The man I once dreamed of left his wife for me, but I never foresaw how it would all unravel.
Id fancied him since universitya love so blind it bordered on foolish. When he finally noticed me years later, I was over the moon. Fate, I thought, had brought us together at the same law firm in London. After all, wed studied the same subject; it wasnt so unusual. But to me, it felt meant to be.
He seemed perfectcharming, successful, everything Id imagined. Back then, I didnt spare a thought for his wife. Id never been married myself and had no idea how it felt when a marriage crumbled. So when Oliver chose me, I felt no guilt. Only later did I learn the hard way: happiness built on anothers heartache is fragile indeed.
At first, I forgave him everything. But daily life revealed a different man. Socks strewn across the floor, dishes piling uphousework fell entirely on me. Yet I didnt mind. He claimed his first marriage had been pressured by her family. With me, he insisted, it was real.
My joy lasted only until I fell pregnant. Oliver was thrilled at firstwe even hosted a celebration with family in our flat in York. Everyone toasted our future. That evening remains one of my happiest memories, and I dont regret it. But soon, my rose-tinted glasses began to crack.
As my bump grew, Oliver vanished. Late nights at work, endless office parties. At first, I brushed it off, but exhaustion wore me down. Picking up after him became impossible. I wonderedhad we rushed into parenthood?
His affection cooled faster than Id feared. Flowers and chocolates appeared, but his presence didnt. Then came the whispers: a new junior associate at the firm. I found a note in his coat pocketinitials I didnt recognise. I said nothing, terrified of confronting him. Fear, they say, invites the very thing you dread.
The final blow came in my seventh month: Im not ready for fatherhood, he admitted. Theres someone else. The words shattered me. Yet somehow, I found the strength to file for divorce. He never expected Id throw his belongings out the next day. At least wed only rentedno property to split.
What about the baby? he sneered. How will you manage?
Ill manage, I snapped. My parents will help. My mum always said you were a cadI shouldve listened.
Perhaps motherhood steeled me. Alone, I mightve stayed. But I refused to raise my son with a man like him. The betrayal stripped away my illusions.
The early months were brutalmoving back to my parents in Leeds, childbirth, sleepless nights. Yet their support, especially for little Henry, was a lifeline. I missed Oliver sometimes, but I buried the thought. This was right.
Once recovered, I turned freelancelegal translations from home. Money was tight, but clients grew steady. By the time Henry needed his own room, I could afford a flat. Life settled: school replaced nursery, years slipped by. Then Oliver reappeared.
York isnt vast, and in legal circles, paths cross. He tracked me down, remorseful. I was young and stupid, he pleaded. I want to know my son.
The law grants him that right. But the idea terrifies me. Weeks have passed since his request; Ive stalled, paralysed. Should I flee to another city? Or is this my reckoningkarma for stealing him away?
Perhaps the lesson is this: love built on anothers ruin will never stand firm. And forgiveness, when it comes, must be on your own terms.
