After eight years of marriage, I thought I knew my husband inside and out. We had built a life together—a home, routines, inside jokes. Sure, we had our rough patches, but what couple doesn’t? Then, one evening, Caleb walked through the door with another woman and dropped a bombshell: “She’s going to be my second wife.”
At first, I laughed. It had to be a joke. But the look in his eyes told me he was dead serious.
Liana stood beside him, shifting uncomfortably. She was young, pretty, and clearly unsure about this whole situation. Caleb, on the other hand, looked smug, like he had just solved all our marital problems with this grand idea.
“You’re tired all the time,” he explained. “Between work, the house, and our daughter, you’re stretched thin. Liana can help. She can share the load.”
I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. But there wasn’t one.
So, I did the unexpected—I agreed. “Fine. But on one condition.”
Caleb’s face lit up. “Anything.”
“She’s not allowed near my second husband.”
Silence.
His jaw dropped. “What?”
“You heard me,” I said, crossing my arms. “If you get a second wife, I get a second husband. Fair’s fair.”
The color drained from his face. “That’s not how this works!”
“Oh? So, you get to rewrite the rules of our marriage, but I don’t?”
Liana looked like she wanted to disappear. Caleb sputtered, backtracked, and finally told her to leave. That night, he begged me to forget the whole thing. “It was a stupid idea,” he muttered.
But I wasn’t backing down. I made a dating profile that evening—just to drive the point home.
A week later, I filed for divorce.
Turns out, Caleb didn’t actually want an equal partnership. He just wanted more—more attention, more control, more convenience—without ever considering what I might want.
Now, I live a quieter, happier life. No second wives. No ridiculous demands. Just me and my daughter, free from his selfish fantasies.
And honestly? Best decision I ever made.
