I never would have imagined that a betrayal could tear my family apart. We’d been together for five years. They were good, warm years, or at least that’s what I thought. It all started like something out of a love story: compliments, flowers, walks under the moon. Then came the wedding. And a year later, our son was born, whom we eagerly awaited.
Yes, the little one was born a little prematurely, and perhaps that made the difference—his immune system was weak, and he was often sick. That’s why I was never able to go back to work. We decided that daycare wasn’t for him, not even the baby group—he wouldn’t be able to handle it. I stayed home, devoting myself completely to him and the family. My husband then told me:
—I make enough money. Stay home, take care of our son. When school starts, we’ll see. Everything will be fine.
I believed him. He seemed trustworthy, loving. We lived like many young couples: he at work, I at home with the child. In theory, everything was fine. Sometimes we even took short breaks, went out to visit relatives or escaped to the countryside. The grandmothers helped us—even though they worked, they never said no to us.
But then the pandemic hit. My husband started working from home. He became irritable, snapping at the slightest thing. He could yell at me or get angry at the kid for no reason. I understood—stress, tiredness, fear about work. We were all on edge. Then he went back to the office, and I thought things would get better. He even apologized for his outbursts.
But our son kept getting sick. One diagnosis after another, and we ended up in the hospital. We were there for almost two weeks. My husband called and asked, but he didn’t come to see us even once. My mother-in-law told me:
—He’s the breadwinner of the house, what’s he going to do in the hospital? Besides, he could get infected. He has to work.
I didn’t reply. It’s true, he brings the money. And we didn’t lack anything at the hospital.
When we returned home, the apartment was spotless. Too clean, even. I thought: maybe he called a cleaning company. It was a nice touch—he welcomed us, helped with things, ordered food. I was happy. He must have missed us.
But that night, as I was putting my clothes in the washing machine, I saw my robe inside. I didn’t understand why it was there. I hadn’t washed it. I said to myself: well, sometimes you forget.
The next day we went for a walk with the boy, and on the bench by the doorway I saw Carla, the neighbor. We weren’t friends, but we ran into each other often—our children were the same age. We chatted for a while, and as we were saying goodbye, she suddenly called me and blurted out:
—Sorry, it’s none of my business, but… three days ago I got on the elevator with your husband. I was with a woman. They went out on your floor. I didn’t want to tell you, but I can’t keep it to myself.
At first, I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t quite understand what he was saying. And then I remembered the robe, I remembered that exaggerated cleaning at home. And I felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over me.
When my husband returned, I didn’t want to waste any time:
—You brought another woman into our house? While your son and I were in the hospital?
She looked down. Everything was clear. She didn’t even deny it. I don’t remember how I got to my mother’s house. The phone kept ringing—I didn’t answer. I was devastated.
When he couldn’t get through to me, he started calling my mom. And she… she said she didn’t want to get involved, that we should sort it out ourselves. I was left alone with my pain.
But my mother-in-law did get involved. She went to the park where I was with my son and, without saying hello, said:
—I thought you were smarter. Are you going to break everything because of one mistake? He didn’t abandon you, he didn’t abandon the child. Well, he tripped. And what do you do? You pack your bags and leave.
I was speechless. He had been unfaithful to me. In our house. And was it my fault?
—Ever since you had the baby, you’ve been careless, always with the little one, nothing new. And there are so many beautiful women at the office! He’s a man, he couldn’t resist. And now what? Act like it didn’t happen. The important thing is that you have a roof over your head, food to eat, a child. Live and be happy.
I didn’t answer. I left. I didn’t have the strength to argue.
The last straw was that not even my mother—my own mother—supported me.
“It’s hard, but think about it,” he told me. “Your son will grow up without a father. And you won’t be any happier either. Forgiving isn’t forgetting. Think about it. Maybe you can try again.”
I don’t understand how you can forgive something like that. How you can act as if nothing happened. How you can live with someone who took another woman into your bed while you were in the hospital with her sick child.
I don’t want to be comfortable. I don’t want to be blind. I’m not made of iron. I have a heart too.
Now I live at my mother’s house. I think. And I don’t know what to do. But I’m sure of one thing—I won’t return to that “clean” apartment where they betrayed me.
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