The man of my dreams left his wife for me, but I had no idea what was coming.
Id sighed for him since my university days, living in a tiny village near York. It was blind, reckless lovethe kind that makes you lose all sense. When he finally noticed me, years after graduation, any remaining reason slipped away. Fate reunited us in the same law firm. Shared ambitions, shared passions. I thought it was destiny, a fairy tale about to unfold.
He seemed perfect, plucked straight from my fantasies. That he was married didnt trouble me thenI didnt understand the wreckage of broken vows or the pain behind such stories. I felt no guilt when Thomas left his wife for me. Whod have guessed that choice would lead to such sorrow? Old sayings ring true: you cant build happiness on anothers misery.
When he chose me, I floated on air, ready to forgive anything. But in daily life, he was no prince. His clutter spread through the flat like creeping ivy; he flatly refused to wash a single dish. The chores fell to me, heavy as wet laundry. Back then, I turned a blind eyelove made me pliant, soft, almost servile.
His old marriage faded fast, as if wiped from his mind. No children, he claimed, and the wedding had been his in-laws doing. “Youre differentyoure my fate,” hed murmur, and Id melt. My happiness was bright but fleeting, like a struck match. Then I got pregnant.
At first, Thomas shone with joyhis child, ours! We threw a lavish party, welcoming friends and family. Toasts, well-wishes for the babythat evening lingers in my memory like a candle in a gathering storm. I dont regret it, but afterward, his love began to gutter, flickering weakly in the wind.
As my belly swelled, Thomas vanished. I took maternity leave, and our time together shrank to late, silent evenings. “Work,” hed say. “Meetings.” “Emergencies.” I endured it, until I couldnt. Pregnant and aching, I waded through his discarded shirts and socks, each one an accusation. Had we rushed into this? Love cools with time, I knewbut not this fast.
He still brought flowers, chocolatesempty gestures. I wanted him, his presence, his warmth. Then the truth surfaced. A chance coffee chat with colleagues revealed a new hireyoung, vibrant. The office buzzed with rumours. Coincidence? I didnt know if it was her, but it was certainly someone. His world narrowed to “work,” “meetings,” and “urgencies.” One day, I found a note in his pocket, signed with unfamiliar initials. My chest tightened, but I tucked it back, pretending not to see. Fear of facing the seventh month alone kept me frozen.
He complained I was “always on edge.” Every argument ended with a weary sigh, as if I were a burden. I dreaded speaking the obviousit would mean the end. And then it came. The worst words: “Im not ready for a child. Theres someone else.” How he said itI dont recall. My head roared; my world crumbled. I thought Id go mad with grief and shame.
But I found strength. I filed for divorce, each word of the petition a fresh wound. He never expected me to act, to toss his things out the next day. Thankfully, the flat was rentedno splitting required.
“What about the baby? How will you manage?” he spat as a farewell.
“Ill manage. Ill work remotely. My parents will help. Mum always said you were a skirt-chaser. Shouldve listened.” The door slammed behind him.
Responsibility for my son forged a steel in me I never knew I had. Alone, I mightve stayed. For him, I left. The betrayal was so vile, I scrubbed Thomas from my life like a stain. My eyes openedI saw him clearly at last.
The months post-divorce, birth included, were hell. I returned to my parents in a nearby townthey welcomed us, doting on their grandson. I missed Thomas, but shoved the thought aside. Deep down, I knew Id done right. My son would have everything I could give.
Once recovered, I resumed worktranslating legal texts from home. Some months, earnings were thin, but my parents steadied me until clients piled up. My boy grew; years blurred past. I realised it when he needed his own space. My parents clung to us, but I craved independencea study for me, a room for his schoolbooks. By then, I could afford to rent.
Life softened. Nursery became school, infants became Year 7, and for the first time in years, I breathed easy. Then Thomas reappeared. Our small legal circles meant he found my office effortlessly. How I wished Id moved farther! He claimed growth, regret”youthful stupidity.” He begged to meet his son, whom hed never seen.
Legally, he could demand it. That thought chills me. Weeks have passed since his plea. Ive stalled, claiming Ill consider it, but my mind churnsI dont trust him near my boy. Is this my punishment? The cost of stealing him from his first wife? Im half-tempted to vanish to another town, to outrun this past knocking at my door.
