After the divorce my husband made a demand that made me laugh uncontrollably

For a long time, I fooled myself into believing that everything in my life was normal — just the usual routine, no upheavals, as if it were all a nightmare that I could wake from. I refused to accept that Sergey had truly betrayed me. Not a fleeting fling, but a real relationship — with the very woman who had become his assistant at work. They met every day, side by side.
The signs were there all along: late nights at the office, unfamiliar scents clinging to his clothes, hushed conversations behind closed doors, trips he claimed were business-related. But I kept convincing myself it was all in my head. That there was some reasonable explanation and no cause for alarm.
One day, I couldn’t hold it in any longer and confronted him directly.
“Are you seeing her?” I asked.
He didn’t even try to deny it. With a cold, detached voice, he said, “You already know the truth. It’s better we’re honest — I want a divorce.”
That was the final blow. No remorse, no warmth. Just an abrupt end.
Friends and family tried to comfort me.
“She’s not worth your tears, Olga,” Marina, my closest friend, said. “Forget him. Maybe this is for the best. He would’ve only brought you misery.”
“My gut told me he was no good from the start!” my mother snapped. “Let him go to hell. You’ll find someone who truly deserves you.”
“That’s just how life goes, honey,” my mother-in-law sighed when I broke the news. “No children, you’re young and beautiful — your future is bright.”
Their words were kind but empty, never reaching the ache inside. Deep down, I still clung to hope — that Sergey would see his mistake and come back. Foolish, perhaps. But I was desperate for any chance.
I called him repeatedly, longing for a change of heart, but he never answered. It was like I was erased from his world the moment he left our home.
To keep my mind occupied, I started spending more time with Marina’s brother, Kirill. We’d known each other casually for years, more like acquaintances than close friends. In our teens, I admired him quietly but never admitted it — especially not to Marina.
Now, freshly divorced himself, a little adrift and weary, Kirill was back in town. And somehow, being with him made me feel alive again.
He never pitied me, never offered empty platitudes like “you deserve better,” or pried into my feelings. He simply was — a steady presence. We’d stroll through the evenings, catch movies, or sit on park benches savoring ice cream from the corner shop. Around him, my pain softened, and memories of Sergey faded to background noise.
So when my divorce became official, I agreed to explore a relationship with Kirill. I hadn’t expected it, but Marina was thrilled.
“Finally!” she exclaimed, hugging me tight. “I always knew you two were meant for each other. Your divorce was a blessing, the best thing that happened to you!”
Months earlier, I might have bristled at her words. But now I understood. With Kirill, I felt valued, desired, loved — everything Sergey never was. Tender, thoughtful, attentive. He even spoiled me, something I’d never known.
I hadn’t thought about the past until my phone buzzed, showing Sergey’s name — an unwelcome surprise.
Kirill nodded, “Answer it. Hear him out.”
Taking a deep breath, I pressed accept.
“Olga?” his voice was sharp, businesslike. “We need to meet. It’s urgent.”
“What about?” I asked, confused.
“Not over the phone,” he interrupted. “Can you meet me tomorrow by the lake in the park near your place? Pick a time.”
Surprised, I agreed. He promised to come and hung up.
“Any idea what this is about?” I asked Kirill.
“No clue,” he said. “Want me to come with you?”
“No,” I replied firmly. “I need closure — this is my meeting alone.”
At the appointed time, I stood beside the pond, alone. Sergey was late, and doubt crept in. Would he even show? After everything, maybe he’d changed his mind or wanted me back.
Then he appeared, walking briskly, urgency in his step.
“Thanks for coming. We need to talk… about the ring.”
“The ring?” I asked, puzzled.
“Your wedding ring,” he said. “You kept it, right? I want you to return it.”
My eyebrows shot up.
“You want me to give you the ring? Why?”
He shrugged, frowning. “I’m getting remarried. Karina and I need wedding bands. I paid for them, so I think it’s fair to get mine back — especially yours.”
I stared at him — the man I once loved now asking to reclaim a ring, a gift from years ago, just to save money on his new wedding. The absurdity made me laugh uncontrollably. Tears streamed down, not from sorrow, but disbelief.
Wiping my face, I locked eyes with him.
“You’re lucky I didn’t throw it out. I still carry it.”
From my pocket, I pulled the ring — along with the memories it held.
“Here,” I said with mock seriousness. “Since you want it so badly — take it! Don’t let me stand in the way of your happiness.”
With a sharp flick, I tossed the ring into the pond. It vanished beneath the surface, leaving only ripples.
I didn’t wait for his response — no pleas, no excuses. I didn’t care anymore. Let him curse his fate. I turned away and walked off, leaving him behind, where he belonged.
Later, recounting the story to Kirill, we laughed together.
“You’re amazing,” he said with a smile. “Sometimes the best thing is to let go — of people, and the things that remind you of them.”
We aren’t rushing toward marriage yet, though I sense Kirill is thinking about it. Maybe soon he’ll propose. Why not? We’ve both endured divorce and heartbreak, and now we deserve true happiness. My parents, especially my mother, are delighted — already dreaming of grandchildren.
As for me? I’m content. Truly happy, no matter how cliché that sounds. I’m not afraid to say it: I found someone who genuinely loves me.