The man I had always dreamed of left his wife for me, but I never imagined how things would unravel.
I had fancied him since my uni dayspure, blind infatuation. When he finally noticed me, I was over the moon. It happened years after graduation, when we both landed jobs at the same firm. Given our shared field, it wasnt unusual, but I took it as fate.
He seemed perfect. Back then, I didnt care that he was married. Id never been wed myself and had no idea how heartbreak felt. So when Oliver chose me over his wife, I felt no guilt. Little did I know the grief it would bring. They say you cant build joy on anothers paintruer words were never spoken.
At first, I was besotted, willing to overlook anything. In reality, he wasnt the charming bloke he appeared to be. His things were always strewn about, and hed never lift a finger to help with chores. Yet I didnt mindthen.
He moved on swiftly from his past marriage. No kids, and as it turned out, her parents had pushed for the wedding. With me, he claimed, it was different.
My happiness was short-lived. When I fell pregnant, Oliver was thrilled. We threw a grand celebration with family, everyone toasting our future. That evening remains a cherished memoryone I dont regret. But from that point, my blind devotion began to crumble.
As my bump grew, Oliver grew distant. On maternity leave, I saw him only late at night. He stayed late at work, attended endless office parties. At first, I brushed it off, but soon it wore me down. Chores became a strugglebending to pick up his scattered socks was impossible.
I wonderedhad we rushed into parenthood?
I knew love could fade, but not this fast. He still brought flowers and chocolates, but all I wanted was his presence.
Then the truth surfaced. Colleagues mentioned a new hire in our department. With me gone, the team was stretched thin. The irony. I couldnt be sure, but Oliver was clearly seeing someonealways tied up with work, meetings, or another «unmissable» event. One day, I found a note in his jacket, signed with unfamiliar initials. I slipped it back, pretending I hadnt seen it.
At seven months pregnant, I was terrified of being alone, yet Oliver called me irrational. Every row ended with his exasperated sigh. I knew bringing it up would leave me deserted. Fear consumed meuntil the day he said the unthinkable: «Im not ready for kids.» And: «Theres someone else.» The words blurred, but the pain was sharp.
I never thought Id have the strength to file for divorce. He didnt either. The next day, I chucked his belongings out. Thank God wed only rented the flatno messy division.
«What about the baby? How will you manage?»
«Ill figure it out. Freelance work, maybe. Mum and Dad have offered help. Mum always said he was a cadshouldve listened.»
My son gave me courage. Alone, I mightve stayed. But I refused to raise a child with a man like him. The betrayal was vilethe scales fell from my eyes.
The first months post-divorce, including the birth, were gruelling. I moved back with my parents, who doted on their grandson. I missed Oliver sometimes, but pushed him from my mind. Deep down, I knew Id done right by my boy.
Once recovered, I sought work. Legal translations, once a side hustle, became my full-time gig. Lean months came, but my parents helped. Soon, I had steady clients and independence.
My son grew fastnursery turned to school, Year One to Five. For the first time in ages, I felt content. Then Oliver reappeared.
Our towns legal circle is small; he easily tracked me down. I wished Id moved away. Now settled, he claimed regretyouthful folly, he called it. He wanted to meet his son.
The law grants him that right. If he pushes, hell find a way. The thought petrifies me. Weeks have passed since we spoke. I told him Id think on it, but Im paralysed. I want to shield my son from him.
Is this my punishment for stealing him from his first wife? Maybe I should just pack up and leave.
