and my husband started to drift away, I turned to my best friend for support. She told me I was getting myself worked up. Turns out I wasn’t. But three years later, fate allowed me to see the consequences of their betrayal.
I always thought betrayal happened to someone else – you read about it in dramatic stories on Reddit or hear it whispered over dinner. But not to me. Not to us.
For five years, Michael and I built a life together. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was ours – film nights on the couch, Sunday morning drives for coffee, jokes only the two of us could understand.
And all the while there was Anna – my best friend since high school, my sister in everything but blood. She was there for every important moment, including my wedding, standing next to me as a bridesmaid, clutching my hands and crying with happiness.
When I got pregnant, I thought it was just another chapter in our perfect life.
But then Michael changed.
At first it was little things – he started staying late at work, his smile stopped reaching his eyes. Then it got worse. He hardly ever looked at me. Conversations became one-word answers. On nights he would turn his back to me, as if I didn’t exist at all.
I didn’t realise what was happening. I was exhausted, late in my pregnancy, desperate to fix what was broken between us.
So I turned to Anna.
I don’t know what’s going on,’ I sobbed into the phone, curled up in the darkness while Michael slept peacefully beside me. – I feel like he’s already gone.
Hel, you’re overthinking this,’ she said softly. – ‘He loves you. It’s just stress.
I wanted to believe her.
But the constant stress-the sleepless nights, the anxiety, the loneliness, even though I was married-was destroying me.
And then one morning I woke up with a dull ache in my stomach. By evening I was in the hospital, watching the doctor’s lips move, but not hearing a word.
No heartbeat.
No baby.
They say grief comes in waves. Mine came in an avalanche.
The miscarriage destroyed me, but Michael? He was already lost. He sat next to me in the hospital, cold, silent, didn’t take my hand, didn’t say a word of comfort. Just sat there like a man waiting for a bus, not grieving the loss of a child.
A month later, he finally spoke the words I think he’d rehearsed for weeks on end.
I’m not happy anymore, Helena.
And that was it. No explanation, no emotion. An empty excuse.
The day Michael left, there was no fighting, no screaming, no tears. Just an icy silence.
I’m not happy anymore, Helena.
I blinked, sitting across from him at the kitchen table. His words pressed on my chest like a stone.
What?’ my voice shook.
He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as if I was the problem.
I just… don’t feel anything anymore. I haven’t in a long time.
A long time.
I swallowed.
Since I lost the baby?
His jaw tensed.
That wasn’t the point.
The lie was almost funny.
I stared at him, hoping to see something-remorse, guilt, some emotion. But he just sat there, not looking up.
So that’s it? Five years and you just walk away? – My hands clenched into fists under the table.
He sighed again, this time irritated.
I don’t want to fight, Helena.
I laughed nervously-the same laugh that comes out when you’re on edge.
Oh, you don’t want to fight? It’s funny, because I had no choice in the whole thing.
He stood up, grabbing his keys.
I’m going to stay at a friend’s house.
Before I could say anything, he slammed the door.
Anna, my best friend, soon followed him. She was my rock, my lifeline. And then she just disappeared. Didn’t answer her phone. Ignored my texts. And then she blocked me everywhere.
I didn’t realise until I did.
Mum was the first to know. She rang me one evening, her voice strained.
Helena, darling… look at this.
She sent me a link to Anna’s Instagram.
And there they are.
Michael and Anna. Hugging on the beach, laughing, looking like they’ve been in love for years.
I clicked through, my hands shaking. Photo after photo, week after week. Expensive restaurants, ski resorts, romantic evenings by the fireplace. She posted them freely, openly – while I was still his lawfully wedded wife.
The betrayal stung me like acid. But if they thought I’d just break, they were wrong.
I took my pain and turned it into power. Michael was careless, too caught up in his fantasy to cover his tracks. In court, his adultery became my bargaining chip. I ended up walking away with the house, half his money, and the satisfaction of having to start from scratch.
He took my trust. I took what I was entitled to.
Starting over wasn’t easy. But life rewards resilience.
A year later, I met Daniel.
He wasn’t just different from Michael – he was everything Michael wasn’t. Kind. Attentive. He never pretended that my feelings were too much.
We built a life. A real one, not a social media one. And soon, we had a daughter, a carbon copy of me and his smile.
And then fate gave me a better ending.
One evening, I stopped at a petrol station. And I saw them.
Michael and Anna.
But no more expensive clothes, no more happy pictures. Their car is a rusty bucket, a scandal all over the shop, a crying baby, an empty bank card.
We don’t even have money for petrol? – Anna hissed.
You knew we were tight on money,’ Michael snapped at her.
Anna laughed.
I think Helena came out of that story a winner.
I started the car and drove home. To my true happiness.
