Everything comes full circle in life… My husband filed for divorce and went back to his ex!
I thought of myself as a master in the game of love. But life taught me a harsh lesson: every action has consequences, and sooner or later, you have to face the music.
I got married at 25—not too early, not too late. Wanting to avoid moving back to my small hometown, where everyone watches your every move, pushed me to stay in London. Here, I could enjoy the anonymity I had long dreamed of.
My friend’s boyfriend…
I’m talking about Steve. Tall and brown-eyed, he was the boyfriend of my school friend, Emily. This only fueled my desire to win him over. Steve, it seemed, wasn’t opposed to flirting behind Emily’s back either.
And so, with a playful air, we began dating while he was still with Emily. I didn’t limit myself to just one person and made no secrets about it. Steve knew he wasn’t the only one in my life, but he wasn’t exactly unattached either, was he?
One day, Steve saw me getting out of another man’s car. After the car drove away, he approached me and said we needed to talk. He declared that he didn’t want to share me with others, that he couldn’t envision being with anyone else but me. He suggested breaking up with Emily and starting a life with me. The idea appealed to me, especially because it solved my housing problem and annoyed the smug Emily.
We moved in together, but after a few weeks, I got bored; I craved variety and excitement. This realization hit me when I ran into John—one of my ex-boyfriends, with whom I had some fun times. We went for a coffee, relaxed, and ended up at his place. It was fun and invigorating. A couple of weeks later, we did it again, starting to meet casually without any commitments.
Gradually, I returned to my former way of life, seeing different men. Eventually, I left Steve, writing him a note: “I no longer want to live together.” Simple and without explanations.
A twist of fate…
A month later, I found out I was pregnant. Scared, I returned to Steve. Upon hearing about the pregnancy, he proposed. I agreed, not out of wild love, but considering it the most sensible and easiest decision. Plus, it meant avoiding a return to the dreary hometown.
A year after our son’s birth, I became pregnant again—another boy. Caring for two small children and managing the household took up all my time. Steve worked a lot, was ambitious, and often stayed late at work. Perhaps he just wasn’t in a hurry to come home to an irritable wife and noisy kids. I wasn’t pleasant company: tired, grumpy, without a spare minute, waiting for Steve to return home so I could start complaining.
But… the reckoning came.
You might wonder who the father of my eldest son is. Steve or one of my former flings? I considered it irrelevant. Maybe Steve, maybe not. I told myself, “Everyone makes mistakes, I was young, it wasn’t intentional…”
To this day, I don’t know who my eldest son’s father is, and I probably never will. Everyone believes it’s Steve—him, our son, and those close to us.
But does it matter if Steve stopped caring for the children anyway? Not because he doubted the paternity. One evening, when the kids were 4 and 2 years old, I came home to find a note: “I’ve filed for divorce. We’re just not working out.”
We divorced. Now, I’m raising the children alone. Steve pays child support, which barely covers the basics. At least he left us the flat—to live in until the kids are of age.
And Steve did end up marrying… Emily. And now they’re expecting their first child.
