Jealousy Destroyed Me: When I Saw My Wife Get Out of Another Mans Car, I Lost Control and Ruined My Life
I was standing by the window, fists clenched, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst. The room was completely silent, but inside my head, there was only one question screaming at me: *Why is she so late?*
The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second dragging.
It was late. Far too late.
Then, headlights lit up the street.
A sleek black car pulled up right outside the house. My breath caught. A man was behind the wheeltall, confident, someone I didnt recognise.
Then the passenger door opened.
And she stepped out.
Something inside me shattered.
She was smiling. So casually it made my blood run cold. She leaned into the window, said something to the driver, and he *laughed*. Actually laughed.
Then she closed the door and walked calmly toward the house like nothing was wrong.
Every muscle in my body locked.
*Who was that man? How long had this been going on? How could I have been so blind?*
The front door opened, and she strolled in, tossing her bag onto the table like it was any other night.
“Who was that?” I asked, my voice tight.
She stopped and frowned. “Who was who?”
“The man in the car. Who is he?”
She sighed, annoyed, as if I was asking something ridiculous. “Oliver, dont start. It was James, Marthas husband. He brought me home because it was late. Are we really going to argue about this?”
But I wasnt listening anymore.
My mind was spinning. My blood was boiling.
And before I knew it, my hand flew out.
The slap echoed through the room.
She staggered back, her hand flying to her face. A trickle of blood dripped from her nose.
The silence that followed was deafening.
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.
By morning, a solicitor was at my door with divorce papers.
The court took everything from meeven my son.
“I put up with your jealousy for years,” she told me later, her voice icy. “But violence? Never.”
I begged for forgiveness. Swore it was a mistake, a moment of madness, that it would never happen again.
She didnt care.
And then came the final blowin court, she claimed Id been aggressive with our son.
A lie.
A cold, calculated lie. Id never laid a hand 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 neutral place.
No nights together. No mornings making him breakfast.
For six months, I lived for those moments.
For the way hed run into my arms, hug me tight, and tell me how much he missed me.
And then, every time, I had to watch him walk away.
Until one day, he told me something that broke me completely.
He was growing up. Starting to notice things.
One afternoon, while playing with his toy cars, he said it without thinking:
“Dad, Mummy wasnt home last night. A lady came to stay with me.”
My stomach dropped.
“What lady?” I asked, my throat tight.
“Dunno. She always comes when Mummy goes out at night.”
I could barely breathe.
“Where does Mummy go?”
He shrugged. “She doesnt tell me.”
My hands curled into fists.
I needed the truth.
And when I found it, something inside me exploded.
Shed hired a babysitter.
A stranger.
While I was begging for more time with my son, she left him with someone else.
I rang her immediately.
“Why are you leaving our son with a stranger when Im right here?”
Her voice was cold. “Because its easier.”
“*Easier?*” I choked out. “Im his father! If youre not there, he should be with me.”
She sighed, impatient. “Oliver, Im not dragging him to your place every time I have plans. Stop making a fuss.”
I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles turned white.
What could I do? Report her? Fight it in court?
What if I lost again?
One mistake.
One moment of rage.
And Id lost everything.
But my son?
I wont lose him.
I wont let some stranger raise him.
Ill fight.
Because hes all I have left.
