Losing my job was hard. Losing my wife right after was worse.
Anna didn’t just leave me—she left our four-year-old twins, Max and Lily. One day, she was there; the next, she was gone with nothing but a cold goodbye. I was left scrambling—working two jobs, juggling childcare, and trying to keep my head above water in a city that didn’t care if we sank.
But I refused to let my kids grow up feeling abandoned. With help from my parents and a lot of late-night job applications, I clawed my way back. I found a stable remote job, moved us into a smaller but happier home, and slowly, life got better. The kids stopped crying for their mom. We became our own little team.
Then, two years later, I ran into Anna.
She was sitting in a café, crying into her coffee. The woman who had once been so composed now looked lost. When she saw me, she broke down, admitting she had made a mistake. Life hadn’t been kind to her—she had lost her job, her friends, her security. She wanted to come home.
But as she spoke, I realized something: she hadn’t asked about our children. Not once.
That told me everything I needed to know.
I told her we had moved on. That night, as I watched Max and Lily giggle over their dinner, I knew I’d made the right call. Some people walk away when things get tough. But real love—real family—stays.
And if Anna ever truly wants back in? She’ll have to prove she’s ready to be the mother our kids deserve.
