Since college, I had quietly harbored feelings for him. Years later, our fates crossed again in a law office on the outskirts of Cambridge. Being lawyers united by shared passions, our encounter felt almost predestined. The chemistry between us was undeniable, sweeping me off balance entirely. Despite his marriage, my youthful innocence convinced me love would make me the exception.
When Matthew chose me over his wife, I believed I was starting a new happily-ever-after. The pain his ex-wife might endure didn’t cross my mind. I convinced myself their marriage was already broken and that I was the missing piece he needed. However, I soon realized—forging joy on someone else’s shattered heart is impossible.
At first, I overlooked his flaws: his disarray, his indolence, and how he treated our home as if it were a hotel. House chores—cooking, cleaning—fell solely on me. I reassured myself it was insignificant because he was finally mine, that I had “won.”
But in reality, no victory was achieved.
Matthew rarely spoke about his previous marriage, dismissing it as a mistake driven by external pressures on his ex-wife. “With you, it’s different,” he whispered often. “You are the one I was destined to be with.” I clung to each of his words as truth.
When I discovered I was pregnant, his response seemed joyful. We celebrated together, hosting friends and family in honor of our unborn child and hopeful future. That night radiated warmth that soon faded into a chilling solitude.
Gradually, everything shifted.
As my pregnancy advanced, Matthew became increasingly distant—working late, missing appointments, skipping dinners. I rationalized his absence, attributing it to busy schedules. Unfortunately, over time, I found myself alone more frequently—navigating the flat exhausted, surrounded by silence and unwashed clothes.
Occasionally, he returned with flowers or chocolates, but those gestures were mere attempts to cover deeper wounds. What I truly craved was his presence—the man I believed I knew.
Then rumors surfaced.
- A coworker mentioned a young new assistant capturing Matthew’s attention.
- I refused to confront the truth.
- Yet, a flirtatious note found in his coat pocket shattered my denial.
Despite everything, I remained silent.
Being seven months pregnant and terrified of solitude, the thought of facing motherhood alone overwhelmed me. I struggled even with simple tasks like tying shoes.
One night, following an argument fueled by accusations of my being “too emotional,” he confessed:
“I don’t think I’m ready to be a father. And… I have met someone else.”
Shock immobilized me. The room spun, and I clung to the table to maintain balance.
The following morning, I filed for divorce.
He doubted my resolve, but I was determined. I told him to gather his belongings and leave. Our flat was rented, so no properties were contested—only a life fractured.
“And what about the baby?” he pleaded. “How will you manage alone?”
Without hesitation, I replied, “I’ll manage. My mother warned me about you—I should have listened.”
That was our final encounter.
What followed were months filled with emotional turmoil, healing, and unwavering resolve. Moving in with my parents in a nearby village, I found solace and support. My mother wept joyfully when my son was born, while my father handcrafted his cradle with care. Through it all, I endured.
Once my son was a few months old, I began freelance translation of legal documents from home. Initial challenges meant minimal earnings. Nonetheless, I gradually rebuilt a clientele, watched my son grow, and filled the house with laughter, bedtime stories, and soft lullabies.
Eventually, financial independence allowed me to rent a modest flat for us. Though my parents were reluctant to see us leave, that step was necessary to reclaim our autonomy.
Years passed swiftly: from nursery to the first grade, then advancing to fifth grade. I felt empowered and whole, finally free from constant fear.
Then, unexpectedly, Matthew resurfaced.
One morning, he appeared at my office, ghostlike from a past I thought long buried. Expressing regret and claiming growth, he wished to meet the son he never knew.
Legally, his rights enable him to pursue contact. Though I cannot prevent him indefinitely, the prospect unsettles me profoundly.
I told him I needed time to consider, but weeks later, I remain without a response to his messages.
Part of me wonders if this is karma— whether I am now paying for the anguish I helped cause, or if I took a man never truly mine to hold.
Currently, I seriously contemplate relocating to a new town, seeking a fresh start far from old memories and guilt. After years of establishing stability and security, I am determined to safeguard it by all means.
Because today, I no longer live for a man or a fantasy.
I live solely for my son.
And no one can ever take that away from me.