The days after that fateful knock felt like walking through a storm. Andrew called constantly, left messages, and even showed up outside the house. He begged, pleaded, and tried to worm his way back into my good graces, but it was too late.
I’ll never forget the first time he showed up unannounced after I’d filed for divorce. It was a rainy evening, the kind where the sky felt heavy and everything seemed muted. I had just tucked the kids into bed when the doorbell rang.
“There’s nothing to say, Andrew,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “I made a mistake,” he said, his voice trembling. “I was stupid.
Selfish. I don’t want to lose you or the kids. I’ll do anything to fix this.”
I stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind me so the kids wouldn’t hear.
“Anything? Andrew, you lied to me for two years. You cheated, manipulated, and betrayed me.
You didn’t just hurt me — you jeopardized our entire family.”
“I know,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “But I can change. I swear I can.
I’ll go to therapy. I’ll quit my job if that’s what it takes. Just… give me a chance, Emma.
Please.”
You destroyed the trust and respect this family was built on. You don’t come back from that.”
For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then his shoulders slumped. “So that’s it?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
“That’s it,” I said, walking back to the door. “Emma,” he called after me, his voice breaking. I turned around one last time.
“The kids will always have a father. But I don’t have a husband anymore.”Continue reading…
