Fourteen years of marriage went down the drain when my husband traded his family for his mistress, a nice looking woman with an effortless elegance.

It was the sound of her heels that disturbed my routine of preparing dinner. I got out of the kitchen and there they were. Stan and that woman.

She looked at me coldly and then turned to my husband and said, “Well, darling, you were right, she really let herself go. Nice bone structure, though.”

At that moment, my world shattered.

“Stan, who is this woman who gives herself the right to speak of me like that in my own house?” I demanded to know, feeling a rolercoaster of emotions.

“Not your house any longer,” Stan said, “I want divorce, and I want you out of here.”

He sounded so indifferent, as though all those years we have spent together didn’t mean anything to him.

I had no choice but to accept the reality that my husband traded his family, his own children, for his affair.

I packed my and my children’s belongings and moved to a tiny apartment.

At the beginning, Stan was sending money, but over time, he stopped supporting us financially and lost every contact with his children. It was as though he never existed.

I struggled to manage taking care of my children, working two jobs, and have the house running. But I learned that I was stronger that I ever think I could be. My resilience became by strongest trait, and I was not about to let my children down.

Three years passed by since the night Stan brought his mistress home and demanded divorce.

I was thriving and had full control of my life. I didn’t even think of Stan any longer. And then, one day, I spotted him and his new wife at a small coffee place.

Neither he nor her resembled their old selves. My ex-husband looked worn, and his mistress’ elegance was nowhere to be seen.

The moment he spotted me, my ex-husband, the man who traded his family for his affair, ran towards me. His eyes changed, it was as though he felt a glimpse of hope. He begged me to see the children, the same children he didn’t see or called in years.

I told him it wasn’t my decision to make and that I would tell my kids, who were now grown-up, that their father wanted them to be part of their life again.

His wife got outside of the place and started arguing with him because he talked to me.

I simply walked away, and felt satisfaction. Not because of their downfall, but because my future and my life were brighter than the ones Stan left behind.