The husband decided to keep the children after the divorce. Let him have them then…
I had been married to Andrew for over ten years. We had seen it all—joy, struggles, but never once did we betray each other. We had two children: an older son and a younger daughter, who had just turned three. I truly believed we had a strong family; after all, staying together for so long without infidelity is rare. Then, out of nowhere, I found out my husband had a mistress. It was shockingly ordinary and repulsive. He simply betrayed me—my love, trust, and dreams—crushed like discarded trash. I didn’t scream or cause a scene. I simply filed for divorce. Staying with him was no longer an option.
Andrew initially resisted, pleaded, asked me not to rush. He claimed it was a mistake, that everything could be fixed. But I had made up my mind. A heart once broken cannot be mended. Then he said, “Fine. Get the divorce. But the kids stay with me.” At first, I couldn’t grasp what he meant. But he was serious—asserting that he could provide for their future, while I couldn’t even support myself.
I was shocked initially. But once the emotions settled, I thought—maybe he’s right? Andrew had his own apartment from his mother, a good job, a car. And me? I’d just returned to work six months ago, had a laughable salary, a rented flat, and debts for utilities. I couldn’t manage two children on my own. I didn’t want to drag them into a life of deprivation. If they stayed with him, they’d have everything: food, a roof over their heads, clothing, stability.
I didn’t give up; I made a choice—for the children. We went to court together. The divorce was swift, without drama. Andrew refused child support, saying he’d manage on his own. I promised to help however I could. Our son took it hard at first—he already understood a lot. The little one, Caroline, didn’t immediately grasp that mommy no longer lived with them. Every weekend, I would visit, take them out, give them as much warmth as I could.
Initially, Andrew called a hundred times a day. Asked what to feed them, how to put them to bed, complained about being tired. Then the calls became less frequent. Within a couple of months, they stopped completely. During this time, I found an apartment, got a new job, and started getting back on my feet.
Then Andrew announced he’d changed his mind: it was too hard for him, the kids interfered with his personal life, he was exhausted. Now he wanted me to take them back. He hadn’t signed up for this, apparently.
I listened in disbelief. The same person who had harped on about “responsibility,” who had claimed he’d give the children everything, now wanted to hand them back like unwanted items? Yes, he reproached me for “abandoning” them, said I was a bad mother. But I’m not. I just refuse to repeat the path of thousands of women who ruin their health and nerves just to meet someone else’s expectations.
He betrayed me first. He broke up the family. Why should I bear all the burden alone? I’m no heroine. Just an ordinary woman. And my children have a father. Let him carry his share.
I love my kids. Deeply. But I made a choice—a rational, conscious one. Maybe some will judge me. But I don’t regret it. I didn’t abandon them. I gave them a chance at stability. Life will show who was right.