man sat behind the wheeltall, self-assured. A stranger.
The passenger door opened.
And there she was.
Something inside me shattered.
She was smiling. A casual, careless smile that turned my blood to ice. She leaned into the window, murmured something, and the man laughed. *Laughed.*
Then she shut the door and strolled towards the house like nothing was wrong.
Every muscle in my body coiled tight.
*Who was he? How long had this been happening? How could I have been so blind?*
The front door creaked open. She stepped inside, tossing her bag onto the table with infuriating ease.
“Who was that?” My voice was tight.
She paused, frowning. “Who was *who*?”
“The man in the car. Who is he?”
She sighed, annoyed, as if I were asking something ridiculous. “For heaven’s sake, Oliver, dont start. That was James, Emmas husband. He gave me a lift because it was late. Are we really going to argue about this?”
But I wasnt listening anymore.
My mind spun. My blood boiled.
And then my hand moved on its own.
The slap echoed through the room.
She staggered back, pressing a hand to her cheek. A trickle of blood dripped from her nose.
The silence that followed was worse than any sound.
Then I saw it in her eyes.
Not anger. Not pain. *Fear.*
I knew it was over.
No going back.
She didnt scream. Didnt cry.
Just grabbed her coat and left.
The next morning, a solicitor knocked on my door with divorce papers.
The court took everythingeven my son.
“I put up with your jealousy for years,” she told me later, her voice cold as steel. “But violence? Never.”
I begged her to forgive me. Swore it was a mistake. A moment of madness. That it would never happen again.
She didnt care.
Then came the final blowin court, she claimed I was aggressive with our son.
A lie.
A cruel, calculated lie. Id never laid a finger on him. Never raised my voice.
But who would believe me? A man whod already hit his wife.
The judge didnt hesitate.
She got full custody.
I got scrapsa few hours a week. Supervised visits in a sterile room.
No bedtime stories. No lazy Sunday mornings making him pancakes.
For six months, I lived for those moments.
For the way hed run into my arms, cling to me, whisper how much he missed me.
And then, every time, I had to watch him walk away.
Until the day he said something that shattered me completely.
He was growing. Starting to notice things.
One day, as he played with his toy cars, he said it absently:
“Daddy, Mummy wasnt home last night. A lady came to stay with me.”
My stomach dropped.
“What lady?” My throat was dry.
“Dunno. She always comes when Mummy goes out at night.”
I couldnt breathe.
“Where does Mummy go?”
He shrugged. “She doesnt tell me.”
My hands curled into fists.
I had to know the truth.
And when I found it, something inside me snapped.
Shed hired a babysitter.
A stranger.
While I begged for more time with my son, she left him with someone Id never met.
I called her, my voice shaking.
“Why is our son with a stranger when Im right here?”
Her reply was icy. “Because its easier.”
“*Easier?*” My breath came ragged. “Im his father! If youre not there, he should be with me.”
She sighed, impatient. “Oliver, Im not dragging him to your flat every time I have plans. Stop making a scene.”
My knuckles whitened around the phone.
What could I do? Report her? Fight in court?
What if I lost again?
One mistake.
One moment of rage.
And they took everything.
But my son
I wont lose him.
I wont let a stranger raise him.
Ill fight.
Because hes all I have left.
