My husband and I had been together nearly forty years. We raised our children, built a lovely home, started a small but successful business, and bought a nice car. We wanted for nothing and always tried to live in harmony. When our kids grew up and started families of their own, we looked forward to a quiet, cosy retirement—just the two of us.
Then, in the blink of an eye, it all fell apart.
I noticed the signs—he hid his phone, stayed out late, started grooming himself like a man half his age. I didn’t need to be a detective to figure it out—there was someone else. And not just anyone—a 19-year-old girl with model looks. She could’ve been our granddaughter.
I knew immediately she wasn’t after love—she wanted his money. My husband, blinded by her youth and false devotion, swanned about like he’d found a second wind. A few months later, he told me he wanted a divorce to marry her. Can you imagine? Forty years of marriage, memories, a family—all tossed aside for a stranger who called him «sweetheart» but cringed when he laughed too loudly.
I didn’t scream, beg, or make a scene. I just quietly agreed. But little did he know what was coming. I did something that later had him on his knees, begging for forgiveness.
He and his «true love» were ecstatic—wedding plans, photo shoots, holidays. They thought life would be nothing but roses from then on. But there was one thing they didn’t know.
Years ago, when we’d first started the business and bought the house, our solicitor advised us to put everything in our children’s names. On paper, my husband and I owned nothing—not the house, the business, or the accounts. He forgot. She never knew.
When the honeymoon ended, the questions started:
*»Why can’t you sell the business?»
«Where’s your car?»
«Why are we renting instead of living in your house?»
«You said you had money…»*
When the truth came out, she packed her bags and left—just like that. No drama, no farewells. She was gone, leaving my ex-husband with nothing but empty pockets and a broken heart.
A few months later, he turned up at my door. Older, greyer, eyes full of regret. He wept. Begged for forgiveness. Said he finally understood—that I was the only one. He wanted to come back.
But I wasn’t the same woman anymore. I didn’t need revenge. I just looked at him and said,
*»I’m sorry, but I won’t be with a man who threw away forty years of love for a pretty face.»*
I walked away, leaving him there on the doorstep. And ahead of me? My life. My own. Real. Free.