When Eric brought home our son’s teacher, Olivia, and told me to leave because they were “in love,” my world shattered. But instead of walking away, I gave him one last chance.
We had moved for his promotion, leaving behind our life of 20 years. While our son Jake adjusted quickly, I struggled. When Jake’s physics grades slipped, I planned to meet his teacher, but the flu kept me home. Eric went instead and kept returning, claiming Olivia was helping Jake. Then, one night, he brought her home and told me to leave.
I refused. Calmly, I reminded Eric that after 20 years, half of everything was mine—our house, finances, and his reputation. Olivia scoffed, but Eric hesitated. Realizing what he stood to lose, he wavered. Olivia stormed out.
Instead of rushing into divorce, I proposed a 30-day exercise: each night, we’d write something good about each other and read them at the end. At first, the notes were superficial, but as days passed, they became deeper—memories of love, sacrifices, and support.
By day 30, Eric realized his mistake. “I don’t want a divorce,” he admitted. I laid conditions: he’d stay out of Jake’s school matters and we’d attend therapy. I wasn’t sure I could trust him again, but I was willing to try.
Forgiveness wasn’t instant, and healing was hard, but we were making the effort. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
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