My husband left me. 😢
– You don’t take care of yourself. You’re always in a dressing gown, you don’t want to go for a run, you’re not interested in anything except soup and grandchildren. I’m tired. I want a well-groomed, interesting woman by my side. We’re the same age, but you look like my mother, – he said at the end, which really hurt me.
But instead of feeling sorry for myself and suffering because of the divorce, I decided to take revenge on my ex-husband. Three months later he called and begged me to forgive him, but I refused and I don’t regret it.
I’m telling you how I took revenge on him. Continued in the first comment 👇 👇
He really did leave. He said, “That’s it, I can’t take it anymore,” and he left.
I sat at the kitchen table, staring into an empty mug, not understanding what was going on around me.
I exhaled heavily. The strangest thing is not even that my husband left. But that I didn’t seem surprised. Everything was leading to this.
To be honest, I haven’t felt like a wife for ten years. I lived for others. And he… he lived in his own world.
Gym three times a week, healthy eating, training, marathons. Even at sixty, he looked like he was in an advert: fit, always in a tight T-shirt, with an even tan – in winter! – and slightly tinted temples.
My son chimed in: Dad is right, Mom, you should also go to the gym, see a beautician, go on a diet… But I just waved it off. There’s no time for diets when there are three pots on the stove and a to-do list on the refrigerator.
And then… he just came and said:
– I’m leaving. We have nothing in common. I want to live, to breathe. And you…
He hesitated, but continued:
– You stopped being a woman. You became a grandmother. A housewife. And I want someone alive next to me.
I was silent. Then I just sat down on the sofa and said:
– Finish the conversation. Since you’ve already started.
He shrugged:
– You don’t take care of yourself. You’re always in a dressing gown, you don’t want to go for a run, you’re not interested in anything except soup and your granddaughter’s socks. I’m tired. I want a well-groomed, interesting woman by my side. We’re the same age, but you look like my mother.
Two days later he packed his suitcase, left the keys on the table and left.
A month passed. Then a second. The divorce was finalized quickly. I sold my share of the apartment and rented a small studio on the outskirts. I bought myself a teapot with flowers, a blanket with sheep, and — for the first time in many years — red lipstick.
A friend dragged me to a hairdresser. New haircut, coloring, care.
And suddenly… it became easier. Dreams became calmer. Morning – coffee, a walk in the park. No rush. Grandchildren came – but now not every day. And in this silence, for the first time in years, I heard myself.
My husband called three months after the divorce.
– You know, you… look good. I saw the grandchildren in the photo.
– Thank you. Now I live for myself too.
– Maybe we’ll meet? Coffee…
– No. Thank you. I have other plans now.
I hung up. Without tears. Without regret.
Do you think I did the right thing?
