Three years after my divorce from the man who left me for my school friend, we crossed paths at a petrol station, and I couldnt stop smiling.
He walked away from me for her after my miscarriagethree years later, fate let me witness the cost of their betrayal. I used to think affairs happened to other peoplesomething you read about in dramatic online stories or whispered over Sunday roasts. But not to me. Never to us. For five years, Ethan and I built a life. Nothing lavish, but oursfilm nights on the sofa, lazy café mornings, jokes only we understood. And always there was Emilymy best friend since school, the sister I chose. She stood beside me at my wedding, holding my hands, crying happy tears.
When I got pregnant, I thought it was just another chapter of our perfect life. Then Ethan changed. At first, it was smalllate nights at work, a smile that didnt reach his eyes. Then it worsened. He barely looked at me. Conversations turned hollow. At night, he turned his back like I wasnt even there. Lost, I reached for Emily.
“I dont know whats happening,” I whispered into the phone, curled in the dark while Ethan slept soundly beside me. “Its like hes already gone.”
“Charlotte, youre overreacting,” she soothed. “He loves you. Hes just stressed.”
I wanted to believe her.
But the relentless tensionsleepless nights, the gnawing loneliness despite being marriedwore me down. Then one morning, I woke to a dull ache in my stomach. By evening, I was in hospital, watching the doctors lips move but hearing nothing. No heartbeat. No baby.
They say grief comes in waves. Mine was an avalanche. The loss crushed me. But Ethan? He was already gone. He sat beside my hospital bed, cold and silent, never reaching for my hand, never speaking a word of comfort. Just waiting, like a man at a bus stop, not mourning a lost child.
A month later, he finally spoke the words hed clearly rehearsed for weeks.
“Im not happy anymore, Charlotte.”
That was it. No explanations. No emotion. Just hollow words.
The day he left, there was no shouting, no tears. Just ice-cold silence.
“Im not happy anymore, Charlotte.”
I blinked at him across the kitchen table, his words like a stone on my chest.
“What?” My voice trembled.
He sighed, rubbing his temples like *I* was the problem.
“I just feel nothing. I havent for a long time.”
A long time.
I swallowed a sob.
“Since I lost the baby?”
His jaw tightened.
“Its not about that.”
The lie was almost laughable.
I searched his face for regret, guiltanything. But he just sat there, refusing to meet my eyes.
“So thats it? Five years, and you just walk away?” My hands clenched under the table.
Another sigh, this time irritated.
“I dont want to argue, Charlotte.”
I let out a sharp laughthe kind that comes when youre dangling over the edge.
“Oh, you dont want to argue? Funny, because I didnt get a choice.”
He stood, grabbed his keys. Before I could speak, the door slammed.
Emily, my best friend, followed him soon after. She was my lifeline, my comfort. Then she vanished. No calls returned. Messages ignored. Eventually, she blocked me everywhere.
I didnt understanduntil I did.
My mother called first. Her voice was tight.
“Charlotte, love look at this.”
She sent me a link to Emilys Instagram.
And there they were.
Ethan and Emily. Arm in arm on a beach, laughing like theyd been in love for years. I scrolled further, hands shaking. Photo after photo, week after week. Fancy restaurants, ski trips, cosy nights by the fire. She posted them freelywhile I was still his wife.
The betrayal burned like acid. But if they thought Id break, they were wrong.
Ethan had been careless, too wrapped up in his fantasy to hide the trail. In court, his infidelity was my leverage. I took the house, half his savings, and the satisfaction of watching him start over.
Starting again wasnt easy. But life rewards the resilient.
A year later, I met James.
He was everything Ethan wasntkind, attentive. He never made me feel like my emotions were too much.
We built a real lifenot a performance for social media. Soon, our daughter arrivedmy mirror image with his smile.
Then fate handed me the perfect ending.
One evening, I stopped at a petrol station. And there they were.
Ethan and Emily.
No designer clothes now. No happy photos. Just a rusted hatchback, an argument echoing through the shop, a crying child, and an empty bank account.
“We dont even have enough for petrol?” Emily whined.
“You knew money was tight,” Ethan snapped.
Emily laughed bitterly.
“Guess Charlotte got the happy ending after all.”
I started the engine and drove hometo where my real happiness lived.
